mf.rox

That’s what TORA! TORA! TORA! is called in Chinese.¬† It’s showing on TV right now.

heavy load man 1

Originally uploaded by MFinChina.

I’m not sure if they ever used it, but someone contacted me about putting this photo on the site.

Mass grave bones

Originally uploaded by MFinChina.

Taken at the Nanjing Massacre Memorial Museum.

In another piece of good news, last night I actually made an acceptable plate of stir-fried tomato and egg!¬† This might seem funny to Chinese people, since it is one dish basically all Chinese people can cook, even if they are lousy chefs.¬† But I could never get it right.¬† It always looked kind of like yellow puke with tomatoes, and tasted awful.¬† I did a class on food-related words last semester, though, and listened carefully when the students talked about how to make that dish.¬† I had never included any condiment at all, to the surprise of everyone I’ve told about my cooking efforts.¬† It turned out I was supposed to be adding both sugar and salt all along.¬† The most important thing was that I was supposed to cook the eggs FIRST, take them out, THEN cook the tomatoes and chives, and put the eggs back again for a few swirls around.¬† So I ended up putting some sugar, salt, and garlic powder in with the eggs, which I beat and then stir-fried, making scrambled eggs.¬† I took those out, added more oil, put in the chopped tomatoes, chives, and a bit more sugar and salt.¬† I stir-fried that, then re-added the eggs, and voila!¬† Ready!¬† It tasted good!¬†

¬†Here’s a photo of them:

Several years ago, I was just sitting around my apartment, and the title “Tales of the Gay Mounties” popped into my head.¬† I started thinking that would be a great name for a book, and I suspected it wasn’t taken yet.¬† I thought about it for a while … while I didn’t really know much about gay sex, I DID know a lot about mounties, or mountie stories anyway, having read all the Silver Chief books.¬† I also have an attraction to anything outre, which I thought this could be.¬†

I resolved to try to write the book.  I was hampered by my general lack of knowledge about sex, and gay male sex in particular.  I petered out (no pun intended) after just one chapter.

I found the story again the last time I was in the US, and brought it back to China with me.¬† I started thinking that it’d be fun to keep working on it — I like pulpy, crappy literature.¬† I even started thinking I could ask my friends to do some sort of collaborative thing, each writing a chapter.¬† It would be like “Naked Came the Stranger,” but in this case it would be “Naked Came the Mountie.”

Again, I got discouraged.¬† I was embarrassed by it.¬† I sent off a bit to a gay friend, who could tell I didn’t know much about the sex department.¬† He tried to send me a dirty gay pirate book, but apparently it never got through customs.¬† I also told myself, “What’s the use of writing this book? It’s just a waste of time.¬† Nobody will want to read about homosexual guys out roughing it in nature.”

Well, of course, the success of Brokeback Mountain proved me wrong.¬† Just for the heck of it, I’m going to print the first chapter of the novel here.¬† Just remember, everyone, I wrote it!¬† It’s copyright ME!¬† Don’t copy it, although I don’t know why you’d want to.¬† So, take a gander (no pun intended there, either), and bear in mind, more innocent readers, that it’s going to be a little dirty (that’s “yellow” to people in China.

Here it is, chapter 1 of Tales of the Gay Mounties:

Mountie Dan bowed down and tried to walk against the wind. It battered him like a prizefighter as he tried to return to the HQ. Turned off their path by the blinding snow, he and his dog team had veered far off their usual course. They ended up on the ice of the Saskatchewan River, plunging through without any warning. Only Dan, being at the very back of the sled, had managed to escape being dragged down to a watery grave.

But he would soon die anyway, his soaked body slowly freezing to death, if he could not find the cabin.

Dan battled exhaustion as he struggled along. At his point, his mind was on only one thing¬†– survival. He shielded his tearing eyes with his mittened hand, and peered about him for a clue where he was¬†– a familiar boulder, any landmark. He looked at the trunks of trees to see if he could use the moss growth to discern which way was north. But not that old, reliable method of finding one’s way, or even the guidance of the constellations, was open to him now. The trees were covered with ice, and nothing was visible¬†but¬†the sharp grains of snow.

Suddenly, he bumped against something solid. He put out his hand and touched something smooth. Was it the window of the cabin, he wondered, his heart leaping. He felt his way along to the right, feeling the smooth surface give way to the rougher texture of wood, and realized he had found the building at last. He continued to edge around the building until he came to the entryway.

The cabin’s rough-hewn door was half buried by a drift of snow, and Dan fell against it heavily as he tried to shove it open. It was stubborn, frozen closed. He threw his weight against it with no success.

It opened from the inside. Another man in a red uniform grabbed Dan and pulled him inside. “Good God!” the man exclaimed. “I thought you were lost out there forever!”

“So did I, Tom, so did I,” replied Dan, and fell unconscious.

 

Dan awoke slowly, hours later. He was not quite sure where he was, but knew he felt warm and safe. He wondered if he was back in his mother’s cottage on the shore of Prince Edward Island, a day of play and love awaiting him.

“Dan? Are you awake, buddy?” ¬†He saw a form in white looming above him. He realized it was Tom. He must just be getting up; he was wearing only his long johns. Groggily, Dan wondered why he felt so weak, and why he had been sleeping so long after the day had started. He saw the look of concern on Tom’s face, and the events of the previous day came back to him.

“Are you up for some breakfast?” ¬†asked Tom. “I’ve got some eggs and some nice back bacon.”

Dan groaned as he pushed himself out of bed. His whole body ached. Even Dan’s taut muscles were not used to exertion like that of the day before.

Slowly, he hobbled to the table, and Tom put a sizzling plate of food and a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. He shoved the food into his mouth, ignoring its scalding heat. Then he looked up. He saw Tom, putting on the red coat of his mountie uniform, watching him tenderly as he ate.

After Dan was finally sated, Tom came over to him, and laid a hand on his leg. “Dan,” he asked with a look of concern, “You came back alone last night. The dogs …?”

Dan shook his head sadly. He knew Tom was anticipating some calamity — nothing else could have led him to abandon his beloved lead dog, Storm King. He had found the dog as a pup, still nearly blind, squirming under the bloodied mess that had been its mother. She was a sled dog gone wild, and had been savaged by a bear while protecting her cub. Dan had scared the bear off with a rifle blast. He raised the pup himself, feeding it from a bottle. The man and the dog had a close bond, and since he was a year old, Storm King had been in the lead position of Dan’s dog team.

Dan sighed. “I got a report from the Indian camp about some more of those traps being put on their paths to cripple them or their dogs. I went out to investigate, and as I was coming to the site, I heard a gunshot. I decided to be tricky — I made an arc to get around the other side of the shooter, to get a look at him from behind, and surprise him. I think I was about to see him when the blizzard hit. It came out of nowhere. You know how blizzards are — those winds, the blinding snow — it disoriented me.” ¬†Dan stopped a moment, in painful recollection, as Tom nodded in sympathy.¬† “I thought I was coming the right way, I thought I was almost to Jackson’s Ford Road. But then my sled broke through the ice. I had come to the river. The dogs were swallowed up in a second. I barely managed to escape.”¬† A far-off look fame into his eyes again. He sat silent.¬† “And here I am, without my dogs, without my sled, without Storm King.”

He hung his head. Tom, a look of tender pity on his face, pulled Dan’s chin up toward his. Their lips made contact, and Tom kissed Dan lingeringly on the lips. Dan signed. Tom stroked the back of his head as they kissed again. Tom continued caressing Dan’s body as gently as he undressed him. Then Tom took off his crimson jacket.

Dan flushed with excitement as Tom continued to undress. Within a moment, his comrade, his lover, was naked. Tom’s arousal was obvious. His penis was turgid and quivering, even as he stripped off his underwear. Intoxicated, Dan brought his lips to Tom’s penis. He briefly enveloped it, and licked the sensitive tip.¬† “Oh Dan, Dan,” moaned Tom,¬† “I thought I had lost you.”¬† He kissed Dan again. The men stood, grasping each other, kissing. “I don’t want to think of anything but your body,” Dan breathed against Tom’s mouth. Tom kissed Dan along his muscled chest, lower and lower. Dan’s penis throbbed with excitement as Tom made his way down. Tom pulled his lover down onto the bed, with its thick ticking mattress. He maneuvered Dan onto his stomach, and stroked his buttocks with a maddening, proprietary air. He laid down across his back, kissing his neck, preparing for their next step. As the winds of the blizzard screamed outside, the two men became lost in each others’ bodies.

Oh, I forgot to mention that someone requested permission to use one of my Flickr photos.¬† A professor from Grant MacEwan College, in Alberta, Canada, asked if she could use my photo of a Nanjing Massacre mass grave in a powerpoint presentation that will be used to pitch (I think) a social psychology textbook.¬† My picture will be used to represent the chapter on aggression.¬† I won’t be paid, and I think if the text is published, my photo will just be replaced with a professional photobank one, but it’s nice anyway.¬† I will be credited for the photo, which is great, and the professor will send me a copy of the presentation.

This is actually the second time someone has used one of my photos.  I was asked to authorize a photo last April for use in the China Digital Times.  I said yes without visiting the site, and later found that it tends to have very lopsided, negative coverage.  Oh well.

I just got my score on the HSK (the national Chinese-language exam), and, much to my surprise, I passed!  I got a three, which is the lowest passing score, but does entitle me to a state-issued certificate of Chinese proficiency, grade C.  It also entitles me to apply, if I would like, for a BA in subjects like science, engineering, western medicine, or agriculture at a Chinese university.

The only irritant here is that I missed level four, which would have gotten me a certificate with grade B, by just ONE point.  I can always take the exam again, though, and now that I know more about what it will be like, I bet I can get a higher grade.

I have this horrible ongoing farting problem.¬† I think it started several months ago when I drank some cheap red wine.¬† Since then, I’ve been farting more, and farting more frequently, than I ever have in my life.¬†

I’m not too sure how to tackle this.¬† I tried eating yogurt with active cultures, but to no avail.¬† Maybe I will try some¬†probiotics to set things right.¬† Or am I farting because I have too many little things living in me already?

The most mortifying thing would be if the sound of my flatulence turned out to be carrying through the wall to the next apartment.  I would be giving the people there a very strange impression of foreigners.

I saw this strange headline:

Feds Aim to End Illicit Market in Amy Chow.

Who was Amy Chow, I wondered, and why were people trafficing in her?

Then I realized it really said:

you took a balloon and filled it with chocolate syrup that it was REALLY full, taut, and ready to burst.  Then, if someone bit it, would it burst all over their face and neck?  If so, it would look GREAT if it were filmed in black and white.  You could use it as some sort of effect in a cheap horror movie (b/c chocolate syrup makes great blood if a film is in black and white).

Today was the first day of class for the spring semester.¬† I think my classes went pretty well.¬† Actually, the biggest thing I was worried about was not waking up in time, since I’d been going to sleep so late for so long.¬† It went okay, though, and I was like three minutes early.¬† Just as I had suspected after reading the scheduling material, my students had translation last semester, NOT oral English, as I had been told.¬† It’s a good thing I read a decent amount of Chinese, or I’d be lost.¬† Even the liason lady didn’t know what was going on.¬† It seems like regulations change on a year-to-year basis in China, without any warning.

One funny thing is that I always ask students how many years they’ve studied English.¬† One guy wrote, “Fifteen years too long.”¬† That was part of an answer written like this, “fifteen years¬†¬†too long¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†¬†¬† my English is still poor.”¬† I think he’s actually saying his English is poor for having studied fifteen years, but it was funny anyway.

It turns out there is gay slash fiction about my favorite cartoon, One Piece.  I found a bit of it here:

http://www.fanart-central.net/stories.php?sid=7824

A couple nights ago, while falling asleep, this sentence flashed through my mind:

A year earlier, she’d called herself The Hard Machine and pulled a blade on Timothy.

Strange, but pretty good, huh? 

I responded to a topic with this title on another board, and somebody called by submission the post of the week.¬† It is a completely unofficial commendation, but still, I like any praise I get.¬† Here’s what I wrote.¬† It’s a true story, from my days in Shenzhen.

… the title of the post reminds me of a story: Once when I lived in Shenzhen I went to a blind massage parlor. I was being massaged when I heard this guy enter the room next to mine. Whenever the masseuse came in he started yelling at her to leave, and then started shouting to the other customer in the room with me, “Hey, are you from Harbin? I’m from Harbin,” etc., etc. The man with me was like, “Man, he’s drunk. This is really embarrassing,” so when the drunk kept talking, finally my masseuse yelled over the barrier that the other man in the room with me was sleeping. The drunk man went on shouting this and that, yelling whenever a masseuse entered the room. Then we heard snoring. Then we heard explosive vomiting noises, and the sound of puke splashing onto the ground from waist height (the height of the massage table). It was horrible enough for me with the sound and the stink of bai jiu, but even worse for the blind people who almost passed out from the smell. Then we heard the guy fall off the massage table, and go SPLAT down into his own vomit.

At that point, my masseuse was like, “Let’s get out of here,” and we went down the hall to another room. I heard the cleaning girl wail in disgust as she was sent into the room to clean up. Then I asked my massuse what exactly the the drunk man’s deal was, and what he was shouting about. She said he had wandered into the massage parlor believing it was a hotel, and that’s why he was yelling whenever anyone entered a room. I couldn’t understand him because his voice was too slurred, but she said he was yelling things like, “I don’t want a xiaojie. I just want to go to sleep! Get out of here! What kind of hotel is this, anyway!”

More freakitude from the US government.¬† I’m so suspicious of these people now that¬†I can barely believe it was an accident.¬†

 (Link removed)

Here’s the beginning, from AP:

CORPUS CHRISTI, Texas - Vice President Dick Cheney accidentally shot and wounded a companion during a weekend quail hunting trip in Texas, spraying the fellow hunter in the face and chest with shotgun pellets.

 

• Note — I removed the link I originally had in this post because it screwed up the appearance of the page.¬† Everyone’s already read the story, too!

 

I finally ended up eating out with Curtis tonight, at a swanky restaurant named Sasha’s.¬† The food was good — I ended up having “loin of tuna.”¬† It was very good, but having no legs, how can a tuna have a loin?¬† Am I mistaken about the meaning of the word?¬† For dessert, I had my first souffle.¬† I¬† have to say it wasn’t too impressive to me.¬† Our bill, for one shared appetizer, two entrees, two desserts and one coffee came to 612 RMB.¬† I was thinking that wasn’t too bad until I realized it is about $70!¬† We had drinks before the meal (because there were no tables open), and those came to about 120 RMB for two.¬† An expensive dinner, but a refreshing experience overall.¬† It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten really fancy, well-prepared western food.

Whenever I make plans to do things with people, they always cancel.¬† First it was the Jet Li movie (which I eventually¬† saw), then it was dinner with Curtis, and then it was dinner with Xu Gai.¬† I’ve gotten fed up and my time since I got back from vacation has been very boring.¬† I thought of going away somewhere else for a while, but then people had made plans with me so I stuck around … and then everything was cancelled.¬†

I just read that the Pittsburgh Steelers won the Super Bowl, and according to Associated Press:

The clincher was Antwaan Randle El’s 43-yard pass to Ward, the first Super Bowl touchdown pass by a receiver and one of the most decisive trick plays in championship game history.

For those of you who didn’t know, he was one of my students when I taught Public Speaking as a grad student at IU.¬† He was a great young man, very mature, responsible,¬†humorous and even tempered.¬† The football program put a lot of pressure on him, which he dealt with very well, in addition to managing to do his schoolwork better than a lot of people who had plenty of free time.¬†

 The article goes on to say:

Ward ran past the safeties and was wide open for Randle El’s 43-yard touchdown pass, which immediately went down as one of the most notable trick plays in Super Bowl history. The Steelers ran the same play against Cleveland earlier this season, and Randle El threw a 51-yard touchdown pass to Ward.

“That’s something we’ve been doing for a long time,” Randle El said. “We hit that one earlier in the season for a touchdown, and we had it set up for this game. When we called it, my eyes lit up and I had to try to not give it away.”

Well, good for him! 

And his throwing ability?¬† Don’t tell anyone, but I taught him all¬†he knows! ¬†;)¬† He couldn’t've done it without me and my excellent instruction in S (or was it C by then?) 121!

Today I thought I saw “Does OSHO Keep Tabs on the NFL?”¬†¬†I wanted to know why the deceased Indian mystic would have any¬†interest in football.¬† But actually, it was¬†Does OSHA Keep Tabs on the NFL?:

Recently I was also perplexed by “Indian Soldiers Turn to Yoda to Relieve Stress.”¬† Then I realized the word was YOGA, not YODA.

The first CD I popped into the player today was by the Tibetan singer Caidan Zhuoma.¬† Tonight I turned on the TV, and what did I see, but a birthday tribute to her!¬† She sang some of the same songs I’d listened to earlier in the day on her old album.