Tiger Leaping Gorge

All of the other people in my minibus to the gorge were Chinese. A middle-aged couple from Hong Kong translated a few things for me and we chatted. They introduced themselves as Eric and Pansy. Three other lone travelers invited me to join them on the lunch break, which saved me from having to order in Chinese, and from sitting alone at one of the 8-person tables. The "menu" at the restaurant was a cluster of plastic bins laid out on the floor in front of the kitchen containing various vegetables, meats, and other ingredients. One had live grasshoppers, which made the other two women cringe and brush at their arms. In another swam small, snake-like fish. When the food came I tried to imitate the Chinese way of eating: rice bowl in left hand, chopsticks in right, pulling morsels one at a time from the communal dishes and coating them with rice before popping them into my mouth.

The drive through the gorge was unbelievably bumpy, with no guard rails. The views were beautiful if you happened to be on the right side of the minibus, which I was. At the middle rapids site we gathered around our guide with groups from numerous other minibuses. The guide was a Naxi with a mullet that was bleached from the neck down. He wore a sleeveless Nike shirt and had an even row of round scars down his arm that looked like cigarette burns.

I was the only foreigner in this group, too, and a guy about my age asked whether I was alone, and whether I'd like some company. His English name was Andy, and he'd gone to university in Dublin before returning to China in 2004. He said this was probably the first English conversation he'd had since then. He ran a sort of environmental consulting company in Shaanxi province, and he and his wife were on their honeymoon. As our group walked down the gorge we chatted a little about the US election. My impression from watching CCTV International was that the Chinese didn't much care who won, and Andy said that was probably the case. No one in China ever asked me which candidate I favored. They asked, instead, who I would win, which might have been a polite version way of asking my preference. With just weeks before the election, Obama had a double-digit lead, and it didn't seem like special American insight was needed to predict the race's outcome. But it's also possible that people simply weren't paying much attention to election news.

At the bottom of the steep path the group took pictures of the gorge and the rapids, and of each other with the gorge and the rapids, and took a break in the tiny hut that sold drinks and snacks such as cucumbers. Then it was time to go back up.

I think the most impressive wildlife I saw in Yunnan were large, green, striped spiders that build massive webs. They seem to live in colonies of parallel webs. I stopped to admire a few on the way up.

Andy asked whether I liked movies. His English had an occasional Irish inflection. He said he liked Braveheart and Mel Gibson. I had nothing good to say about Braveheart or Mel Gibson, so I said nothing at all, except "freedom!" Andy had been an extra in a film called America, in a New York scene that was filmed in Dublin.

At the top we rested and exchanged email addresses. Andy and his wife were on a Shangri-la-bound tour, while I was headed back to Lijiang.

That evening I wandered around the town some more. It's hard to avoid wandering around in the Old Town, since even with a map it's a confusing maze. On the main streets things look familiar even when they're not: a clothes shop, a cheap trinkets shop, a shoe shop, a clothes shop, a tourist reception center. Away from the main streets it's hotel, Naxi guesthouse, hotel.

But I found Lijiang fascinating, in part because of its tourist mobs. The clothes shops mostly had a hippie aesthetic that I hadn't seen in either the local culture or in other Chinese cities. Many of the shops sold cowboy hats, and I saw some of the Han tourists wearing them. I even saw a few turquoise-and-silver earrings.

And yet... old Naxi women still walk around in their traditional blue clothes with T-shaped capes, and young Naxi women do laundry at the edges of the canals. One evening I walked to the edge of the Old Town to find a field where a woman was irrigating with a long-handled ladle. It's a strange place.

Belted

Yesterday I finally got my black belt. It's hard to take myself too seriously as a result when the test group consisted of me and one other 20-something woman and about a dozen elementary schoolers. Perhaps the hardest part of the test was sparring, in which teenagers kicked my ass in front of an audience of proud, photo-happy parents. But as someone who's been pretty terrible at every sport I've ever tried (with the possible exception of cross-country, at which I was merely mediocre), it's nice to have affirmation that four years of physical training has yielded measurable results.

Afterward I celebrated by hosting a dinner-and-a-movie get-together at Agent V's. Despite my fromagophilia I've lately become a devotee of a cookbook called the Veganomicon, and used its advice to make chickpea cutlets with mustard sauce and roasted asparagus. Then we watched The Long Kiss Goodnight. In my evite I'd described this movie as "a delicious morsel of so-bad-it's-good-ness," but I'd forgotten just how bad--and how good--it really is. Here's a sample.

Ubiquitous

There's someone out there with the same first and last names as me, who has the same email address as me except with a middle initial in it. Some time ago she apparently began putting the wrong email address (mine) on forms left and right. Long story short, I ended up finding out her real email address and now I forward her anything that comes to my inbox that isn't spam but is clearly not for me. (Yes, I can be a nice person sometimes.)

The strange thing is that, judging by her email, my doppelganger lives in several different places. She's supporting Barack Obama's campaign in Washington state, taking her kid to gymnastics lessons in Houston, and, according to the evite I got today, perhaps attending a barbecue in northern New Jersey. Or, more likely, these are three different people. Maybe I will track down all of their email addresses eventually and end up routing their mail like one of those old-time phone operators. Except that it will also feel like that restaurant scene in Being John Malkovich.

Up and coming

I noticed this week that one of the buildings in my neighborhood will be hosting Artomatic this year. A bit of background: Nothing fun really goes on my in neighborhood, as far as I can tell. I was excited last weekend to find out there's apparently a good Thai restaurant... a mere six block away from my place.

A few days after I spotted the Artomatic building, I saw a poster advertising an outdoor Bond film series just north of my metro stop. That's right, every Thursday night all summer long I'll be able to go see a Bond movie, for free, from a hilly overgrown triangle of land formed by two busy roads and a railroad track.

Ok, astute readers may have perceived that I'm a bit dubious about the Bond thing. The intersection of New York and Florida Avenues does seem like a terrible spot for outdoor films, and apparently this series was dreamed up by the same optimists who've attempted to dub this part of town "Capitol Hill North." But I'm also intrigued.

Cross-cultural

There's an old Chinese man who plays outside various Metro stations with a traditional-sounding instrument (I think it's called an erhu) and a recorded accompaniment. I like it when I catch him--it adds a touch of the exotic to my day.

This morning I was riding up the escalator and heard him playing, so I took out off my headphones to listen. As I got closer it became clear that, yes, he was playing Celine Dion's theme from Titanic. Yikes.

In which my tastes are called into question, and defended

Last night I was reading the Atlantic, congratulating myself on actually getting through a whole issue rather than just letting it contribute to the Leaning Tower of Pisa on my desk/nightstand like so many other publications, when I came on this article by Michael Hirschorn right at the end. As take-downs of pop culture phenomena go it's rather gentle. I think its fighting-est words are:

Quirk, loosed from its moorings, quickly becomes exhausting... Like the proliferation of meta-humor that followed David Letterman and Jerry Seinfeld in the ’90s, quirk is everywhere because quirkiness is so easy to achieve: Just be odd … but endearing. It becomes a kind of psychographic marker, like wearing laceless Chuck Taylors or ironic facial hair—a self-satisfied pose that stands for nothing and doesn’t require you to take creative responsibility.

Hirschorn's article classified many things I hold dear as "quirk," namely:

• This American Life
• Arrested Development
• Napolean Dynamite
• Little Miss Sunshine
• Rushmore*
• The Royal Tennenbaums
  

Ok, so I agree with him about Garden State and The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou, but proof positive that Hirschorn was talking about me came here (in reference to This American Life):

It’s the sound of Austin, Boulder, Berkeley, Red Hook, Madison, Cambridge, Adams Morgan**—of people who tend to think of themselves as engaged, aware.

Oh the humanity! Oh the italics!

Hirschorn, by contrast, is a man of the people. You can tell because he enjoys Knocked Up and reality TV.

Upon reflection I realized I'm probably guilty not only of patronizing this unmoored quirk, but of propagating it: see my blog entries on signs for dogs, recording examples of risible punctuation, and roller-blading in a parade while dressed as a car.

Upon further reflection I remembered that This American Life does do devastatingly "important" shows, including some great recent ones on the Iraq war and habeas corpus. And I thought about the some of the pretentious schlock I've seen that came out of someone's earnest attempt to make something that mattered (see Crash, Babel), and concluded I'd rather have spent those couple of hours on some meaningless piece of engaged, aware quirky escapism. Because what's wrong with that, really?

*cited as an example of good quirk
**this is where I live

A Rock in a Park

Remember how I wrote that hanging out with Joey and E97 was sort of like being in a Kevin Smith movie? Yeah, I didn't think so. Anyway, for E97's sister, editor of this surreal, er, short, it was apparently like a completely different kind of movie:

(Don't feel like you need to watch the whole thing. It's very much an inside joke. I think.)

(Also, I don't make an appearance in this video.)

Tourists III

These are the kinds of food we ate this past weekend:
Afghani
French
sandwich (Potbelly, such a hit we went back the next day)
Ethiopian
Turkish (ok, only so E97 had the Turkish breakfast, but I'm counting it)
sushi

I also introduced Joey to the wonder that is the mojito.

On Sunday afternoon Joey and E97 walked up the Exorcist stairs in Georgetown. Then Joey pretended to fall down them. Then they raced back up them. I had to stay at the bottom because, well, that was just the sacrifice I had to make in order to record the whole ordeal.

Three movies, two Twists

I saw three very different movies this weekend: The Host, Spider-Man 3, and Infamous. Oddly, the second two both included scenes of people doing The Twist in their Manhattan apartments. What are the chances? I thought I remembered The Twist also featuring prominently in Ferris Bueller, but of course, that was Twist and Shout. Can anyone else think of a movie where people do The Twist?

On the off-chance that one of my five readers is considering Netflixing one of these movies (or joining the hordes at the theater), here's what I thought of them: The Host is good, but strange. The CGI monster is excellently done, the characters are great, and it's funny. Just don't expect an American monster movie with subtitles, because that it is not.

Spider-Man 3 wasn't great, but not as bad as I'd feared. Its main problem is that it has way too much going on--I mean, save something for Spider-Man 4, Raimi! Also I saw it in a theater that, though great from an aesthetic standpoint (it's old and art-deco, and has a balcony and a giant screen), has no legroom, but did include free commentary by fellow audience members. I came to the realization that I shouldn't watch movies over two hours in length at any theater, much less that one.

Given its timing, and the fact that Phillip Seymour Hoffman won an Oscar for Capote, Infamous was doomed to be regarded as the other Truman Capote movie. It doesn't lack for stars, including Gwyneth Paltrow in a brief and seemingly gratuitous cameo. I thought it was interesting, and there were some really hilarious moments in the first half of the film (it got darker as it went along). There was a bit too much reliance on talking heads to explain it all to us, as though the writers couldn't figure out how to get their points across with dialogue and acting alone, or thought the audience would be too dense to get it. But I enjoyed it.