sushipanda

After two continents, three airplanes, two stop-overs, two delays, and too many hours of hung-over travel, I finally arrived back in my home country, tired and in much need of a shower. However, my home country is quite a large one, and for my first Christmas with my family back in the States in 3 hours, it’ll be odd to be spending it in their new house in Las Vegas, home of faux grandeur and luxuries that, on my current salary, I can no longer afford.

Still, America is truly the land of the beautiful, and in my 24 hours here in Nevada I’ve already had several Christmas moments for which I’m very thankful. Ranking a close second behind, of course, seeing my family again, happened just a few hours ago when my mom and brother Andrew and I took a trip out to Vons supermarket for some last minute Christmas Eve dinner shopping. Holiday dinners is one of the few opportunities I have to prepare my special dish, mashed potatoes. After going around the aisles a few times, I finally came up on the packet of instant potatoes and powdered gravy. Having done my shopping, I ambled over to the alcohol section, where my wandering gaze landed upon (cue chorus to “Hallelujah”) the four-pack of Boddington’s Pub Ale. I immediately cradled the cans in my arms and quietly sang to them: “Hush little babies, don’t say a word; papa’s gonna drink you till he has to turd.” Then I ran to my mom by the shopping cart, and like all grown men do, screamed out: “Mommy, mommy, can I buy this for Christmas, mommy?” Since a single can cost $3USD back in Shanghai and Vons was selling these babies for $5 for 4, I knew my Christmas wish had been answered.

So here I am, about to have Christmas dinner, with four Boddingtons in the fridge and plenty of fat cells about to enter my system and hibernate there for the next 40 years. I’m looking forward to watching the Lakers/Heat game tomorrow and drinking that 18 year bottle of cognac that my dad is going to use to get me to speak truthfully about my life in Shanghai. I hope all of you out there are enjoying your Christmas just as much as I am about to, and to all those still in Shanghai dealing with the scrotum-shrinking cold, I have this traditional Christmas greeting for you:

Last Thursday, one of the industrial engineers at Intel collapsed on the shuttle bus ride back home. He was rushed to the nearest hospital, but tragically passed away that night for reasons that are still unknown to most of us in the company. His name was Tony, and he was a good-looking kid, probably about the same age as myself. I had never actually talked to him, but I saw him around and knew that he had a reputation as a really stand-up, generally nice kind of guy.

I walked into work on Friday without knowing what happened, but I knew something was wrong when I saw our department’s administrative assistant being escorted into her cubicle, looking completely ashen. When I circled back 10 minutes later, there were about four other finance folks huddled around her, and I could hear her violently sobbing. Then, they all walked her back out of the area and presumably into a cab back home.

Later in the afternoon, as the details started passing through hallways through whispered conversations and instant messages, we all soon learned that Tony and our admin had been dating under the radar for three months. She’s a really nice girl, really accomodating, and a few weeks ago I noticed that she had described her mood on MSN messenger as being in a state of “unprecedented bliss.” Knowing now what she was referring to, it makes the memory of her standing there sobbing all the more painful.

I never got to know Tony, but the past three days in my brain I’ve been constantly thinking about how utterly painful this must be for his girlfriend and particularly his family. The century-old Chinese preference for first born sons coupled with the one-child policy makes a sudden death like this a double-dose of grief for the parents. Yesterday morning, I woke up and got online and, perhaps because there’s a voyeuristic part of all of us, checked out our admin’s blog to see if she had written anything in the past 32 hours since she found out her boyfriend passed away. I was met with a torrent of grief in the form of two sorrowful, stream of consciousness journal entries dedicated to her lost boyfriend. Part catalogue of their many “firsts” together, part collection of pleas for him to return, I could not help but appreciate the magnitude of his sudden departure on those who had so much invested in this single life.

Yesterday, Kira organized a massive dinner gathering at Shikumen Bistro because, as she later put it, despite the ubiquitous Christmas decoration and music at all the popular meeting spots, it is exceedingly difficult to encounter genuine Christmas spirit in this town. There were over 70 people gathered on the top floor of the beautiful building on a very frigid December night, but palpable was the warmth of friendship and contentment. I sat at a table with some of my closest friends from Shanghai and even before, making light jokes about bird flu and Tal’s Judaism. Kira came by and pleaded with us to be good sports and to participate in the Christmas carol sing-a-long that was to come. Bing Crosby and other performances of classic Christmas songs played in the background. Mike thought Louis Armstrong’s rendition of “A Christmas Song” was actually Sammy Davis Jr.; this incited Tal to remind us all that Sammy Davis Jr. was a Jew. Mike took the opportunity to pass the buck and told us all that the previous day, Lucy had mentioned that it was Lance Armstrong who first stepped foot onto the moon.

Toward the end of the evening, after standing for the carol-a-long and with the goodness of beer swirling in my stomach, I soaked up the music and the merriment and my thoughts drifted back to Tony, his family, and the young girl who had pleaded so desperately in her journal for him to somehow find his way back to her. In a moment of selfishness, I allowed myself to think: “Damn! I am so lucky.” Surrounded by the kind of joy that should really be accessible more than just a few times a year, I tried to let myself soak in it for as long as possible, to remember the feeling of, though it be precedented, unfettered bliss. The world continues to move forward through life and death, and through grief and love, and yet the poetry that is the comfort of friendship flows throughout the cycles of our memories. Last night, the traditional utterances of gratitude, appreciation, and faith did not fall on these indifferent ears. Damn! I am truly so lucky, to be alive and (relatively) healthy and in the physical and metaphysical presence of all those that I love and who love me in return. Ironically, it took a freezing Christmas gathering in Shanghai for me to feel that true Christmas spirit in a very, very long time.

My heart aches for those that have been lost and those who may be lost because of it; Tony’s passing is a stark reminder to me that the truly precious moments come, but never go. Hopefully, moments of Christmas peace and love, like the one below, live on forever in the right places.

Kira and her man at South Beauty after the Christmas party

Kira was gracious enough to throw a great big Christmas party at Shikumen Bistro at Xintiandi. After an exhausting week, month, and year, it was great to actually witness some genuine holiday cheer with great friends. Tina being back in town was like the Christmas star at the top of the tree.

It’s 5:34 am on this Thursday morning, and I’ve got one burning question that has plagued me for the past three hours:

“Does Bailey’s Irish Cream have caffeine in it?”

You’d think that I would know, having insanely dropped $600 for a two week bartending class in San Francisco way back in ‘03, but I honestly didn’t know, and am beginning to believe that it’s true now that I’ve finally given up getting any sleep since hitting the bed at 2 am. As I get ready for work, I’m recounting the whole evening (steak and brownie dinner with Meg and Chace and Luce at Backyard, Peter and the flight attendants at Zapata’s, and then an empty DKD with same crowd and lots of Bailey’s) and wondering: why am I so stupid? Now I have a zombie-like morning full of meetings and presentations to look forward to, and to top it all off Coco got totally wasted and came over half an hour ago and is snoring comfortably away next to my stuffed panda bears. Looking at her restful face and knowing that she’s got hours and hours of heated comfort ahead of her in my bed, I can only smile lovingly down upon her and say out loud: “you lucky bitch.”

There are good cultural imports here in Shanghai, like Hooters, jazz music, and Heineken.

There are also slightly annoying cultural imports, like Burger King, American Idol, and Buicks.

Then there are the heinous: Walmart, Michael Bolton, and the preponderance of horoscopes amongst the young women of this thriving metropolis.

Nowhere else have I been where the ladies will actually ask the guys first: “What’s your sign?” This firm belief in the convolutions of astrology is akin to opium delivered in tightly wrapped Hello Kitty packages. Why do people buy into this bunk? I have personally witnessed girls literally go through an entire romance, from birth through death, in the span of 10 minutes. Below is an excerpt from an actual conversation I had with Selina, Shanghainese girl extraordinaire:

Selina: He’s a Leo, which means that he’s patriarchal, attention-grabbing, and charming at all times. I will be lured by his cockiness, and at first he’ll make sure I’m well taken care of. But then, he’ll start constricting my freedoms, telling me that how to match my socks with my outfits. I’ll eventually become suffocated, and will start sleeping with that Aquarius from my yoga class, who will be too focused on himself to really pay too much attention to me. Then, we’ll get in a huge fight because a Leo and a Pisces like myself are destined to not get along, and then I’ll leave him but still love him, because Pisces find it impossible to move on. Then I’ll get hooked on this this bootlegged DVD set of “Desperate Housewives” and gain 5 kilos from eating too many peanut butter smoothies. George Bush doesn’t care about black people.

Some girls are even nuttier; they’ll add in all these different ingredients into the astrological stew. What’s a guy like if he’s born toward the tail end of Scorpio, has a blood type of AB, was born in the year of the mouse, and has a huge lightning-shaped scar on his forehead? Well, any well respected Chinese astrology book will tell you that his name is Phil and he masturbates with his left hand, watches “The View” but never admits it, calls himself a liberal but always votes Republican, and has never really understood what was so funny about “Seinfeld.”

Frankly, I’m more of a believer that your upbringing as influenced by your family, your social network, and personal humiliation is a much greater determinant of how you are as a human being than you what your astrological sign in. However, it’s hard to convince the mass population of new, hip Chinese girls otherwise. As true believers, they really do predicate a lot of their judgments about people based off of this garbage, and as a result I’ve had to work super hard to convey an image of myself that runs contrary to the negative qualities tied to my sign. Of course, as a Leo, I’m insanely stubborn and prideful, which is why I wear a banner around my neck at all times that says “Don’t trust the heavens, Leos really do have grotesquely huge penises!”

After the previously mentioned tumult of the past month, all of us breathed a collective sigh of relief as this past weekend approached, and we all swore that we would not be doing any sort of “going-out.” Old habits are hard to kill, however, and so I compromised yesterday as I was shopping at Carrefour with Gao Xin and decided to have people over to my house for dinner and after-dinner entertainment. Of course, dinner was NOT to be cooked by me, and Julia can tell you after that time in San Francisco when I invited her over to dinner, and then made her cook for me. No no, the meal would be delivered by my 2nd, interim a-yi, who is a competent cook and needed attention, wheretofore the gang came in from the frigid December air and indulged in the rare, home-cooked Chinese meal in Shanghai.

I may not have cooked anything, but I did buy the groceries

After dinner, I could tell that the vibe was restless, so we tried our best at a Guandii impersonation by using Eddy’s generous donation of Johnny Walker. Some of us departed to partake in some goodness inhalation, and before you knew it there were a dozen people sprawled across my living room, stuffing their faces in chips and enjoying the Family Guy. Though we had tried so hard to move toward the distant landscape of healthiness by not going out, in the end I realized it’s not really where you are, but how fucked up you are in the head to not be able to survive a normal weekend without excess.

The only point in the evening when neither of them were convulsing in smoky laughter

Julie’s replacement pedal crank fell out last week when I was riding her home on Monday. As much as I hated doing it, I had no choice but to contemplate putting her down and getting a new bike. Still, she has a good frame and a basket to die for, and the two of us have been through too many adventures together fighting evil in Shanghai that I knew I had no choice but to keep finding ways to make her whole again. Hence…

“Mirror! Mirror!”

Now that the new crank is officially welded on, I feel that I can sleep much better at night. But as I rode to the gym for the first time today, I started wondering (please prepare for a rare dip into the metaphorical here): wouldn’t it be great if people with damaged souls could find a Chinese fixer-upper to weld their wounds together as well?

Lately, I’ve been grappling with my own issue of personal duality: how to be a nice and unselfish male in Shanghai? The frustrating part is that every time I try to think selflessly, to put someone else in front of me, I get called selfish because I’m not man enough to go for what I want. I remember my first few months in Shanghai when I abidingly remained in my spot in the line when scores were cutting in front of me trying to buy subway tickets. I thought. “Eric, it’s important to be a role-model here.” Now, after throwing down many a grandma who tried to squeeze her way in front of at McDonald’s, I’m wondering why, in this society where everyone is looking out for #1, that in some aspects I’m still waiting in line, thinking I’m doing the right thing for everyone involved.

It’s hard to be self reflexive in a city that is moving so fast and furiously around you, swallowing you up in both delusions and illusions of what you are capable and deserving of. Living like kings, men here move through emotions as if they had an short expiration date. In all the chaos and confusion, it’s not surprising that inadvertently, a piece or two can fall off. And not all of us are made like bicycles, where a spare heart and a trusty Chinese welder can repair anything.

While hardly a real witch, I’m breathing a bit easier now that Steve’s ass is parked on a plane headed back to San Francisco. Don’t get me wrong, as usual I had a blast with my brother in arms, but the time between Halloween and today should rank as one of the unhealthiest chapters of my life, right up there with that time I joined the Mormon Church back in high school. I don’t know how much weight I gained back from what I lost in October, but I can feel it all over. I’ve been so tired and feeble at work that I haven’t even left my cube to hit on any engineers, male or femaile, in over four weeks.

Not to say it wasn’t fun. I met a lot of new friends, and it was fun being the seen as the guru of Shanghai entertainment, even though my portfolio contains Guandii was the only mentionable destination. I think it’s fitting that as this stretch inched towards the finish line the past few days, Shanghai was hit with a blast of cold that just about destroyed my plans to go to work naked on Monday. I take it as a signal that it’s time to start getting back to the important things in life, a la career, health, and consuming some of the massive DVD backlog that is piled up in my room. And of course, nurturing Sushipanda.com back to health.

My Resevoir Dog Moment, though a bit more harmless: walkingon the Bund

That being said, I may have to hold off on the whole losing weight thing again, as in a few weeks I’ll be back in the States for the holiday season. That’s right, live NFL football games and burritos beckon! I guess when I get back to Shanghai, I’ll have a lot more New Year’s resolutions for me to ignore this time.

Lots of guests in town for Thanksgiving, so we gave a big fat middle finger to bird flu and indulged in duck and turkey. My third Thanksgiving away from the US was made warmer by the abundance of great food, great friends, and many a drink

What do you call the confluence of the Mike’s marathon birthday celebration, Steve Xu’s return to the motherland, Wil’s 2nd visit to China, and a Thanksgiving murder mystery dinner? A turkey of a blog, since there has been almost absolutely no time for me to sit down and try to be clever for this site.

The end is almost here, though. Wil’s leaving tomorrow, and although he *gasp* didn’t show any interest in buying DVDs, he did seem to enjoy doing the standard Shanghai tourist fare: eat lots of food, drink lots of booze, and buy lots of fake clothes. Steve will be here until next Thursday, which probably means a few more sleepless nights and lots of coffee at work. I need to steel myself, which is why I’ve stuck two AA batteries up my ass instead of the usual one I have up there for kicks.

I knew November was going to be tough, but didn’t know it was going to be this rough on both the mind and body. Still, I am thankful for all this action and activity and even hubris that has been circling around my life the past few weeks, and in that spirit of giving thanks, I’d like to share with you all a picture of my Thanksgiving day meal at Shanghai Uncle. Since all the Western joints in town were gleefully fleecing the American expat population with 300-400 RMB turkey dinners, I and my other cheapskate friends tried to go Chinese style with our bird: crispy duck stuffed with glutinous rice instead of turkey with stuffing.

Bird Flu Much?