I landed in LA two weeks ago, and spent time with friend before flying home.  I was struck by the beauty of California- even with all the drag-strip minimall architecture, and the highway culture, I found it to be a lovely place.  Although I kept expecting it to “look like the movies”, which it never actually did.  There were too many ugly people, too much detail, in fact- films are so physically passive, maybe there’s no way to get that experience when you’re walking around the set.  Maybe I’ll move out there sometime.  I’m thinking about an apartment swap to test the waters sometime after the winter.

Since then, I’ve been suspended, feet off the ground, at my folk’s place, but I’ve finally gotten back into my apartment, and I’m scrambling to get back in the swing.  Beijing was very productive for me, and Boston’s so far proved very unproductive.  I lack an office over here- in China, I had the Tube Station.  I need to find a very isolated place that serves coffee that doesn’t object to me sitting there 9-5.  Which, I suppose, means that I need to find a real office.

True Grounds, over in Ball Square, has 75% of what I need…  It’s not far enough away, I suppose.  Part of what helped me out the last two months in the Northern Capital was that I needed to actually get on my bike and ride a couple miles.  Exercise, like drawing and writing, is its own kind of thinking.

I’ve got to write about forty pages this weekend, by the way, for grad school.  So maybe I should just stop writing this stuff and get on with the work.  I’ll probably pick out a section to post on the main site soon, to give people a sense of what I’m working on.

Chinese people are tough. Or are these guys Mongolian?

I’ve been here for about a year, now, and this is the first work of Chinese prose that’s really moved me, from Taiwanese writer Miou Si, by way of Danwei.

It’s hard to see new things, but easy to have your own prejudices confirmed, and I think Miou captures something of the privation-born nastiness that I constantly encounter in Beijing. Plus, Miou has the gift for unusual detail that I really like in Chinese prose-

“If I had a choice, I would willingly become a native Hawaiian.”

I’ve just inadvertently immersed myself in a series of books concerned with ethnic identity; more than any sane man could take, honestly. Red Sorghum, Operation Shylock, the execrable The Elementary Particles, and the wonderful Enemies, A Love Story. So perhaps I’ve sensitized myself to the whole issue, an appeal to the ugliness of your own people.

Well, I’m back in la Chine for another few months- I’ve got to buy my Dad another couple of Mao Zedong watches. This blog wasn’t intended to be the Willy’s Adventures in the Land of the Red Chinese, but the majority of my hay has certainly been made from Chinese stuff.

Traveling the Beijing – Vermont – Cape Cod – Boston – Tokyo – Beijing circuit didn’t culture shock me as heavily as I thought it might. I think it’s cowed me a little, but made me brave in other ways. My Mandarin obviously improved a hair since I’ve been gone, but my already limited vocabulary shrunk. A contradiction, I know, but I just don’t feel as helpless as I once did. Knowing the terrain is as important as the language, I know.

Being a student again is very gratifying. Having missions is important, and doing something I’m good at, rather than something I’m bad at, is a relief. The list of skills is perhaps the next entry…

What with the announcement that the cardboard baozi story was, in fact, an adulterated version of the truth, or possibly not, I’m officially retiring the list of adulterated food. Unless someone dies in my arms, I’ll leave the reporting to the pros. Not that I didn’t call the story months before it blew up, of course, but that’s just sour grapes…

Local baozi made with cardboard and caustic soda. I’ve probably downed a couple of these…

Previously-

And here’s a Globe and Mail report on fake building materials used in the construction industry. Oy vey.

Fake plasma used in Chinese hospitals. Thanks, Alexis.

Antibiotics and antifungals found in imported fish. I’m feeling smug, now.

China promises to do better. Good luck with that.

The diethylene gylcol toothpaste shows up in the US. At the Dolla Store.

An interesting article on Chinese food safety. From the Southern Metropolis Daily, via Danwei.

Alexis mentioned in the comments that fugu was being sold as monkfish in the US.

China is executing the former head of it’s FDA and establishing a recall system.

While that friend and defender of the little guy, the Bush administration, takes China to task for food safety, Mom and Lina have been on the case, and dug up these new examples of delicious adulteration.

Toothpaste made with diethylene glycol as a thickener. Best known as windshield washer fluid, the chemical is also popular in the manufacture of wholly counterfeit medicines as well.

Contaminated traditional Chinese medicines. (Ironically, besides arsenic, cadmium, lead, strychnine and mercury, some patent medicines are being adulterated with pharmaceuticals like acetaminophen or cortisone.)

Melamine added to pet and livestock feed, as well as protein flours for human consumption, to increase its apparent protein content. The New York Times just published an expose on the subject. As an ex-carpenter, I should have recognized the adulterant. Mom pointed me to the FDA alert. Thanks, Mom.

The article mentioned some new and exciting contamination- eels battened on birth-control pills, and cuttlefish dipped in (calligraphy) ink. Looking deeper, I found this article on the People’s Daily website, which mentions fish dipped in formaldehyde and bamboo shoots treated with industrial sulfur.

I’m especially interested in the birth-control eels, if anyone can point me to some solid information on it.

Carcinogenic wax added to hotpot and to pepper oil. A lot of contamination has to do with Sudan 1. Chinese people like their food to be really red.

Human hair made into soy sauce.

Synthetic eggs (in shell).

Carcinogenic red dye in duck eggs.

“Sewer Grease” in lard.

Fake infant formula, causing a condition known as “Big Head Disease”.

Bleached Rice contaminated with aflotoxin.

In an ironic twist, it seems that Chinese farmers are being swindled with counterfeit pesticide. (I have to say that we get very nice vegetables and fruit here in Beijing, probably on account of all those banned pesticides.)

Blogger lets you save drafts of your posts online, and I’ve accumulated three or four unfinished posts so far. A lot about the unpopular subject of torture. It has something to do with the heat here.

In any event, I went in for two more DVD shoots. The first I did with Ellen, in the incredibly cool Automation Lab at Xinghua University. It was essentially a long hallway, with glass-fronted classrooms on either side. In the classrooms were a variety of robot playgrounds. I kicked myself for not getting pictures.

Suffice it to say, when not choking on my lines, I spent my time peering at the various machines. One room was just bank after bank of mainframe computers. Another room held a small soccer field, scattered with little humanoid robots, like players relaxing on the field after a match. Then there was the Barbie-scale carwash, and the robot-hand display, and several labs full of cool-looking prototyping gear.

The script itself included a Presidential debate between Senator Butler (my favorite, if you’ll recall) and Congressman Santos. A tough job made tougher by the fact that the Senator was an Armenian guy with a thick accent.

For some reason, all my roles that day were either teachers or “coordinators”, so I brought my tie collection.

Since I’m leaving Beijing in about a week and a half, I planned to forgo any new work for these guys, but I was guilted into one final shoot by the new production coordinator. (You know that scene you shot with Bald Guy? It’s not finished! We’ll have to throw out the whole thing!)

Yoyo has unfortunately quit the company, to pursue a lucrative career in tourguiding. I struggled with my lines, as usual. The one skit I nailed drew on my construction background. I played the role of Arnie.
_________________

Place: In a workshop 在车间两男
Role: Employee and manager
Content: The employee doesn’t wear a hard hat, a conversation about safety between the manager and the employee by using modals could and might.

Manager: Arnie, why aren’t you wearing a hard hat?
Arnie: Oh, I don’t need one.
Manager: If you don’t wear a hat, you might get hurt.
Arnie: I don’t think so. I’ll be careful. Besides, it’s too hot in here to wear a hat.
Manager: I know but we have occupational health and safety rules we have to follow. You’ve been briefed on them before, haven’t you?
Arnie: Yes, I have. But..
Manager: No buts, Arnie. The last thing I want is for you to hurt yourself and have you end up in hospital.
Arnie: You’re right. If I get hurt, I might miss work. I could lose a lot of money if I can’t work. My wife and family depend on me. I can’t do this to them.
Manager: Exactly. And you’re one of my best employees. I can’t afford to lose you either. Here, let me get you a hard hat.
Arnie: Thanks.
_________________

My personal experience in construction leads me to suspect this is how it would go down in the US-

Place: In a workshop 在车间两男
Role: Employee and manager
Content: The employee doesn’t wear a hard hat, a conversation about safety between the manager and the employee by using expletives and threats.

Manager: Arnie, why aren’t you wearing a hard hat?
Arnie: Fuck you.
Manager: If you don’t wear a hat, you might get hurt.
Arnie: I don’t care.
Manager: I know but we have occupational health and safety rules we have to appear to follow.
Arnie: But I’m drunk.
Manager: No buts, Arnie. The last thing I want is for you to hurt yourself and have to pay worker’s comp.
Arnie: You’re right. If I get hurt, I might miss work. I could lose a lot of money if I can’t work. My dog and my meth dealer depend on me. I can’t do this to them.
Manager: Exactly. And you’re one of my best employees. I can’t afford to lose you either. Wear the hat or you’re fired.
Arnie: Thanks.
_________________

Chinese version-

Place: In a workshop 在车间两男
Role: migrant laborer and manager
Content: The employee wears a hard hat, a conversation about guanxi between the manager and the employee by using callous disregard for life.

Manager: Ah Q, why are you wearing a hard hat?
Ah Q: I need one. They’re required by law.
Manager: If you wear a hat, someone might think it’s dangerous around here.
Ah Q: It is dangerous. I’m being careful. Besides, my cousin was decapitated yesterday by this machine I’m using right here.
Manager: I know, but we have occupational health and safety inspectors visiting today. You’ve been briefed on causing us to lose face, haven’t you?
Ah Q: Yes, I have. But…
Manager: No buts, Q. The last thing I want is to be embarrassed, or have to pay a bigger bribe.
Ah Q: You’re right. If I get hurt, I might die. My family could lose a lot of money if I die. My wives in Sichuan and Beijing depend on me. I can’t do this to them.
Manager: Exactly. And you’re only one of many expendable slaves. I can easily afford to lose you. In fact, you’re fired. You’ll be beaten on the way out…
Ah Q: Thanks.

Apropos of the silkworm video, I thought I’d compile the grand list of horrific food. My whole life, I’ve been interested in eating unusual foods, especially animals. I don’t go in for endangered species, though. It’s just too trendy here in China to eat the last of something. (The Yangtze River dolphin, for instance.) The closest I’ve come to orthorexy is giving up tuna.

I’ve had enough wretched pizza in my life to know that preparation is more than half the battle, and you can’t assume that what you ate yesterday is the same as what you’ll eat today. Tripe is an excellent example of a food that can swing from revolting to delicious, depending on the chef, so take my reviews with a grain of salt.

Insects and Arachnids-

Live Ants- Sweet, lemony flavor and a soft, grainy texture. Refreshing, but I did get bitten on the uvula once. Not painful, but gave me a rather dry, choking feeling. Eaten on a dare, they became a favorite stunt. I imagine they would taste differently if cooked.

Nacho Cheese Flavor Mealworms (Larvets)- Novelty snacks, look and taste almost exactly like Cheetos, but with that musty flavor all novelty food seems to have. Mom got me these for my birthday one year.

“French Style” Crickets with garlic and parsley- Delicious. A faintly sweet seafood flavor, like soft-shell crab. Ellen and I just went to the pet store and bought a bag of these guys (“They’re for our turtle.”) It is tragic, though, to throw a handful of live jumpers in the pan. Recipe from Calvin W Schwabe’s fabulous Unmentionable Cuisine.

Deep Fried Bee Larvae- Flavorless, they needed a good dose of hot pepper salt to make an impact. Like slightly soggy puffed rice. Served to us at the very mediocre Middle 8 restaurant here in Beijing. There are more appealing descriptions here.

Grilled Silkworm Pupae- Lacquered poop on a stick. A thin flavorless shell surrounds a juicy, fecal inside. The hot-pepper sauce didn’t help at all. Like shellfish, I have to suspect that freshness is key to getting good bugs. Gotten at Wanfujing night market, Beijing.

Fried Grasshopper- Delicious, crunchy, like half-popped popcorn. Could snack regularly on them. Also at Wanfujing. Also kosher.

Grilled Scorpion- A less tasty variation of the locust. The stinger was nice, but the body had a slightly liverish flavor. It failed to confer any mystical powers on me, either. Gotten at Wanfujing again.

Grilled “Diving Beetle”- Rather bitter, with too much husk/body ratio. A waxy, unpleasant nibble. Wanfujing night market.

(They have delicious chuan’r and other snacks at the night market, but the whole point of the trip was to eat bugs. That’s Beijing has a little feature here about a chef at a similar snack-street…)

Other Exotics-

Raw Urchin- Salty iodine flavors predominate. Like my friend Josiah said about Laphroaig Whisky: “The Floating Hospital.” Got one on the halfshell at the Oyster Bar a long time ago, and disliked it. I love urchin roe sushi, though.

Deep-fried Starfish- Unpleasant. A crunchy, gritty carapace surrounding a firm iodine paste. The one I ate had quite a bit of sand still in it, but that might be simply indigestible bits of the carapace. Also eaten at Wanfujing, on the merits of having an uneven number of legs greater than four.

Whole Grilled Baby Birds (or Sparrows?)- 马马虎虎 (“mama huhu”, aka mezza-mezza, nishkoshe). The preparation was lacking; simply grilled on a hot plate, and sprinkled with “Xinjiang” spices, mostly hot pepper and cumin. With finesse, it could be good, but as it was, it was simply unpleasantly rubbery and crunchy. Got these at a restaurant in the Quianmen neighborhood whose name escapes me. (The only endotherm on the list!)

I invite you all to top this list in the comments section.

Love and kisses,

Will

We were summoned yesterday to the Beijing Hotel, for to be extras on Transsiberian. The experience was eerily similar to acting for the DVD guys.

We got an email on Thursday, saying that we’d get a second email telling us when to show up. The second email, sent midnight Thursday, told us to get to the hotel by 9:30 the next day. Naturally, we didn’t get this email until 8 the next day, asking us to show up at the “Beijing Hotel, floor 18 conference room”, and to wear “casual clothing- sneakers and t-shirts.”.

The first problem, as you might imagine, is that there is more than one Beijing Hotel in Beijing. We emailed them back, and we got an address- “33 Chang Avenue”. Cross-Googling them, we divined that there was, in fact, a Beijing Hotel at “33 Xiang An Avenue”. Close enough- we ran down to the subway, hopped on a rush-hour train and found the place. Of course, when we arrived at the hotel, we got into the elevator only to discover there was no button for the 18th floor. So we went to the front desk.

“We’re looking for the movie set. We were told it was on the 18th floor.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t have an 18th floor.”

“We were told to go to the conference room on the 18th floor. We’re actors for the Brad Anderson film. Is it on another floor?”

“The conference room on the 18th floor is very forbidden.”

A-ha.

“We are actors, who were told to go there. Is there a way to get to the 18th floor?”

“I will have to call the director of conferences.”

Ellen gets the phone.

“Yes, we’re actors. We are supposed to go to the conference room on the 18th Floor. We are actors on the film. We are actors. Yes.”

“Go to the 17th floor. There are stairs.”

Thank God. We get back in the elevator, go up, climb a set of stairs, consult with a pair of Chinese conference-stooges who also try to turn us away at first. Finally, we find the film set, in an enormous dining room. A man in an immaculately wrinkled linen suit, hand-whittled owl glasses and a massive Beethoven haircut comes over to us. He’s the costumer.

“So, what have you brought?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where are your winter clothes?”

So Ellen sprints back to our place.

By the time Ellen gets back, the place is flooded with regular extras, three dozen or so 外国人, and a sprinkling of Chinese people, as well. I sat between a Sichuanese lady named Stella, and a Venezuelan woman named Estella. Estella was a white-haired woman in her 60′s and said she was an English teacher, which I found depressingly plausible, because of her near-pathological shyness and imperfect mastery of English. Stella was a businesswoman who lived in Australia full time, and had gotten into the movie for a kick.

We’re finally summoned from the side lounge into the dining room. It was an afternoon of toasting, and pretending to eat the withered food prepared by the props department. I had a nibble of hot-dog, two squares of fingerprint-laden chocolate, two boiled peanuts, and three slices of dried banana on the plate.

Brad Anderson seemed nice, but his affect was almost completely flat, not what I normally associate with a film director. Everyone was fried- the production had been going for 10 weeks, with the majority of shooting happening in Lithuania in freezing weather. Woody Harrelson, a nice-seeming female celebrity who I can’t identify off the top of my head (Emily Mortimer), and another character actor who was pulled in at the last minute, who I also can’t identify.

The whole production crew was Spanish. We sat next to the Assistant director and a guy who I assume was assistant-assistant producer, who gave us an especially hard time about being American in perfect, unaccented English. (“Celsius just makes sense! We PROTESTED after our 9/11! The Spanish got through killing people in our colonies 100 years ago!) Infuriatingly, he seemed to speak pretty good Chinese as well. Basically a good guy. We were seated, very considerately, right behind Woody, so that we would (most likely) show up in the scene. I wasn’t able, however, to get a shot of the famous guys.

We toyed with our food, made inane conversation, and shouted “Amen!” at certain moments.

I induced a possible continuity error by rolling up my sleeves- film nerds take note.

May holiday has arrived in Beijing, along with my girlfriend’s buddy Tim Krieder, and millions of Chinese tourists up from the provinces.

A strange flooding and abandonment happens around the national holidays, when all the migrant laborers and provincial professionals leave the city, causing an ear-popping drop in human pressure in the everyday places. A day or two later, the public spaces in Beijing are packed with tourists, fifty or sixty thousand deep.

I’d left Ellen and Tim to tour the Forbidden City on their own, but I’d promised to meet them for lunch- I knew a place nearby that served whole grilled sparrows (or baby chicks?). I walked down to my local subway stop and found a complete riot. Everyone was on the move, hauling luggage on and off the trains, packing them full, fighting with security guards, etc.

I had to let the first train go, and as it went, I noticed a pair of old ladies, nicely dressed, with rollie bags, standing on the edge of the platform. I stood next to them. They were looking over the edge onto the tracks. In all the bustle, they’d dropped a small bag of apples onto the tracks. Surely not.

Indeed. The older of the two women grabbed the hand of the younger, and with her help, lowered herself onto the tracks to get the apples. After all, they probably cost almost as much as the subway ticket, and you wouldn’t want 3 元 to go to waste, right?

I shouted “别的！” which is nonsense (~”Don’t of the!”), but which was all I could muster at the moment. I followed it up with “No!”. The security guard came running, but by the time he got there, she’d all ready gotten the apples together, and her friend and I dragged her back up onto the platform. I admit, I was a little rougher than necessary.

The security guard immediately began berating the women about the insane risk they just took. I couldn’t follow the language, but then I kept hearing the term ”电“ – electricity. The women responded by voiciferously asking for directions. This was 东四十条 station, wasn’t it? Which exit should they take? They wanted 东四十条 street. Why are you yelling at me? I just want to find the street. The train had just left- there wouldn’t be another one for a while!

I looked back down onto the pit. Unlike Boston or New York, I there was no third rail. I cocked my head, and looked along the length of the tracks. There it was, under the lip of the platform. She’d been standing on the third rail when I grabbed her arm, using it as a step.

This is actually the second time I’ve dragged someone off subway tracks. The first time was very frightening- I wrote about my experience here.

The guys over at the production company have been after me for another round.

I turned them down for this weekend; we’ve got a friend visiting from the US, although the thought of forcing him to come along with us, or even just making him act, occurred to me. They’re pretty desperate- they even sicced Da Yang, the white guy, on me. So if there are any stardom-seeking Amero-Beijingers out there, email me and I’ll hook you up.

The last round of DVD shooting was by far the most relaxing day I’ve yet spent in China. There were the usual confused logistics- it took them three tries to get us the script, they changed the meeting place an hour before we were due, etc. But the location they finally chose was on Tsinghua University campus, in as lovely a spot as exists in Beijing.

Rolling hills, actual grass, not to mention lilacs and forsythia! Little canals threaded through campus, past cute Chinese style buildings. Not really more lush than an average American playground(1), but practically jungle by Beijing standards. The groundskeepers must work overtime, scrubbing fingerprints off the trees.

The crew started setting up in a corner of this park, and immediately lost themselves in the usual anarchy. It was compounded in this case by the complexities of outdoor shooting- car alarms, curious passerby, and thieving magpies.

I had only two pages of script, this time, and profited from the chaos, relaxing on the grass and reading Tarzan of the Apes. I fell asleep at one point. As usual, we worked with a fairly gracious lady, and a jumpy, irritated guy, both college kids. To be fair, though, I was just as irritated as he was, the first time I worked for these guys. He’d done some acting back in the states, so unlike the previous losers, his objections were based in reality.

Of course, Ellen got stuck with four pages of nonsense, playing, as usual, the jerk. Can you guess which character she’s playing?

…

Christina: You just want to sit around and hang out? That sounds boring. Come on, let’s give each other manicures. Your nails look kind of bad. You could really use one.
Ashley: Well, I’m not so sure. I think manicures are a waste of time.
Christina: They’re not and you really need one. Just let me give you one and you’ll change your mind.
Ashley: You know what? (sigh) I’m not sure if I can come this weekend. How about this? I’ll call you when I figure out my schedule.

…

The hardest line I had was this-

…

Mark: Oh, that’s Guarav, he’s on the college debating team.

…

What it all amounted to was long nap in the park, a free lunch, and about a half-hour of work. I learned all about the rhythm method from my fellow American Man Actor, who was a devout Catholic. He pointed out an angle I hadn’t bothered to figure-

“It has a high failure rate because it’s really hard to keep your hands off each other.”

1) You can bet I felt like a rube taking Mandarin classes at Beijing Language and Culture University, whose campus is as seedy and decrepit as they come. This particular corner of Tsinghua reminded me strongly of Brandeis. Of course, the Chinese are delighted when you can draw those sorts of parallels.