City Wendy

Lost in Translation

After a 14 1/2 hour flight (shorter and more comfortable than I expected...thanks Xanax!), I arrived in Beijing Thursday afternoon where Drew met me at the airport with a hired driver and a huge smile. From there, we weaved through thick traffic, making our way to the hotel where Drew had been staying for the last month -- a lovely place on teh dge of the Olympic village, just down the street from the Bird's Nest and a cheap taxi ride from all the sights one might want to see while in the city.

On Friday, I felt like Scarlett Johanssen in Lost in Translation as I meandered around Beijing on my own while Drew worked. I started the morning with a traditional Chinese -- and dirt cheap -- reflexolgy foot rub and then made by way via taxi to a Beihai, a historic park, where I witnessed spontaneous singing and dancing in a number of pagodas situated along the small lake. I hiked up various pathways into sacred temples lined with red lanterns and saw one old man practicing caligraphy on the street with a 5-foot brush he dipped into a large bucket of water after every few strokes.

Something I noticed on that first dat is how no one wears seatbelts in Beijing, and in fact, most of the taxis don't even have them -- something I'm sure my mother will be thrilled to learn. And of the hunderds and hundreds of people on bikes I saw, only one person wore a helmet and I'd bet my fist born she was a foreigner. It's also not at all uncommon to see small children sitting precariously on the back of bikes or even on the handles bars as their parents weave in and out of the crazy ass Beijing traffic.

You guys, I went to the Olympics! I wasn't sure if we'd be able to score tickets, but Drew worked his magic and landed us some track & field tickets on Friday night. It was my second Olympics since I got to see lots of events when my family lived in Seoul during the '88 summer games. This time was no less exciting and even fighting major jetlag, I couldn't help but get caught up in the collective frenzy inside the Bird's Nest as we watched the races and long jumps and final event of the Decathalon. The downside was that the stadium smelled like a combination of Bubble Yum and farts. Don't ask me why....it just did.

We weren't able to get tickets for the closing ceremony, but a group of us ate dinner in a private room in our hotel restaurant with floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the stadium. We were joined by a group of Drew's colleagues from NBC whom he'd been working with for the last month and that last meal together was punctuated with fireworks from the ceremony down the street. When our bill came and was an astonishing $70 per person (practically unheard of in China), we rationalized that the experience was worth it. Also, it didn't smell like Bubble Yum and farts in there, so that was good.

Yesterday, we left Beijing for a week and a half of traveling around. We'll return to Beijing next Monday for a few days before heading home to New York, but first we're going to experience more rural China. And wow, it's RURAL!! We arrived yesterday afternoon in Pingyao -- an ancient walled city that left both Drew and me feeling something I haven't felt since my trip to rural Russia nearly 15 years ago -- extreme culture shock that almost threw us both into a bit of a panic attack after checking into our hotel last night and braving a restaurant that had "cat's ear noodle soup" on the menu (we discovered later that the noodles are just in the shape on cat's ears...). I'm still processing just how foreign this place is (I'm struggling even finding the right words for description....), but after a fascinating walk through the dusty cobbled streets this morning where we saw a group of people repairing an ancient wall with mud and straw (and lots of spit), then being blessed by a monk in a small Toaist temple, and then stumbling upon this tourist cafe with free internet and amazing coffee, I feel the edge of culture shock softening just a tiny bit. The waitstaff here even speaks some broken English and there's a bookshelf full of travel books and novels in English. I'm not sure whether to feel relieved in this find, or a little ashamed I don't know I would have lasted the entire day without it. They even have imported beers for about 3 bucks. It's only 11 AM here, but you guys, it's 11 PM in New York! Gambei!

Alphabet: A History (G)

Alphabet: A History (G)

(G): Going Back

My parents got hitched nine months after they met. My mom had just turned 22, my dad was ten days shy of 27. Three weeks after the wedding, they moved halfway across the world to Asia, where they remained for the next 16 years. Along the way, they stopped in Hawaii for a short honeymoon, and then Saigon. It was 1973. I was born three years later during a typhoon right off the beach on Okinawa. From there, we moved to a little village in southern Korea, then to Tokyo, and then to Seoul.

My childhood memories are peppered with images of open air markets and women carrying produce and fabric piled high on their heads. I was an anomaly then, a redheaded child in a sea of inky black hair (even my parents were brunettes). I learned early to ignore the stares, to tolerate all the strangers' hands on my head.

I learned to use chopsticks in 1st grade — the same year "Domo Arigato, Mr. Roboto" became a catchphrase in the states. My mom took cooking classes and learned to make the best Bulgolgi for us. Our cleaning lady, Miss Lee, patiently taught me how to make Kimbop and Mandu. In Seoul, the smell of Kimchee wafted through our neighborhood day and night. In Tokyo, we ate sushi dinners with our friends, Eijiro and Miyoko, always stopping first for McDonald's Happy Meals because back then my unrefined taste buds didn't yet understand the awesomeness of Unagi and Maki-mono.

I remember the gifts Eijiro and Miyoko brought me throughout the years: kimonos, origami paper, fancy pencil sets. I remember when my dad got acupuncture for a bad back and I couldn't fathom anyone willingly getting pricked by needles, that it could possibly feel good. In 4th grade, I joined the ski club at school and on weekend trips, we'd stay in resorts deep in the mountains, with sliding paper doors and rolled mats on the floor for sleeping. In the morning, we'd sit cross-legged at a long table and eat noodles for breakfast. I remember shrines along rolling hills, and the congestion and smog of the cities. In the country, women  wearing pointy hats and babies strapped low on their backs dotted the rice fields for miles and miles and miles. I remember squatting over porcelain-lined holes in the floor of public bathrooms, and dodging spit on busy city streets. And I remember the glamorous Korean soap star my mother taught English to in our apartment in Seoul, how tiny her feet were. When I was sure she was deep in a lesson in the den, I'd sneak into the foyer and slip on her leopard print high heels and trot oh-so-softly down the parquet wood floor to the full length mirror in the hallway and smile at my reflection, imagining myself a glamorous star, too.

I was 13 when we left Asia and tomorrow I'll go back again — my first time to China, but a homecoming of sorts. It's been nineteen years.

Feeling Hollow

I just dropped off my other visiting friend at Port Authority a few hours ago and now after a week of hosting and socializing, I'm feeling more melancholy than relieved to have some time to myself again. I probably need alone time more than most people, but it's always a bit of a let-down to get it in exchange for saying good-bye to someone I won't see for too long. It seems I always get this sort of hollow feeling after saying good-bye to people I care the most about: my family, my friends in Chicago, I always felt like this after a weekend visit with Drew when we were still long-distance. It's a wonderful thing to have people in your life who enrich you and lift you up and remind you you're never really alone, no matter how lonely you might feel from time to time, but it's such a pity when the company of those same people is more rare than you'd like it to be. I just wish I could hold all the people I love in my back pocket and have them with me as much as I wanted. I wish hellos weren't always followed by good-byes.

Tripping

I think I've had more to drink in the last week than I have in the last few months combined, and y'all, that's saying something. Since Friday, I've been hosting two best friends from college and we've totally regressed to college-like behavior, which basically means drinking all day, staying up til 3 or 4 am and then sleeping til noon. Well, they've been sleeping til noon — I've still been getting up at 7 and then working for several hours before we head out and do it all over again. Between the drinking, we've also walked all over this city, covering most of Manhattan and a good chunk of Brooklyn. We've met up with other former college friends and acquaintances who live in the city — some of whom I hadn't seen in over 10 years, and last Saturday I even threw my first rooftop soiree in honor of a friend's birthday. I'm pretty sure it was a success, but mostly because the rich people on the roof next door were having one of their big parties and we got to enjoy the sounds of the jazz band they hired, which serenaded us for at least a couple of hours. I learned what I need for the next rooftop shindig I throw, like, you know, some lights and maybe a cooler so people don't have to run down 3 flights of stairs ever 20 minutes for a refill. I couldn't keep the candles lit to save my life and since the solar lights I'd ordered hadn't arrived in time for the party, we spent most of the night talking, drinking and dancing in the dark...a somewhat dangerous combination when you're five stories above street level. Add a particularly steep and scary staircase, and you're really playing with fire (oh, but if only we could keep a flame going!), but I'm happy to report that disaster was avoided and everyone seemed to have a good time. And it was great catching up with old friends. Especially since they kept telling me what a great place I have, which Drew is really more responsible for than I am since he lived here for 14 years before I moved in, but whatever.

Anyhow, one of my friends left yesterday afternoon and the other leaves tomorrow. After that, I have five days before I fly to Beijing. FIVE DAYS!! Holy cow. I had all these grand plans for the things I'd do while Drew was gone and I had some time to myself, but the most I've gotten accomplished is painting my toenails and buying a money pack for the trip. And drinking my weight in gin, of course. Oh, and I bought new glasses! With a 50% off coupon courtesy of my sister who works part-time for Lenscrafters. Dudes! Glasses are fucking expensive. Even at 50% off, I still paid over 300 bucks for a new pair! I hadn't bought new glasses in years and the last time I did, I was totally cheap and got the least expensive pair I could find. Hence, they looked super dorky on me and I always waited until I totally couldn't stand wearing my contacts a second longer before putting on the nerd glasses. Hopefully with the new ones, I'll wear them a bit more and give my eyes a needed rest.

I tell you what — I'll definitely be them on the flight to Beijing since it's, like, SIXTEEN hours long. In coach. I'm going to die. I got some anti-anxiety meds from my doctor and I'm hoping they keep me from clawing my way out of the window. I don't do well in small spaces....particularly when I've got someone's knees shoved into my back and a tray table nearly breaking my ribs every time I need to eat. Did I mention the flight is SIXTEEN hours? But on the upside, Drew's working on scoring tickets to some final events of the Olympics AND we get to stay in a totally macked-out hotel in Beijing while I'm there. I bought a language book recently and so far I can say, "Can I have a lime in that?" and "How much for a pedicure?" Basically, you guys, I'm ALL SET.

Is Internet Fame All it's Cracked Up To Be?

I've got a new post up today at The Frisky comparing internet fame with real life fame:

Is Internet Fame All It's Cracked Up To Be?

Wired.com recently created an algorithm widget-thingamajig called Celebrity Meter, which will tell you exactly how internet famous you are by tallying the number of webpages linking to you and how many friends you have on various social networks. But before you go running off to calculate whether you’re famous enough to need an alias the next time you make dinner reservations or a bodyguard when you go out in public, think about what it actually means to be internet famous. Will designers start clamoring to dress you? Will the tabloids start seeing a ‘baby bump’ every time you indulge in a burger? And will John McCain spoof you in his next campaign ad? Just how different is internet fame from real life fame? To get a better idea, let’s compare two archetypes: Julia Allison, who’s internet famous (and WIRED Magazine’s covergirl this month), and Jessica Simpson who’s real life famous. Both women are in their late 20’s, both admittedly love the limelight and all things girlie, and both are interested in promoting themselves as brands. So how do they stack up against one another?

Continuing reading at The Frisky.

The Sign for Drowning

I finally made it to the beach this summer! I got an invite from one of Drew's oldest friends, Bill, and his lovely girlfriend, Rachel, and after meeting them at their place in Brooklyn, we drove out to Riis Beach yesterday for 6 awesome hours of sun, sand, and beer — three things I've been way too short on this summer. As we were leaving the beach at sunset, someone told me it was Black (gay) Pride day at Riis, which totally explained the high percentage of black dudes with perfectly groomed eyebrows and neon pink speedos.

Anyhoo, Bill and Rachel are quite the literary couple (and totally sweet to boot, proving you don't have to be mean and miserable to find success as a writer). Bill just sold a screenplay for a nice chunk of change, and Rachel! Rachel just published her first novel earlier this summer and you should totally check it out. The Sign for Drowning is the story of a woman who learns to heal her heart years after the childhood drowning of her younger sister. Rachel is a fantastic writer, the story is beautifully told, and the characters so likable and complex, you can't help but root for them and hope even after the novel ends, they continue to find happiness for years to come. You can order the book online, or find it on the shelves of Barnes and Noble and other bookstores.

In other news, time seems to have accelerated into high gear, which is kind of great and kind of not. Two of my BFFs will be here Friday for a whole week, and just a few days after they leave, I fly to China for my Asian Adventure 2008. I'm so excited about all of it, but freaking out over everything I still need to get done. Fortunately, I've gotten my vaccinations and my visa, so two out of three of the most important stuff is out of the way. I'll cross off item number three from my list this Wednesday when I finally get my hair cut and styled. It's such a mop lately, I've been pulling it back in a ponytail every day for the last two months.

God, is it really already August?