T-Munny

Eat More Kitties - The China Chapter
2002-09-26 12:33:19 (UTC)

Taylor's School of Not-So-Fine Arts

So it seems word is out on the street that I’m a world-
class dancer. Lord only knows how this one got started,
considering the annoying little habit of falling on my face
I’ve picked up since being here (or since learning to
walk), but the next thing I knew students were banging down
my door asking if I could teach them ballet. I tried my
best to say “no,” but somehow it came out sounding more
like “well, OK, I guess I could show you a few steps on
Monday night.” Maybe I’m forgetting how to speak English?
Or maybe I’m just a wuss. And thus the entire living room
of my apartment came to be crammed full of uncoordinated,
stubby-legged, pumpkin-faced Chinese girls who all seem to
be suffering from inner-ear problems, or something along
those lines. Oh my dear friends, words cannot even come
close to describing the spectacle I was treated to on that
memorable evening. This whole no-English thing just keeps
getting better and better. I told them to turn their toes
out, they all pointed them in like a bunch of knock-kneed
ducks. I said to slowly raise their legs in front of them,
and then immediately was forced to dive to the side as they
all started high-kicking like a cheerleading squad that
rides the short bus to school. I ask them to “plee-ay”
gently to the floor (for you non-dancers out there, it’s
kind of like squatting with grace), and 2 girls split their
skirts wide open. Priceless. Absolutely priceless. Needless
to say, we’re having class again next week – I can hardly
wait to teach them to pirouette. And don’t worry, I fully
intend to have James and his trusty bike standing by to
transport students to the hospital as needed.

Dance Fever seems to have hit campus this week, because on
the very next morning after my phenomenal insulting of the
grand and dignified art of ballet I was asked by a student
(and I quote) if I could “teach them to dance like black
people in the street?” “Black people in the street, you
say? And how exactly do they dance?” “Oh you know, they
just stand around on the street jumping and dancing with
scarves on their heads– I’ve seen it on TV.” “Ah yes,
how silly of me to forget.” So apparently MTV has
succeeded in convincing the entire Chinese population that
all the black folk in America perpetually live one giant
music video. As tempting as it was for me to offer a
Taylor’s Black Street Dancing course on Tuesdays at 6:30,
I resisted and did my best to set the record straight. But
I fear it may be a lost cause.

Anyhow, since I’ve been having these marvelous injections
for my rabies-infested bloodstream, I haven’t been
permitted to drink tea, as it apparently counteracts the
vaccine. This has presented somewhat of a problem,
considering the fact that I’m living in CHINA. Not
drinking tea in China is like a fish not drinking water in
the ocean (and if any of you post a message saying that
fish don’t technically “drink” water, I’m not going to
bring you back any souvenirs). The worst came yesterday at
lunch when I accidentally ordered hot peppers with potato
instead of eggs with potato (stupid Chinese, it all sounds
like schizophrenic monkey-speak to me anyways) and then
took a great big bite without bothering to examine just
what I was biting into. Moronic, I know. So there I am,
practically purple in the face, jumping up and down at the
bewildered waitress trying to get her to bring me anything,
anything at all, to drink that was not tea. Naturally there
was nothing of the sort to be had, so I ended up just kind
of doing a run-by stealing of a neighboring table’s soup.
Somehow I suspect that the next time I walk down that
street there’ll be big posters of me with a no-smoking
sign circle around my face in all the restaurant windows.
Oh well.

Hmm, what else. Last night I was informed about 2 hours
beforehand that I had to give a speech to about 800
students on “how to learn English.” Of course I am the
worst person on the campus to select for this job since I
have no idea how to learn English as a second language, and
whoever came up with the brilliant plan of making me talk
ought to be beaten about the head with a large, blunt
object. So I went in there with absolutely nothing, and
came out with about as much. I started out trying to be all
serious – like I actually had something of worth to tell
them – but after about 5 minutes gave up and told them all
that basically the only way they were ever going to be able
to speak English as well as me was to try to be born in the
United States in their next life. And even then, no
guarantees. After that confession I rather enjoyed myself,
and I’m positive I taught the English Department a
valuable lesson on commissioning American college students
at the last minute for important lectures. I ended up
turning the whole meeting into a kind of game show
(complete with contestants running down the aisles and a
Chinese Vanna White) and wrapped up the evening with a
moving rendition of Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” by
request. The expression on the Dean’s face was truly a
beautiful thing to behold.

Oh, and yet another first. I was asked for a lock of my
hair by one of my students. Personally, I find the notion
of collecting any human hair (yes, even Brad Pitt’s) to be
perfectly revolting, and so I had to ask the poor boy why
exactly he requested it in order to make sure I wasn’t
encouraging some deranged lunatic in a body-hair fetish or
something. But it turns out he wanted to mail it home to
his parents, since they have never seen hair in such lovely
tones as my own. I figured it couldn’t really hurt to
humor him, and as soon as I handed over a few loose strands
from my rubberband his eyes grew round (well, as round as
they could) and he informed me that he and his family would
treasure them always, before blushing furiously and dashing
off. Great. So now my hairs are going to be passed down
like some kind of family heirloom for generations to come.
These people are so strange.

OK, I guess that’s about it for the time being. Tomorrow
night I’m going to a conference of “Language Experts”
for the Jiangsu Province in Nanjing (for some inane reason
my school has elected me as their representative for this
little gathering), so that should be interesting. But as
long as I manage to keep my feet beneath me (as opposed to
flailing about above my head as I careen headlong into
Mother Earth) and they serve something chocolate, I won’t
complain. Later, kids.




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