Binge Eating

I suspect you are like me. There are certain foods that, once you start eating, you can’t stop. The old Pringles mantra comes to mind: “Once you pop, the fun don’t stop” (ironically enough I don’t really enjoy Pringles). In the spirit of binge eating, I humbly present my top ten foods that I simply cannot have 1 reasonable serving of.

10. Dumplings

Seriously. Can you eat just like 6 dumplings? Is that even possible? I treat them more like potato chips and just keep going.

9. Sushi

This is why any sushi that isn’t all you can eat is a bad (and expensive) idea. I mean who the fuck is full after 6 pieces of sushi?

8. Peanut Butter

Yeah I know. Gross. But I fucking love peanut butter. Me, a movie, a jar of peanut butter, and a spoon. Good times had by all.

7. Potato Chips

Have you ever started a large bag of chips and not finished it? Yeah, me neither.

6. Chicken Nuggets

McDonalds, is that a joke? 6 piece nuggets is a meal? That would have fed me when I was 3 years old. I once ate 40. They are delicious.

5. Fried Chicken

Yeah, I’m the asshole who orders the bucket. For me. No sharing. I don’t care if I pass out from a food coma right after. Those 12 pieces of chicken were worth it.

4. Bacon

            Do I really need to explain this one?

3. Popcorn

“Hey, I’ll share this popcorn with everyone and make it last the whole movie!” Fuck. No. My large popcorn is gone by the end of the previews.

2. Anything on the McDonalds value meal

McDouble. McChicken (or junior chicken if you’re Canadian). 4 piece nugget. Nothing is better than taking 15 bucks and mixing and matching. The haul is better than trick or treating.

1. Pizza

Nothing tops Pizza. I can’t share pizza. I can’t save Pizza. I have to eat it all. It’s the only way. 

Update

I guess it's been a little while since I last posted. My new year in Thailand was amazing, thanks mainly to some great friends and the warm weather. I would recommend to everybody to make the pilgrimage to Thailand at some point. The people are friendly, the food is awesome, the weather is warm, the parties are crazy, the beaches are white, and the water is clear. Is there anything more one could ask for? I think I'll post pictures at some point as well.

Because I live in China, I got to experience a second new year as well. The Chinese new year is the biggest holiday here, by far, and it was a lot of fun. Well, by fun I mean that it seemed like every man, woman, and child in Wuhan was involved in a city wide competition to see who could set off the most firecrackers and fireworks. Chinese legend (so my students tell me) has it that there is a monster that appears at the end of each year, and that the sound of the firecrackers scares it away. The result was that it sounded like I was in a war zone. Also, they obviously don't have any sort of firework safety restrictions, so it was commonplace to see fireworks launched from the side of the road or sometimes even out of windows. New years eve was amazing in that there were fireworks lighting up the sky from multiple directions, which was really cool to see.

Other than that, my life has been pretty mundane. I'm currently busy with applying to graduate school and applying for jobs (I'll decide later which of the two I want to do) for the fall, so cross your fingers. We are nearing the end of our term, so I have to make sure the kids are prepared for finals (they are because I'm an awesome teacher). I finally bought an iPod and registered at the gym. All in all my life now consists of a pretty smooth routine.

The only question now is when to break it.

A Day In My LIfe, Part IV

Part IV

Making Moves

I think it’s safe to say that human beings crave routine. Routine means certainty, and certainty seems to be something we as a species value dearly. But what if you don’t like your routine? What if the only certainty available to you does not fulfill your hopes and dreams? This is essentially the key question. We have to balance our love of certainty, our fear of the unknown, with how much we are willing to risk in order to pursue our dreams.

I hop on the bus to Aston 1. Aston English Schools is my employer, and has four campuses throughout Wuhan, referred to as Astons 1, 2, 3, and 4. Kids come there after their regular school hours for extra English lessons. This is the reason I teach mainly weekends.

Aston 1 is where I spend most of my time. Friday afternoon is when the Aston classes start, and I have class at four. The bus from DFH takes about ten minutes or so, which gives me about an hour to have some food and go over my upcoming lessons. The bus is packed, as always. The usual stares. A blind man gets on the bus. No one stands up to offer him a seat. This is standard practice in China. Although it annoys me, I don’t think it’s fair to criticize them for this. It’s simply a cultural thing.

Eat street. Or at least that’s what we call it. My favorite place. I wave at the lady making wraps. Not today, I say to myself, but she returns my smile nonetheless. I’m in the mood for some ma la tang, which I think literally translates to numb hot soup. It’s essentially a spicy noodle soup, except you pick your own ingredients. And there are a lot of them. The guy knows my order by now. Very meat heavy compared to the average Chinese order, and therefore relatively expensive. $1.50 well spent. Next I go to a small coffee shop on the same street. The lady working there remembers me as well, because of both my size and my order. Coffee, black, no cream or sugar. A decidedly un-Chinese coffee.

I’ve retreated to the teacher’s lounge (lounge is a bit strong of a word) and am enjoying my food. The other foreign teachers working Aston 1 today are also here, and the usual banter ensues. Some of our Chinese assistants, all young women (hooray!), are also present, and the room is alive with chatter. I look down at my watch. Only 5 minutes until my C3 class. Yoyo, my assistant for this particular class, tells me it’s time. “Bu yao shang ke,” I reply, which means, “I don’t want class to start.” Nevertheless I gather my things and follow Yoyo down to classroom A2, ready to impart wisdom.

Day In My Life, Part III

Part III

Belly of the Beast

Children love at the drop of a hat. It is by far their most beautiful quality. They aren’t skeptical, or wary. They recognize that love should be given to a person who brings them joy. It is the only condition they know, and really, it is the only condition that matters.

Class is 40 minutes long. I spend most of these simply saying words aloud and having the kids repeat them. Anytime I involve any students in what, for China, would be considered an “unusual” classroom activity (i.e. getting them to stand, play games, etc.), their excitement level immediately spikes. Today’s game is no different. Almost all of the students are standing and yelling so that I may call on them. I oblige most of them, and by the time I’ve done that class is over. On my way out they follow me all the way to the school entrance, some giving hugs, some demanding high fives. I wave one last time and then walk home. It’s 9:20.

My next class isn’t until 11:30, which gives me some time to eat and have more caffeine. I make some coffee and some eggs, and then sit down in front of my computer to check my email. I lose track of time, and then realize it is now quarter to eleven. The bus only takes about half an hour to get to DFH, the other Chinese primary school I teach at, but I enjoy getting there early and catching the kids during recess. Recently I’ve been trying to teach a group of boys how to play basketball during this time, but this invariably degenerates into me running around and playing with half of the school’s student body. I don’t mind though. It’s not every day you get to make a lot of people happy.

As a student, you try to convince yourself that teachers are impartial arbiters of academia, simply there to preside over and guide the fair and equal education of all. Shockingly, I have learned that in my case this hypothesis does not hold. I have favorite classes, and I have hated classes. Some students I would consider adopting, some I want to fail just out of spite. In a sense I have come to admire my former teachers for their ability to even make it somewhat believable that they didn’t have favorites. It is fucking hard.

            Luckily for me, the two 3^rd grade classes I teach at this particular school are my favorites, and I am filled with energy. We play games, we laugh, we sing. This lesson is based on ‘I can (verb), I can’t (verb).’ The smart kids get it immediately, and the dumber kids follow their lead. Soon they are one-upping each other with ridiculous things they claim to be able to do, and everybody is in stitches. One boy claims to be able to stand on his head. I decide to call him on it. I march him to the front of the class, and demand that he stand on his head. He gets really quiet and mumbles something in Chinese. He looks embarrassed. I then grab him by the ankles and hold him upside down, with his head barely touching the ground. I express astonishment that he can indeed stand on his head. He roars with laughter, and the other students right along with him. Even the stern Chinese teacher helping me breaks into a smile, then a giggle. As soon as I put him down, everyone else wants a turn. I tell them later. They reluctantly sit down, but they are still beaming. This is when I love the job. This part is fun. 

Day In My Life, Part II

Part II

The Hamster

Complete mastery of a language is nigh impossible. Complete mastery is not simply the correct and unerring use of the words and rules of a specific language (shit, spell-check can do that). I have taken a couple of books from my dad’s very snobbish library (although he is actually smart enough to justify such a collection) and started reading them. Mostly I have been engrossed by the short stories of William Faulkner. His command of the English language is breathtaking. He is concise yet eloquent, the ultimate balance in written English. In a sense calling myself an English teacher after reading Faulkner seems inappropriate. Teaching English to Chinese people is simply teaching them how to communicate with someone who speaks English on that person’s terms. It is at its core a convoluted exercise in translation. That is not language. The English language is properly presented on Faulkner’s pages, and its beauty is as important as its meaning. It cannot be translated.

My first class is at a primary school a mere 15-minutes walking from my apartment. After picking up a couple of dumplings, I accelerate to a brisk pace. The cool air is refreshing. The caffeine is starting to kick in, and now I am truly awake. I pass by a succession of small shops selling hot noodles for breakfast. What looks to be the Chinese middle class is clustered around these shops getting bowls of re gan mian, a local noodle specialty. As I arrive at the entrance to the school, the parents and their kids stare. Just another day in China.

Instead of a bell, this school plays an instrumental version of Elton John’s Can You Feel the Love Tonight over the loudspeakers to signal the start of class. This particular class consists of 40 or so first graders. As soon as that tune begins, they scamper to class and start jockeying for seats in exactly the manner you would expect of a first grader. Their Chinese teacher, who assists me when she is not busy on her cell phone, lectures them in a stern voice. Their attention however isn’t with her anymore. They have spotted me lingering outside, waiting for the Chinese teacher to finish her morning duties, and are now pointing and craning to get a better look at the foreign Gulliver. They are all smiling. I can’t help it either. I smirk back at them, then make a funny face outside the window. They roar with laughter. Some of them yell “Hi Seb!” as I poke my head through the door. The Chinese teacher has finished her announcements, and is beckoning for me to come in. Enter stage left.

Being welcomed by first graders is a unique feeling. There is no pretense. There is no formality. There is no courtesy. There is only honesty. I can see their happiness, their excitement. Their smiles, their laughter, their bodies bouncing up and down. All of it is palpable. I love them for that. I greet them with “Good morning, how are you”, and they reply in unison “I’m fine how are you?”, their voices briefly subdued by the rigidity of this exchange they have been forced to memorize. Class begins. Of course they have forgotten everything. But the Hamster runs on.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

This may come as a shock to some of you, but Christmas isn't a really big deal in China. Who knew. You don't really see any sort of decorations out, and the only times you hear christmas songs are when you are in a grocery store that tries to create a more western atmosphere. Despite all of this, the other teachers and I forged ahead with Christmas. We bought a tree, decorated the apartment, and did secret santa. At school we had a christmas party, and I had the honor of playing Santa himself. It was a blast and the kids loved it. It was the first Christmas away from home, which was a bit weird, but we made up for it by having a big Christmas party at our apartment on the 25th. Now, I am off to Thailand for a week to enjoy some warm weather and usher in the new year. My new year's resolution is, as it has always been, to be a better person than I was last year. I hope you all had a merry Christmas, and I wish you all a happy new year.

Part I, A Day In the Life

A Day In the Life

My fellow teacher Joel kind of gave me this idea. For one of his advanced students he wrote a short piece detailing one of his days. I read it and thought maybe I would give it a shot. I will write it in multiple installments (just because of how long-winded and full of myself I am) and we’ll see how it goes.

 Part I

The Phoenix

I don’t have a real alarm clock. I use the $30 cell phone I purchased on my second day in Wuhan, China, and the alarm is uninspiring. As it goes off, the only signal my brain sends my body is that it wants more sleep. Painfully, I ignore its pleas and open my eyes. It’s Friday morning.

For most people, or at least the ones I know, Friday mornings are the beginning to the last workday of the week, a prelude to the weekend. Not for me. Friday is my Monday. I am in China.

The air around me is freezing cold. Our apartment somehow manages stay below the outside temperature at all times. It defies what limited knowledge I have of physics. In my room, I can see my breath. I exhale, inhale, repeat. The irony is that though I’ve lived in Canada, I am for the first time in my life bothered by the cold. Cold air is one of the least appealing things to wake up to, and this morning is no exception.

I am wearing sweatpants, two layers of sweaters, and double socks. I leave my bedroom, fueled by my desire for a hot cup of coffee. 5 minutes later, a boiling cup of instant Maxwell House Coffee is keeping my hands warm is I step into the bathroom. The tile floor is still wet from showers from the day before. Chilly temperatures make for a poor drying environment. As I prepare for my shower, I dread the feeling of my bare feet on the cold tile. I do not turn the shower on in advance, because that would waste our hot water supply. When I am ready, I hop into the hot shower, my sanctuary from the cold. My body wants to stay forever. My internal clock turns on and says the hot water will last for another 7 minutes.

27 minutes later. I am clean, dressed, and caffeinated. Ready to face the day. Did I forget anything? I look around the living room. Beginner, Intermediate, and Advanced English textbooks litter the room. I pick up the ones I need for today. Mostly beginner classes all day, then my most advanced class from 7-9. The extra 15 minutes I decided to sleep have cost me my breakfast, so I know I have to hurry if I want to grab some dumplings from the cart across the street. One more mental double-check. Left shoe on. Right shoe. I open the door. My weekend is over.