V for Vietnam: Various Vagaries

I fall easily in love with foreign countries, but Vietnam, seems to have captured my heart most completely. Possibly it’s because I was there for a long time, or maybe this is because they have the best coffee ever. This is coming from someone drank her caffeinated way through Europe. But nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to the intense richness of Vietnamese coffee, blended with condensed milk and poured over ice. It’s sweet, but not sweet enough to drown out the intenseness of the coffee, which is the problem of American coffee with condensed milk: the sweetness completely overpowers the delicious bitter goodness that makes coffee coffee.

So now I’ve been spoiled by Vietnam, and any other coffee will never, ever completely satisfy me again. I may make an exception for Viennese mélange. Perhaps the secret ingredient of good coffee is a name that begins with a V.

(This now reminds me of V for Vendetta, which lots of words that begin with V, and Guy Fawkes, and Edmund Dantes, who was the ill-starred victim of a 20 Questions game that I bungled, and the answer was never attained.)

Cliff was actually almost not let into Vietnam—or rather, he was almost not let out of China, by the Chinese border officials, because they suspected him of leading an international spy and smuggling ring. He did actually have an extensive and cunning plan for the demolishment of Vietnam’s population of pineapples, shrimp, and general seafood, but they didn’t know that. Meanwhile, I had my eye on their sticky rice.

We did a lot of motorbike riding in Vietnam. Sometimes we rented our own motorbike, and went about according to do our own whim and fancy. This was awesome—as the lazy passenger I had nothing more to do than, you know, sit, and enjoy scenery, etc, so perhaps that's why I enjoyed the entire process more. Cliff had to ride through some drizzle, dust, mud, wind, rickety bamboo bridges. Pictures will soon testify to this.

Most of the other times, though, we were at the mercy and skill of a motorbike taxi driver. This is exactly the same concept as a taxi, except there are about 30 other motorbikes in the same street, coming from all directions, and you suddenly realize how exposed you are. Whether your driver has showered recently also becomes much more obvious and relevant to your enjoyment of the ride.

Then, imagine having 3 people on 1 motorbike. One of them is 6’3”. And it's a one hour ride down steep mountain roads, no railings, lots of hairpin curves and switchbacks. It's windy. A hat gets blown away. And it's getting dark. And you possibly just pissed off your driver by bargaining a bit too hard on the price (admittedly he was trying to rip you off).

Or, maybe it's completely dark and you're going down a road at surely illegal speeds—but probably not, as there are no speed limits ever posted—with a giant backpack whose weight is pulling you backwards.

Anyway, that's a few thoughts on Vietnam, most of which I wrote at work, so that's why it reads so haphazardly. There will be more later, with later being an uncertain span of time, because Internet access is sporadic and uncertain. I'm in a cafe right now in Jianguomen, but I must be getting home. Dinner calls.

unruly wanderings

still in vietnam, having crazy times, motorbikes, villages, rice paddies galore, unexpected pineapples, the best coffee of my life, the best seafood of my life, and swindling children on top of sand dunes!

[Edit: I'd like to make clear that I wasn't swindling children; the children were swindling me. They were pretty damn good at it too.]

why am i always so last minute?

waking up in 3hr. for flight to nanning, guangxi in 6hr. 30min.

then it's a 4hr. bus ride over the border to vietnam!

where hopefully we shall not be devoured by giant mosquitoes.

or devour any mosquitoes ourselves.

because, you know, in vietnam they eat everything.

including beating cobra hearts.

and yes, it's time for the obligatory F. Scott Fitzgerald quote about how it's always 3am in a real dark night of the soul.

Hello, this is my brain on malaria medication speaking. No, it's my brain on mefloquine speaking. Here I am awake at 3 am for three nights in a row, because I can't fall asleep, despite being really tired, because mefloquine is the crazy drug that gives you odd sleep effects. Or maybe there's something else wrong with me and it's not the drug at all.

Regardless this is all because I'm stupidly single-minded at times, and once I get an idea, there's no getting it out of me. I admit it, I wasn't thinking!

Doctor: Would you like the nice anti-malarial that has no side effects?
Me: No, no, I want the mefloquine!
Doctor: ...Are you sure.
Me: Yes, yes, I am.

And now, okay. If I were to go back and ask for the nice anti-malarial that doesn't come with weird effects on your sleep habits, I would feel foolish. Ah yes, I was an idiot, should have listened to you! Shouldn't have been fixated on mefloquine! Why was I stuck on it anyway? I have no idea. None at all.

Oh hell i want to go to sleep. Really I do. At least the Internet is somewhat faster right now.

To add to my list of supposed health problems, I drank water containing floating colonies of mold in it today. Why did I do that? Because, once again, I am an idiot.

Oh hell. What am I going to do? Go back to the doctor and ask for nice drug? Continue this as a damned exciting experience that undoubtedly will be unlike any other I've ever had? Enjoy the ride? Buy sleeping pills?

I forget to mention that another deterrent to returning to the doctors is the medical cost. For some reason only fancy foreigner-run hospitals have this stuff readily available, so it's US$55 + cost of drug for another visit.

And, dude, in America? $10 for a consultation, yo.

Hello, sleep or poverty?

At least I paid my credit card bills, thanks, super-slow Internet that only works at 3am.

Of Haircuts as a cultural experience & the Symbolish therein

"Why are most hairdressers men?" I asked him, looking around the busy shop, a whirl of scissors, blow-dryers, and conversation.

"Because men and women have different ideas of beauty." He said this as if it was the most obvious truth in the world, which it may in fact be.

"But then," I pursued, "Shouldn't more women be hairdressers, if they care more about their hair?"

"Ah," and he said this as if sharing a great secret, "But women style their hair for men."


Leaving the truth of that statement up to debate, I might also have liked to tell him that there are vastly different ideas of beauty between cultures, and ours, sadly, did not coincide.

But I didn't, mainly because he was so vastly pleased with his handiwork. And handiwork is probably the right word—he treated this as something he designed, and not only that, went over every strand of hair at least 5 times. I didn't count the number of times he exclaimed that this haircut is simply perfect! I just writhed internally, and glanced at the clock out of the corner of my eye.

"You'll stop all the passersby in their tracks," he said. (Word-for-word translation: "You'll have a 100% head-turning-rate", which he had to explain to me.)

I was pretty dubious of this. Either it was enthusiastic flattery, or he genuinely believed that this was the best haircut ever. Or perhaps it had something to do with the fact that his glasses had no lenses. Was this literary symbolism for the fact that all men were in fact blind as bats and didn't give a damn for what your hair looked like? If my life were a novel, then yes, I think it was.

One Mao, Two Mao

Yesterday I bought a newspaper and a juice box for 0.50RMB, or the equivalent of $0.07. The newspaper turned out to be mostly detritus, and the juice I haven't tried yet—this same juice was the suspected culprit in a friend's food poisoning in Pingyao. Little yellow berries, shall I risk you?

Things you can get for twice that (or $0.14): A Suntory Oolong tea and a copy of The New Beijing Newspaper; a ride on a bus without A/C; a bag of popcorn; half a roasted yam.

Some prices in comparison:

> Imported box of Kellogg's cereal 50 RMB ~ $7
> Sony battery charger and 4 rechargeable batteries 170 RMB ~ $21
> Meal in the cafeteria 3.50 RMB ~ $0.44
> An extravagant feast for nine-ten people 600 RMB ~ $75
> My weekly commute 40 RMB ~ $5
> A flimsy new bike 180 RMB ~ $23
> Santa costume 36 RMB ~ $4.5

* Not all of these are my purchases. Some of them are just observations, like the cereal. I'll leave you to wonder whether or not I bought a Santa costume :>

smokin' monks

...China has 300 million smokers; maybe in hell they're smoking paper tobacco? But given that Buddhism has 84,136 hells, I'm not sure if folks down there are smoking or being smoked.

Nánpǔtuó's studious monks aren't so sure either. I asked one, "Who goes to Buddhism's 84,136 hells?"

He said, "Anyone who does anything wrong." He pondered this a bit, and added with a wry smile, "Everyone, I guess."

"Is there a Buddhist heaven?" I asked.

"Of course," he said.

"Who goes there?" I asked.

The monk thought a little, and said, "Just a minute." He pushed his Gandhi spectacles back up on his nose, flipped back and forth through the pages of a massive, musty volume, and after a few minutes said, "No one has ever asked me that. I'll have to get back to you."

From: http://www.amoymagic.com/nanputuo1.htm

A rather depressing article about the state of panda conservation in china

Seed Magazine: "Black and White and Desired All Over"

Sometimes—when I read something like this, when I am in a bus going through the city—I can feel, so sharply, all these problems and conflicts that China is facing. It's so like China, isn't it? To want more UNESCO sites, more panda bears, more medals at the Asia Games, more honors and awards that we can plaster to our face and call ourselves splendid, great, modern. But then inside it's a rotting, stinking mess, and the quest for international prestige is not going to sideline the race to make more money, develop more land, build more tacky resorts, whatever the cost.

So many things, panda bears not being the least, are being sacrificed for these $1 milion RMB housing developments, because we want to have an apartment in the "Versailles Gardens" or "Victoria Palm Beach," and drive our shiny shiny Audi to the disgustingly pretentious mall or home-improvement center, where we will load up on assembly-line statuettes of eyeless Greek gods to fill our home and make believe that there is some meaning to this.

And then, at the same time, this country is also so wonderful, and beautiful, and there have been so many great things done and read and drawn and written here. It makes my heart hurt.

Burdicks makes NYTimes' top 10 chocolates list

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/12/03/style/tmagazine/03tfair.html

Christmas is coming up...and I'm in fancy-chocolate-less
China...*accidentally drops hints liberally*

And it's apparently December already

*blows dust off toast*

China's proxies mysteriously cut off Blogger for a month or so. Now it's back again, just as inexplicably. Some quick updates on a long stretch of time:

* We had a Thanksgiving dinner, complete with real, half-cooked turkey. Real, half-cooked turkey cost us Y600 and was the most delightful shade of pink half-way down on the inside. It was still, nonetheless, one of the best turkeys I've ever ate.

* Then immediately after it snowed. Woo.

* I have a job. Am now English editor for a German travel company down in Jianguomen. Work is easy, and I treat myself to long lunch breaks with the IT kids, and unsuccessfully battle through crowds on the subway. I now know what it feels like to be a grain of coffee in a vaccum-packed bag—airless.

* But expanses of space also exist: I found myself in large, entirely empty underground passage at night, a little spooky—but I decided to sing "La Pastie de la Bourgeoisie" ("In the autumn cool, say cheerio to school")—because there was no one there to hear.

No more chickens.

Some terribly random discoveries of the last few days:

Wudaokou Clothing Market (五道口服装市场): Clearly the place to go if you want to look like a Korean pop star. Hello, fire hazard? Stalls upon stalls and a forest of people jammed into the narrow paths(a fight broke out while we were here). You could probably find something good here if you push patiently enough, dig long enough and bargain hard eough—but chances are some Korean girl on campus already has the exact same sweater/belt/sparkly accessory.
By the time we left this place, we ended up smelling like five different kinds of fried foods all rolled into one. Clothes shopping comes hand-in-hand with food in China, and right next to each set of doors were vendors busy grilling and frying all kinds of meats. It left a stale scent of old oil throughout the entire building.
Conclusion: only for the strictest of bargain hunters or BoA-wannabes.


"Be For Time" (避风塘): Neither the Chinese name (another reference to fried food?!) nor the English name makes much sense, but oh, this place is worth it. For Y18, you get all the coffee, bubble/pearl tea, shaved ice, yoghurt smoothies, milkshakes, juice, tea, and ice cream you can drink. COFFEE. Granted, the shaved ice was a little sparse and the fruit flavors more artificial than fresh-squeezed, but the coffee was decent, and really, Y18? Did I mention it's open 24hr.? And that there's coffee?
Conclusion: HEAVEN.

Random European-style street near my grandparents' house: WTF? Last time I checked, we had some nice little alleys, the odd chicken, some old ladies outside washing their vegetables, some old men smoking the day away. A car would sometimes come by and try to squeeze into the too-small alley. Random kids and a lone white cat. There was a mosque somewhere.
And now? I thought I made a wrong turn into some new-ish corner of Lisboa, where they were trying to "match" the old 19th-century style architecture but clearly coming across as a confused, half-hearted 20th-century imitation. Aside from balustrades and wrought-iron balconies, we also had: tea parlors, a bar, an Avon, a cafe, a pizzeria, and some costume shops (?!). No more chickens. In fact, all the people seem to have vanished as well. Utter desertion. It was actually a bit like walking into a deserted movie set (hence the costume shops?).
Conclusion: Beijing Olympics - more harm than good? (note that this is more a question).

Random book shopping: If there's anything I love, then it's hunting through a vast clutter of used books. And what a relief to not have to bargain: there's really no arguing against a book for Y5.

Some particularly interesting finds: Trekking Through China, Diplomat of a Chinese Diplomat (by Zheng Deyi, one of China's early envoys to the West in the 19th century), I, Claudius, and Wilkie Collins's The Moonstone, which for me is enough to redeem all Victorian literature.

Coal, buddhas, and corn fields [our national week trip]

Never let it be said that there's no such thing as "not crowded" in China. I was half-expecting to get trampled by tourists running amok during National Week, but lo, sometimes I almost thought we had Shanxi all to ourselves. That may be, of course, due to the fact that Shanxi (and Datong in particular) is known more for its coal mines and accompanying dust, smog, and accidents, rather than for its scenery and history. So on our way to the Yungang Grottoes, Hengshan, and Pingyao, we also caught a fair face full of coal dust and exhaust.

Still, that's not to say we were entirely without crowds. We had to make our way through this to get tickets to our next destination.


Imagine that crowd stretching in all directions. Teeming. It didn't really help that after finally buying tickets I promptly commenced to lose mine (Y90!) somewhere between the (dirty, crowded) bathroom, the (equally crowded, perhaps also dirty) waiting room, and a parking lot filled with buses. Through sheer luck I did find my ticket, though only because Clifford made me go look for it. (I was ready to fatalistically despair, somewhat uncharacteristically of me.)

On Lonely Planet's suggestion, we went on a 15min. walk to the "wild Great Wall" (as in, unrestored, untended, left to crumble and erode and be scavenged). This walk led us through corn fields and a village that probably had not seen another visitor since the delusional LP researcher. A group of unruly children convinced us to keep going in charmingly unintelligible Chinese. An old man yelled "OKAY!" happily and energetically as we passed. I mysteriously developed an obsessive photographic relationship with power lines.

And no Great Wall. No Great Wall! Lonely Planet, how could you have been so mistaken and led us so astray? Oh wait, maybe because you are a useless, pompous, shallow piece of shit. I am completely unbiased.

Here's us stumped as to the actual location of the Great Wall. But honestly, I quite enjoyed this random detour. Corn fields and power lines and not a single souvenir vendors!


About another hour later, we finally got to the Great Wall—30 km away by car, not 15min. away on foot. If we were keeping score, Let's Go would win hands down. Anyway. The "Great Wall" was a series of dusty mounds rising behind a little town, where the chief interest was a gigantic fruit market and the arrival of several foreigners by taxi. We were accompanied by some little boys on the way down, very rambunctious and adorable. We may have told them we were Spaniards.


There was also a near-supernatural moment when a storm threatened over Hengshan, one of China's five holy Daoist mountains and the site of martial art heroes, if you believe your wuxia novels at least. What with the sky darkening and the leaves whipping all around us, I was convinced that mountain spirits and stave-wielding Daoists would appear at any moment.

But no large-scale martial arts battles of any kind erupted, though we did find ourselves in indignant dispute with several Chinese tourists at Yungang. Indeed, traveling in China is probably not for those looking for relaxation. At every other step you're either bargaining down ridiculously inflated prices, trying to avoid being scammed, getting rattled on a rickety, fly-speckled bus, or watching out for your wallet. But I exaggerate, as you should know from me by now. And there were moments of peace.

I heart Deval Patrick. And oatmeal.

Because he was put into the oven as a baby. And because he will be the best governor ever. [The Globe, however, does need more editing. As does 02138. Sigh.]

In other news, I am pioneering a new style of biking called "drunken cycling." Its practitioners, of whom I seem to be chief, can be identified by their excessive swerving, weaving back and forth, running into trees and rocks, and barely missing guitarists, cars, and pedestrians.

I have not known how to bike for the first 22 years of my life; I've decided the best place in the world to remedy this fact is Beijing, where the traffic is tumultuous and the people reckless.

Other random skills I've decided [to attempt] to acquire: calligraphy, chinese painting, oatmeal-cooking.

No more toast

Now, perhaps I should change the name of this to "unruly 馒头", or perhaps "unruly 烧饼", seeing as I'm in the land of steamed buns and such. A total translation would be something like: "无序馒头". I quite like this. It sounds as if it could be a martial arts movie. The protagonist would be a disorderly eater of steamed buns, which would transform into deadly weapons at will.

Peking University, too, is a masterpiece of unrulyness and disorder. Two different classes are scheduled for the same time in the same classroom. Neither professor shows up. Then next time, with the scheduling "car crash" resolved, still no professor shows up for the sole class in this room. The clear solution, then, would be to sign up for this class with no professor!

Have a question? You'll go to one office, which will send you to another office, which will send you to yet another office, which will send you back to the second office. At this point you will stand your ground and refuse to leave—4 flights of stairs is enough. Grudgingly, then, they dole out your precious answer—but you will be told to come back tomorrow for something minute and unresolved.

China's loving thickets of bureaucracy also means that all of us have given up our passports for twenty days. I am dying to go somewhere (specifically, here), but am unfortunately confined where they are undoubtedly keeping several eyes on us. Just as in America, I'm awash in wishful thinking of all the places I could go, and nowhere near going toward them.

More exciting stories to come, surely - tales of harrowing bike rides (I anticipate), endless quests for the perfect cup of coffee (as of yet unfulfilled), treks and great adventures (to a thousand and one places), and maybe even the odd class or two (we'll see).

Fish babies & the largesses of our ever-friendly apartment

Indeed, things in our apartment keep on multiplying. We continually find that we have gotten much more than we paid for. The gods are generous.

At the outset I agreed to feed their 2 black-and-white mottled goldfish. Then they had 4 fish babies. Then one day I noticed another tiny fish, the "runt." Would he survive? Has he been suffering under my wayward feeding schedule? He did, so that made 7 fish.

Then one day I notiched the fish tank looking cloudier and swirlier than usual. What's this?, I wondered, and proceeded to investigate. They turned out to be the tiniest, most infantile fish babies ever. Not very far from their fish roe state. As it is, they're rather impossible to count, but there's at least 17 or 18 of them.

The fish gods weren't done with us yet. As we were cleaning the tank one algae-filled day, we found yet another hitherto-unknown fish burrowed in the gravel. He looked to be some sort of scaly, anti-social bottom-dwelling fish, keeps the tank clean and all that. He's very well ensconced.

That makes 25 or 26 fish in total. Which, you know, is making me curious about all the rampant fish sex that must be going on.

I'm also trying to name the fish, which is hard when most of them are the size of flyspecks. Being extremely decisive, I went through 5 or 6 names extremely quickly. The only one that seems to have stuck [in my memory] is Darth Vader. My fish can defeat your fish in a lightsaber duel.

(Actually, for the sake of continuity and unabashed dorkiness, I could name them all after characters singled out by FATE to be the Chosen One. The runt will have to be Harry Potter, the proud, angsty one Rand Al'Thor, and the dazed one with half a fin Frodo Baggins, and the pale, pasty fish Neo, although I don't much like Keanu Reeves at all..... But it will be a tank full of fish with Destines, and together they will rule the world!)

The Anti-Cambridge

Everyone knows I dislike TX. I work to conceal my origins, to the point that some of my friends have no idea what state I'm from. I do enjoy being mysterious. Sometimes people think I'm from New York. This always makes me happy, and I like to pretend I am, because it was my first home here. It gave me my first impressions of America, from pizza to Halloween to the beach on Fire Island (Fire Island = awesome).

Some of you try to tell me that Texas is great and wonderful.  Most of you were talking about Houston and Austin. I'd respectfully like to point out, my town is nowhere near Houston and not very awesome. In fact, Plano, with its churches and giant strip malls, is as sterile and bland as you can imagine. This is all subjective, you say, so here are some external facts:

From the National Journal:

The biggest city here now is Plano, with 241,000 people, a former farming community that became a corporate headquarters and edge city with DART light-rail service, site of mega-mansion subdivisions, the state's ninth-largest city and the new face of successful Texas. Plano is 10% Asian, many of Chinese ancestry, and they slightly outnumber Latinos: a new face of Texas.
...

Politically, Collin County is very Republican, indeed more Republican than Dallas County ever was: it cast more votes in 2004 than all but five other Texas counties, and gave 71% of them to George W. Bush.

So there it is, staunch Republican stronghold full of big corporations and ugly shopping malls and cookie-cutter franchises upon franchises. In 2004, there wasn't even a Democratic challenger to the House representative, because everyone is too smugly satisfied with their paycheck and their mutual funds and their big screen TV to want change.  If Cambridge is one of the most liberal cities in America, then Plano is the anti-Cambridge.

I know, I'm a hater. But I'll admit that the roads are good.

Dear America, meet your candidates

The problem with democracy: inevitably, stupid, prejudiced people will all want to have their say, even if they are entirely, entirely insane. And they even run for office! I could continue commenting, but we will instead let the candidates speak for themselves:

The Preacher: Bob Hart (13th district of Illinois)
Not actually a preacher, but seems to enjoy sermonizing as much as presenting the issues on his web site.

"Incidentally, it's much easier to sacrifice your child if you think he came from some other life form"

"Some other life form," refers not to aliens, but to monkeys, as in the theory of evolution. Cites evidence of giants on earth as proof of God's creation, because to him, evolution isn't working if everything gets smaller. Bigger = better. It's a pity that he doesn't actually argue against aliens as the progenitors of mankind.

Also thinks that people who believe 9/11 fulfilled a Nostradamus prophecy are completely silly—everyone should know that it fulfilled a prophecy by Ellen White, who lived in the late-19th century. She also predicted Katrina, cancer, and the AntiChrist. What does Ellen White have to do with Mr. Hart's campaign? Mr. Hart leaves that up for you to decide.

He also doesn't put much faith into doctors:

Currently, most senior citizens needs are met by medical doctors (MD's). MD's typically prescribe pharmaceuticals for illness. Most MD's are not aware of God's plan for optimal health....The specific word "sorceries" found in the King James version is called "pharmakeia" in the original Greek language. This is where we get our modern word "pharmacy". Why is there such a big push for prescription drug benefits? Does it have something to do with this modern day witchcraft that keeps prescription drug users under its spell?

For the Shire: Dan "Frodo" Litvin (51st district, California)
Endearing and nutty, he is running for Congress "as the first of many in the spirit of Frodo." Political power is the Ring, he says, and "typical politicals want the Ring." (It's the One Ring to rule them all, after all.) Washington, D.C., is Mordor, and of course, he is plucky Mr. Frodo, off to destroy the Ring and give power back to the states.

To support his campaign, you can go visit his website and buy a "Frodo for Congress" bumper sticker. There's also a can't-miss photograph of Litvin as Frodo gazing soulfully at the Ring in his hand.


The Vampire: Jonathon "The Impaler" Sharkey (Governor, Minnesota)
Founder of the Vampyres, Witches, and Pagans Party, "The Impaler" is a self-proclaimed vampire just like the ones in the movies. He sucks his wife's blood, hates God (but wants religious freedom for all), and thinks that all terrorists, drug dealers, and other serious criminals should be impaled in front of the state house. He may or may not also want to impale G.W.Bush. Sadly, he has lately been arrested on several charges and his official website is down.


The Lone Gunman: Dr. Jack Shepard, Lost in Italy! (4th district, Minnesota)
As I write this, Dr. Shepard is personally "agitating the terrorists emotions and exploiting the terrorists insecurities!" To ensure the safety of America from terrorists, he is sending the terroists video tapes of himself, telling them in Arabic of the dire punishment God has in store for them. He's also a fugitive from the US and has been living in Italy since 1982.


The Loving and Obedient Child of God: Tom Wells (Senate, 1st district, Florida)
Originally running for both Senate and House, Tom Wells is sadly no longer in the race. Perhaps it's because he was too picky about who can and cannot give money to him. This loving and obedient child of GOD doesn't just want anybody's money for his Family Values Party, which is more special than all the other parties because it was started at the command of GOD. Fill out the check list, sign it, and send it to Mr. Wells. Maybe he'll tell you more about that time he saw the BRIGHT LIGHT...


"Pollock" Jim Kress (Governor, Arizona)
Jim Kress wants police cars to double as taxis, 24hr. bars and nightclubs, capital punishment for all and publicly broadcasted executions, legalized marijuana and prostitution, and thousands of "completely free" bikes "all over town."


The spelling bee champ: Phillip NaPier (Governor, Maine)
Write-in candidate Napier can't spell, but he wants all of his voters to be good spellers:"You must remember how to spell my name - because you must write it on the ballot when you vote for me. Part of why you are getting what I am alerting you to is you are intelligent, YOU KNOW WHAT I AM SAYING IS TRUE, and you can spell!" But how can he trust us to spell a crazy foreign name like "NaPier"? He should change his name to something like "None of the Above" or "Pro-Life"—but those names are already taken by other candidates, so he'll have to think of something else both creative and witty.

The neo-Nazi: Jim Giles "for white America" (3rd district, Mississippi)
Jim Giles begins his biography with the helpful fact that his parents were white, as were both sets of grandparents. This is supposed to be part of his qualifications as a good congressman. As is the fact that he refused to grant his wife a divorce. Some helpful quotes:

"I am pro-White. I am for White People who have been forced to buy from and work at Wal-Mart. I am for White People just barely scratching out a living. I acknowledge not all 'people of color' are bad and not all white people are good. I do not wish any harm to anyone. I just want to be left alone to be happy and safe and productive. This is best accomplished by separating the races."

Yes, well, I hate Wal-Mart, too.

He also does not like political correctness and women: "Giles worked with many Ivy League graduates and many diverse ethnicities. Corporate political correctness was first implemented in places like IBM where women and non-whites receive undeserved preference."

Jim Giles is looking for 100 men of steel to "start winning again as White People." But apparently he's got more than that; in 2004 he received 40,426 votes.

So time to leave the country.

Hotness, people, hotness

It's been too long since we've had a picture! Hence I bring you Colonel Roy Mustang, hottest anime character in the universe!

Did not choose a picture of him at his best, but I happen to like this one a lot. Roy makes funny face, awww.

Here he is looking awesome with shovel and dog:


Okay, that's all :)

Perpelexed. Really.

Well—somehow I started the day with one job and ended the day with three. 02138 magazine pays me with caffeine, love, baked goods, and iTunes (all of which are good) and an occaisional check, but I do need to stay solvent for the summer. Oh yes.

It's all rather dubious, really: how can I get hired based on 1 single email, which contained nothing extraordinary, and no resume? They must be seriously desperate. It's not glamourous, if you're wondering what it is I will be writing. It is, in fact, the opposite of glamour, though I can't really insult something that I once used to use.

On an entirely random and unrelated side note, if you know that A is a sneaky little cheat, that doesn't imply anything about the character of B, if B used to go out with A, does it? Hrm.

I smell like Chinese food

Today I made espresso for the very first time in my life. Then I added milk, sugar, and ice, and it became an iced latte. I would like to say that nothing will be the same ever again, but I'm afraid that's not true.

That would be the bright spot in a morning that otherwise involved Chinese food spilling into my bag and mostly onto my leather wallet and my rent check, which I still hadn't mailed after carrying it around for days. So now I have to cross my fingers and hope that my soggy envelope doesn't somehow get mangled by the USPS and arrive in Saratoga Springs intact and legible, with a still cashable check inside. Eek. 

In other news, a Jew's harp is something you play by placing it between your teeth and twanging. Isn't that enlightening?