I’m currently at the Jinjiang hotel in Chengdu. As you all know, I had a blast the last time I was here. Chengdu is truly a magical place, with delicious (and cheap!) Sichuan food and, more importantly, the cutest girls in the entire world. Alas, since I’m only in town for a little less than two days, I’ve spent most of my non-work time couped up in my room, trying to get the homeys back in Shanghai to join me in a one-week romp through Sichuan province sometime before one of us gets married.

Still, there are sights to be seen here in a limited amount of time. I went to a bar/club called MGM last night, where I had camped out a handful of times my last trip out here. I’ve been in touch with one of the bartenders through e-mail, and I went to go drop by and say hi. I wasn’t having the greatest of days, so the loud music on stage was really annoying me, and I didn’t really want to expend too much energy to be charming, so she and I started doodling on her little notepad. I started showing off that I could write in Chinese, except it took me a long time to write a single character, and it was pretty ugly to boot. I was a much better drawer, I told her, and so she asked me to show her my talents. I then proceeded to draw the only thing I’m really good at it, which is a series of flying penises (penii?). “The Flight of the Magic Penii” really put me on the map with the modern art crowd back at Berkeley, so I was pretty sure this bartender in Chengdu would be really impressed. I even autographed it before I gave it back to her.

Unfortunately, she got really offended and said I was rude to give her something like that. WTF? What gives her the right to lambast my art like that? I was a little taken aback, but after a few moments of thoughtfulness (and a few swigs of my beer), I concluded that this was another one of those instances where two people just couldn’t bridge the cultural divide. As I left the bar and headed back to the hotel, I made it my mission that the next time I come to Chengdu, I’ll make sure I enlighten her on the more sophisticated points of fine art (Clint, may need your help here).

Walking towards the elevator at the hotel, I came across an older, heavyset Chinese man fumbling for his room key. The way he was stumbling around told me that he had much more to drink that I had. Clinging to him was a girl no older than 20, face caked with make-up. Seeing old, unattractive men with beautiful, scantily-clad girls is not an uncommon sight at hotels in China, even at 5-star ones. I once had a Sunday buffet at the Four Seasons in Shanghai, and sitting in the corner were two white-haired American gentlemen with girls a third of their age, dressed in what can be best described as the exact opposite of what people usually wear at the Four Seasons.

Perhaps it was the whole episode with the penises, or the beers, but I felt compelled to add my commentary to the situation. So I tapped him on the shoulder and said: “You have a beautiful granddaughter.” Then I stepped out of the elevator and saw them both with a look of utter discomfort as the doors closed on them.

Then I went back to my room and brushed my teeth, wondering this whole time if my granddaughter was ever going to turn out that hot. What a lucky granddad. Chengdu really is a magical place.