THE STEVE COOK MORNING NEWSCAST

STEVE:
It's an exciting day here at ACI. This is my first blog morning news cast. I'm Steve Cook, and joining me is our "news gal" Alycia Sanchez, our weather guru, Guy Beazley, and with the sports, Mac MacMacson. Alycia, since we announced we'd be doing a blog newscast, we've been deluged with positive letters and calls.

ALYCIA:
Right Steve, and speaking of deluges, I think Guy Beazley is calling for a deluge today. Right Guy?

GUY:
Well, not exactly a deluge, but we'll have some rain. That's for sure. You'll never guess how much.

STEVE:
Why don't you just tell us Guy?

GUY:
All in good time. Steve. All in good time.

ALYCIA:
Speaking of good times, one of the two teams playing Monday night football had a good time last night. Right Mac?

MAC:
Right you are Alycia. You'll never guess who won last night's game, and how much they won by, and why Philadephia fans are so upset this morning. Oops. I slipped and revealed the loser.

ALYCIA:
Speaking of slipping, there was a tragic accident last night. Right Steve?

STEVE:
Yes, Alycia. On a more serious note, there was an...

ALYCIA:
Speaking of serious notes, I'm noting that the weather is going to be wet today. Right Guy?

GUY:
You won't believe what it's going to be doing on your ride home this afternoon. I'll have the details later in our news.

ALYCIA:
Speaking of details, Steve has all the details on a fire in the West End last night. Right Steve?

STEVE
Yes, Alycia...

MAC
Did someone say fire. Philadelphia fans may be regretting the firing of Terrell Owens, this morning.

GUY:
Fires are hot, folks, and that's what we're going to be seeing around here today...unseasonably warm temperatures.

ALYCIA:
Speaking of seasons, the college football season is down to a few weeks left, and there are some big games coming up this weekend. Right Mac?

MAC
Alycia, you couldn't be righter. You'll never guess who UVA will be playing this weekend.

STEVE:
I don't think we need to guess Mac. Everyone is talking about the big annual rivalry between UVA and Virginia Tech. We all know about that. What kind of idiot are you Mac?

GUY:
Speaking of idiots, you'd be an idiot to go out without an umbrella today, folks. You won't believe what will be falling from the sky this afternoon.

STEVE
Guy, are you a moron? If you tell us to take an umbrella, it's pretty obvious what's going to be falling from the sky.

ALYCIA:
Speaking of obvious, it's pretty obvious that someone, namely Steve, got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.

MAC:
Speaking about getting up, if you went to bed thinking Philadelphia beat Dallas in last night's gridiron action, you'd not only be wrong, but you'll never guess who came from behind in the final minutes of the game and beat Philadelphia.

STEVE:
Mac, it was Dallas playing Philadephia, right?

MAC:
Right you are Steve, and you'll never guess...

STEVE:
Hold it. So, if someone beat Philadelphia, it would have to be Dallas, right?

MAC:
Well, you don't have to get so testy. Now you've given the whole thing away. Hey, I bet they won't guess what the final score is. I'll give you five guesses...no make that ten.

STEVE:
Make that none Mac. You'll never guess who I'm firing. It's Mac...

GUY:
Hey, you didn't give me time to guess. I was going to say Alycia.

STEVE:
And, you'd have been right Guy. In fact, if you'd guessed yourself, you'd be right as well. This is ridiculous.

ALYCIA:
Speaking of ridiculous, there was another senseless murder last night.

GUY:
Hold on. Can I take a guess at who was murdered.

I'm Taking a Risk Just Writing This

The Center for Disease Control recently issued a list of high-risk activities. The only problem with their list is that it's too obvious. Most of us don't need to be told that playing with guns is high risk. It's like when your mother tells you not to run with scissors in your hand, particularly if you're holding the scissors just an inch from your eyeball while you're running. That's an obvious high-risk.
As a public service, I've compiled my own list of high-risk activities, but these are, perhaps, not so obvious. Nonetheless, if you commit them to memory and strive to avoid these activities, I think you'll have a better life. I'm listing these in no particular order. I say this in case you're thinking this is like one of David Letterman's top ten lists, which gets funnier as it's counted down. I don't do count-downs, and I definitely don't get funnier as I continue. If you're not laughing uproariously by this point, you've probably missed your opportunity. Anyway, with that said, here's my list of high-risk activities:

10 - (okay, I will count down) Supporting any project that could make downtown Richmond a more vibrant, exciting city. Heaven help you if you're in favor of a ball park in Shockoe Bottom. In fact, it would appear from recent comments by certain groups, that supporting a ball park in the bottom is tantamount to supporting the Ku Klux Klan. If you, in your heart, believe a baseball stadium would help downtown Richmond, whatever you do, don't let anyone know how you feel.

9 - On a somewhat related note, being in favor of anything that Mayor Governor Wilder is against is high risk. That goes for ball parks, performing arts centers, and virtually anything else. If you're involved in local politics, you really should consult with the Mayor before formulating any opinions.

8 - Eating at any of Shoney's weekly "Salute to Grease" Buffets. I, for one, have been tempted by that food-like appearance of the buffet on more than one occasion, and virtually every time, I've paid dearly. While just gouging at a Shoney's buffet is high risk, there's an even more daring, risky endeavor. Which leads me to...

7 - Eating at any of Shoney's weekly "Salute to Grease" Buffets, and then getting in the car and heading into an I-64 traffic jam. Regardless of my wife's contention that Depends are the solution to life's problems, this is not a risk I am willing to take.

6 - Which reminds me, another risky endeavor is mentioning my wife in my columns. Fortunately, she seldom reads them. And, if you even half-way want to see me alive again, please don't mention this one to her.

5 - Be careful about storing the toothpaste and the Preparation H in the same drawer. Not only does Preparation H not have that minty-fresh taste I so enjoy, but I think my gums are shrinking.

4 - This is high-risk in our office. Maybe you have had the same experience. Don't get too comfortable in the "washroom" until you make sure that some thoughtless co-worker has not left the room paperless. If it wasn't for the fact that we keep a copy of the latest Chesterfield Living Magazine in there, I'd have really been up the creek without a paddle (so to speak).

3 - Think twice before accepting an invitation from a friend you haven't seen since high school, who corners you and insists you join him for a casual meeting at a local hotel to learn about a great marketing opportunity. (Can you spell/smell pyramid?)

2 - You also may find it wise not to accept an invitation from the 300-pound moron who works in the office, when he asks you to don one of those inflated sumo-wrestler suits andjoin him in a pseudo wrestling match at the company picnic. There's nothing pseudo about being body-slammed on the parking lot.

1- Drinking any milk with lumps in it. Don't reason that it's probably as safe for you as is cottage cheese. It isn't.

Mall-Mauled

DISCLAIMER: Before I even begin this morning, I just want to say that I hate it when certain individuals, who have recently returned from a fabulous trip overseas, start every conversation by mentioning their trip. I truly find such persons very boring.

Now that that's out of the way, let me say that I just returned from a fabulous trip to China. Remind me and I'll tell you all about it some day. While I enjoyed China, one thing that quickly got very tiresome was the way many of the merchants would come out into the street and virtually drag you back into their store.
While I don't appreciate that tactic, evidently it's paying off...so much so that many of these merchants have pulled up stakes and moved to America, where they immediately proceed to rent kiosks in the local malls.
I noticed the trend several months ago. It wasn't until I spent time in China (on my fabulous trip) that I realized where this practice comes from. Have you noticed that you can't walk through the mall these days without being accosted by those kiosk people. It happened to me just recently. I was walking through one of the local indoor malls, minding my own business. As I made my way through the kiosk maze, this little guy comes up to me and asks me to come look at some sort of toy.
I couldn't figure out what I'd done to make him think I had even the slightest bit of interest in looking at his toy. I was alone, no kids, and, as you may be surprised to learn, I'm well past 17. Why would I be interested in some stupid toy?
It was kind of neat actually. It was a truck that would do flips and keep on rolling. But, the point is, I hadn't encouraged him to approach me.
A friend of mine was in another mall in the Newport News area the other day, when a kiosk person drug her in to have her fingernails buffed. Apparently she stood there and let the woman buff her. It's a good thing the kiosk wasn't offering tattoos.
Now, I don't mind an aggressive sales clerk approaching me if I stop to look at his or her wares. If I go into Saphora, for example, I am not offended by one of their mimes approaching me and spraying stuff on me. I entered the store. Let the buyer (me, in this case) beware.
But those darned kiosks are everywhere. You can't get from point A to point B without passing them. In China (where I went two weeks on a fabulous trip), they'd tug on your arm and say, "Watchee, watchee." I stopped to watch, at first, not realizing they were trying to sell me one (a watch, that is). In the local malls, they tug on my sleeve wanting me to buy a Virginia ham, or a scarf that somehow can be folded to become about twenty five different articles of clothing, or a magic pen that writes in about 250 colors.
I don't want that stuff. I didn't even allow my peripheral vision to look at their merchandise. I don't like being manhandled in the mall.
Something else that I don't like in the shopping centers are the bell-ringers that are beginning to migrate into the area this time of year. Now, I admit, I enjoy Charles Dickens' Christmas Carol up to the point where Ebenezer Scrooge allows those appartitions to corrupt his way of thinking. And speaking of Christmas, how early in the year do those bell-ringers get started these days? Soon, there'll be Santa Clauses in swim suits for the malls big Fourth of July/Christmas sale.
I'm not against charities seeking donations. I'm a normal human. Cut me. I bleed. Well, don't literally cut me. But, I hate having a big bell rung in my face. The thing that really gets me is that if you even glance at these guys for an instant, they are able to give you this really sad, please-help-me expression. I almost feel guilty for passing them by.
And that incessant clanging. You can hear it in every store. I know that if I worked in the mall I'd go stark-raving mad within about two hours. Even now after I leave a shopping center where bell-ringers are at every entrance, my head is throbbing, my ears are tingling, and I'm unable to get that ding-dong sound out of my brain. As I left a shopping center the other day, I thought I recognized one of those bell-toting Santas. I thought to myself, "I can't think of his name, but his bell sure wrings my face."

HAPPY HAND GESTURE DAY

I think I have an idea for a new "National Day"...you know like Secretary's Day, or Bosses Day, or whatever. It's National Hand Gesture Day. It would be a day to both honor and emulate those who make ridiculous use of hand gestures in their conversations.
I'm not talking the obscene type. I mean the legitimate hand gestures. For instance, there's the adorable Quotation Mark sort of person. There are those who think it's important to make those two-fingered quotation mark symbols when they speak. Personally, I can't figure out what they mean by doing it. Sometimes they'll make the quotation mark sign when they are using a word that means the opposite of what they should be using. Do quotation marks mean "I'm lying"? Like, when someone says, "Gee, Sheila really looks 'PRETTY' today." Don't they really mean Sheila looks ugly? So when they do the hand gesture when they get to the word "pretty" they're really saying the quotation mark is where i become sarcastic.
Others use quotation marks to mean a double entendre. For instance, "Sheila is a 'NICE' girl. Putting quotations around "nice" suggests that Sheila isn't all that nice.
I can't really think of an instance when a person uses quotation marks in their conversation that they really would use a quotation mark if they were writing it. Now, if I were to say, "I enjoyed the musical 'Les Miserables.'" And used the hand symbol there, that would be appropriate. But, I can't think of it ever being done correctly. I think on National Hand Gesture Day, we should use the hand gesture appropriately. That would be very educational.
Another hand gesture that I think is interesting is the one people use when they say, "Call me." Ususally they use it when they have to whisper "call me." You know the gesture. You put your thumb next to your ear and your little finger at your mouth to simulate what it would look like if a telephone were shaped like a hand.
I wonder what Indians (the American kind) would do when they left a teepee party. Would the one leaving take their hands and pantomine the act of starting a fire and sending a smoke signal? Would they mouth "Smoke signal me"? It's just a thought.
Anyway, on National Hand Gesture Day, I think we should all make that gesture to virtually everyone we meet. Who knows, we may get some interesting phone calls. At least we could leave strangers totally confused when we pull up next to them at a stop light. Just as we're about to pull away, look over, make eye contact, and do the "call me" gesture. They'll spend the entire day trying to figure out who you are.
I'm sure there are other cute gestures we could incorporate into the day. I think it could really catch on. I might even introduce a line of hand gesture greeting cards. This could be big. I gotta get to work on this. If you think of any ideas, "call me." (In other words, don't)

Great (Bad) News!

I spent about three hours in the early morning overnight watching CBS news as well as WTVR's local news. And you'll never guess what I found out. The news stinks. Let me put that a little more clearly...the way the news is written and presented stinks.
Now, I'm very apolitical...totally uninvolved, so I have no real personal interest in the Bush administration, but let me ask you this. If you went to the doctor and he said you were dying, would you break your neck trying to gleefully announce your condition to anyone who would listen? That's the way the news is presented on CBS (and perhaps the other networks as well).
They seem so excited to tell us how much the world hates Bush. And, since, it would seem, Bush represents the U.S., I'm assuming the U.S. is also hated. So, why is CBS so happy about that? I really can't figure it out.
And after CBS has spent about 75% of their news time telling us how bad Bush and his cronies are, they report (again, gleefully) that the President's popularity rating is at its lowest point ever. Seems to me that if you were to pound the American public with horror stories about anyone, their popularity might take a hit. Why, even my popularity would be affected, and we all know how widely loved and cherished I am.
After CBS has spent a couple of hours joyfully telling us that America is going to hell in a handbasket, the local news comes on. Trying to put things positively, I will say this: The channel six early morning news team is so bad, they make Gene Cox look good.
First of all, they spend about two minutes out of every ten minutes greeting one another. Everytime the weather guy comes on, everyone has to greet one another. "Hey Greg!" "Hey Jean!" "Hi Bob!" "Hello Greg!" On and on and on. You'd think they hadn't seen one another in quite awhile, but ten minutes later they're doing it again.
After they cheerfuly greet one another, and express delight over the weather forecast, they then pick up where CBS left off. I don't know if these local media folk are as excited about how much people hate the United States as they pretend to be. I think they just think that's the way professional newscasters are supposed to act.
One story I saw on the news today has me a little puzzled. Maybe the Richmond Police Department has more power than I think. But, the people over at Channel Six are sure worried about the police enacting a law that will force all gasoline station owners to install pay before you pump systems to avoid the drive-offs.
Apparently, based on the way the story was reported over and over again, the police are tired of responding to calls regarding those who pump gas and take off without paying. So, the police are trying to make it a law that all pumps be equipped with a system that won't allow pumping without paying.
I guess the police figure since they're totally inept at enforcing laws, they'll start legislating them. What's next? I'd think drive-aways at the pump is just another form of shoplifting. Maybe the police will enact a law that requires all customers to present a credit card when they enter a store, in case they're a shoplifter.
I really did not realize what powers the police have. But WTVR has a lot of gas station operators really upset this morning at what the police are trying to do.
To all those upset gas guys, I say, "Cheer up." I have some great news. According to CBS everyone hates us. Now, doesn't that make you feel better?

Steve Cook and His Wife are Proud to Announce...

Well, I'm rather proud to announce that we have a new addition in our family. That's the reason I've been away from work for a few days recently. Not suprisingly, my wife is the proudest and most pleased. Although, despite some initial concerns, I am now very happy myself. It's not something my wife and I rushed into. We sat down and counted the cost before we did anything else. I protested that the cost might be more than we wished, but she said it would all be worth it. I think she's probably right.
My wife is so protective of this bundle of joy. She won't even let me come near without first taking a shower. And I better not even think about eating or drinking anywhere in the same room. I think that's carrying things a little too far but I comply...better safe than sorry, I suppose.
The delivery occurred while I was in China, so for several days all I could do was listen to my wife rave about how beautiful it is. My wife prepared the room prior to the delivery. Everything had to be just right. I was sorry I wasn't there to help, but business is business.
Listening to my wife's excitement over the phone, I couldn't wait to get home and see for myself. She was right. It is beautiful. And big too. The biggest I've ever seen. It sits up and lies down on demand which is great...especially when I want to watch TV.
Of course, as you have no doubt guessed, I'm talking about our new bed. It's king-size. I've never had one of those. I need a roadmap just to crawl over and kiss my wife good night.
This baby is comfortable too. I haven't slept so well since I was a baby myself. In fact, while previously I really didn't look forward to going to bed, nowadays, I find myself daydreaming about going home, grabbing the remote and climbing in bed. I'm not talking about the remote for the TV, either. The bed has a remote. Actually, it has two, one for my side and one for my wife's side. I can use the remote to choose a number that best suits my sleep. I'm so worried about choosing the wrong number that I've avoided using that feature on the remote. But, there are other buttons I'm enjoying.
I can raise the head and the feet. Sometimes I double myself over like a big slice of bologna on a small bun. It's not all that comfortable in that position, but just the fact I can do it means a lot. There's also a massager on the bed. It gently rocks me to sleep some nights, and once you get used to a sound somewhat similar to a freight train rolling through the house, it's not bad at all.
My wife even got a special pillow for me. Her pillow is for people who sleep on their backs, but mine is for us special folk, who sleep on our sides. Sometimes I start to lie down on my back, but she quickly reminds me that that's against the rules. So I have to shift positions. I don't want to abuse the pillow. I had a terrible fear last night. I asked my wife, "Suppose we get mixed up on pillows? Will that hurt anything?"
She was one step ahead of me. "That's why I left the cardboard tag in your pillow case...so you'd know it was yours."
I wondered why I had a big piece of cardboard cutting into my ear. I'm glad to get an answer to that one. Although, I do wonder why she didn't leave the cardboard in her pillow.
Despite the cardboard and the freight train sounds, I really am sleeping better. I'm guessing that's why my disposition is so cheery these days. You've probably noticed it too. Well, I think I'm going to take a little nap. It is almost noon around here.

Is It Just Me, Or Do I Really Look Sick?

Hello. My name is Steve C. and I, well, uh, I'm a hypochondriac. There! I've admitted it. Gee, I feel better already. It's a secret I've lived with for years, but just recently it's been made painfully obvious to me that the world is crawling with us hypochondriacs. So, as a public service, I've decided to come out in the open...to come out of the medicine cabinet, if you will. I feel that by calling attention to my shameful problem, I can, somehow, in my own small, humble way, help others come to grips with their own hypochondria.
As I said, I've come to realize there are many sufferers. Take Bill W. (not the AA Bill W.). He took his wife to the hospital for a procedure. As the doctor was describing just what he'd be doing to Bill W.'s wife, Bill W. became queasy. His blood pressure rocketed to over 200. The doctors couldn't do the procedure on Mrs. Bill W. because they were too worried about him. In comparison to Bill W., I'm a rank amateur hypochondriac.
Although I can relate. If someone tells me about an injury they suffered, I double over in pain. No matter what part of their body was injured, I feel the pain in my mid-section. So, please, if you've had any terrible injury, I'd just as soon not know about it.
Then there's Julie C. (wife of Steve C.). She tells me last night that she can't seem to stay awake the last couple of days. She blames it on conversion-to-Eastern-Time jet lag. She hasn't been anywhere, but she has jet lag because of the clock being set back. The poor thing doesn't even realize what a hypochondriac she is.
Although I'm willing to limp up to the plate and admit I'm a hypochondriac, that doesn't mean that I fully believe that there isn't something seriously wrong with me. I saw a cartoon recently. A man was sitting in his doctor's office. He was saying to the doctor: "Okay, suppose I am a hypochondriac, that could be brought on by a brain tumor, couldn't it?"
I know just what the guy means. Although there may be some seriously neurotic people out there (Bill W. and Julie C., as examples), I'm sure I really have some exotic tropical illness that doctor's just can't seem to locate. Take my back for instance...please (an old Henny Youngman joke, but a good one). Sure, every orthopedic specialist in the city has examined it and said they can't find any problem. But I know how badly I hurt. In fact, now that I'm taking the time to really think about it, I'm probably not a hypochondriac at all. Just the opposite, I probably have an extremely high threshold of pain. If most people experienced the pain I'm experiencing, they'd probably be in the hospital, or worse. But not me. No sir. I'm a trooper. I keep on going.
And, it's not just my back. Did I mention I have combination skin. I've suffered with that for decades. But do you hear me complaining? I'll answer that...NO. Plus, I have flat feet and a horseshoe kidney. Furthermore, I have some sort of illness that everytime someone even mentions the word "flatulence" (or a more unsavory synonym), I have a coughing fit.
And you don't think I'm really sick? I'm a wreck. But, I keep a stiff upper lip and keep on going. Not like those hypochondriacs. I really think they have problems upstairs, if you know what I'm trying to say.
Well, I hope this little tirade has made you feel better. I feel better, although, I still have this pain in my lower back. I'm in excruciating pain every time I do this....

Howling at the Lunacy

This has to be one of my least favorite days of the year...the day when many businesses give their employees an opportunity to prove just what idiots they are. Here's what I mean. On October 31st of last year, I go into a bank to tend to some important business. The vice-president, or whatever the title of the person with whom I'm speaking, is dressed like a werewolf. I guess if you spend every day of the year dealing with massive growths of ear hair, Halloween is a godsend.
But get real. How can I discuss my personal business with some moron who thinks it's acceptable to come to work like that? Same thing at the dentist office. The assistant wants to probe my mouth, but she looks like a witch. I mean like a real witch. She has the pointed hat and the fake mole (or maybe it's a real mole, I didn't test it), and the black dress. I really don't want something like that putting her hand in my mouth.
I refuse to go into restaurants or stores which allow their employees to dress up for Halloween. My thinking is that anyone who thinks it's okay to do business while wearing some ludicrous costume, is not someone with whom I want to do business.
I used to work for a major customer service center, and I hated going in to work on Halloween. While most of the employees chose some sort of ghoulish costume, there were a significant number of the guys who looked like they were straight from Transvestylvania, if you know what I mean.
I don't think it's prudish to expect men to dress like men, even if you do allow them to put on some ridiculous costume. Call me sissyphobic if you will, but I really don't feel comfortable in that environment.
Something else I don't get is why people wish one another "Happy Halloween." What exactly does that mean? I'm talking grown adults speaking with other grown adults. Is there some gayety (no pun intended) about the day that I'm not getting? How does one have a happy Halloween? It's not a day off from work. It's not a day to gather with the family and reflect on life's blessings. It is a day when almost every year I come close to mowing down some kid with a mask over his eyes, wandering back and forth across the roadways in the dark. I don't find it particularly happifying. There is only one thing I like about Halloween...the day after. Not just because I won't have to deal with the stupidity for another year, but also because that's the day the candy goes on sale.

What About Snob?

I received a phone call yesterday. And now my disposition, which is generally cheery, has been soured. Of course, I'm sure you want to hear all about it. Okay then, you shall.
Let me preface this by mentioning that our fall issue of Chesterfield Living Magazine is now out. And, if I must say so myself, it looks marvelous. The cover story features Reed's Landing, one of the county's premier communities. There is a beautiful picture on the cover taken in one of the Reed's Landing homes.
So, there I was, sitting at my desk, basking in the afterglow of the release of the magazine, when I get a phone call from Thurston Howell, III. Well, actually it wasn't really Thurston Howell, III. But it was from an effete snob who was doing a pretty good impersonation. Only he wasn't trying; that's really the way the guy talks.
Seems this poor little rich man was upset that we only mentioned one builder and one realtor in Reed's Landing. "I just want to make you aware of the fact that Billy Stinson is not the only builder in Reed's Landing," he whined.
"I'm very well aware of that," I told him. I have nothing against rich guys. But, haughty, self-assuming windbags is another story.
I highlighted this particular builder, Billy Stinson, along with realtor, Karen Berkness, because they were very accommodating. Actually, I had phoned other realtors - those who deal in estate properties - in putting the story together, but most had reacted as if I were a wart on the butt of life.
Billy and Karen were very helpful. And, may I add, they acted just like regular folk. (I'd also like to thank the homeowners who very very gracious in allowing us to photograph their home.) Somehow I can't see Mr. Gotrocks (name has been changed in case you couldn't figure that out) being nearly so accommodating or so down-to-earth. He did conclude the conversation by saying, "If eveh I can offah you any assistance, please do not hesitate to contact me." At least he didn't call me "boy."
I started to ask him if I could borrow fifty bucks, but, exercising my good judgement, I refrained. I know this is just a minor irritation, but, just in case my caller is ever in the online slums and comes across my blog, I just want to let him know that despite his polished, big-boy dictionary words, and his Southern charm, he's as transparent as my (former) mother-in-law's bourbon-rich egg nog.
But, being the gracious Southerner that I am, may I say, "If evah, Suh, you have the need to talk down to someone, may I please offah my assistance." Gee, maybe that sounds sarcastic.
And, because I do happen to, as a rule, like wealthy people, may I just add, that I'm not belittling Southern aristoracy. I even eat FFV cookies. But there are some folks who are just plain, mind-numbingly, tedious. And, you, Suh, are one of them.

Final Thoughts On China

Well now that I'm safely back on American soil, i can reveal something that I was afraid to say while in China. Believe it or not, my blog was censored over there. If you go back and read the things I wrote about China, you'll see it was totally non-political, and, for the most part, rather complimentary. But, as soon as I got into Communist China (if you don't consider Hong Kong Communist), I was unable to access my blog.
Talk about being paranoid! And, I'm talking about myself, not those Chinese leaders who banned me. I got to thinking that maybe those Chinese cab drivers were only pretending to not understand English. Maybe they were taking note of what I was saying to my fellow passengers in the cab, and then immediately calling "headquarters" to report me.
I woke up one night about, about three in the morning, and tried to get on the internet. The whole thing shut down on me. I looked out the hotel window and a light in a window across the way immediately went out. I knew they were spying on me. I could feel their creepy breath against the back of my neck. My hair stood on end, as cold chills ran up and down my spine. Sorry, I was practicing my hand at writing a novel. Did that sound pretty scary?
Actually, I did get a little paranoid, too paranoid to actually mention in a blog (written while I was there) that I was being censored. But, now that I'm back, the whole truth can be told, and I'm telling it.
The interesting thing about Communist China is that, besides the censorship thing, it didn't feel very Communist at all. Of course, when it comes to understanding what Communism feels like, I'm probably about as ignorant as they come. But, the police officers I encountered, were pleasant young men. There were soldiers standing rigidly at attention on little platforms in front of some public buildings. Even when I tickled their armpits they refused to laugh, so maybe that's Communistic. But, really, except for the fact that everything is written in Chinese and everyone speaks Chinese, you really couldn't tell you were in China. Oh yeah, the dogs hanging in the marketplace along with the chickens and fish was a little revealing. But, really China is filled with people who smile easily, who are willing to provide a stranger with directions, who get up, go to work, care for their families, and do all the stuff we do.
The culture is quite different in some ways, but people are people. No one wears a big scarlet "C" around their neck, or pinned to their Chairman Mao t-shirts. On a couple of occasions I heard that European siren coming down the street. You know that wah-wah wah-wah sound that they use in all the old World War II movies. The siren sounds like it's saying "Na-zi Na-zi." But, each time, as I would dive for cover and peek out from behind a trash can or whatever, it was just an ambulance. Unless, of course, those devious Commies are pretending to be EMTs, just so they could track me down. You know I never considered that possibility. I wonder if any of them followed me back to America. Excuse me. I'm going to go hide. If you don't ever see this blog, please let me know.

The Really Ugly American Returns

I'm baaaack. It is good to be home, back in the U.S.A., where I don't have to worry about crossing the street without being hit by a runaway rickshaw. True, I do have to worry about being mugged on the sidewalk, but once I'm in the middle of the highway, my worries are behind me...til I get to the other side, anyway.
I'm having a problem with jet lag, so I'm just now waking up enough to write this. Plus, I came back with some sort of a cold. My co-workers have assured me that it's probably just a mild case of bird flue. There was this woman sitting in the back of the plane on the flight home who hacked and coughed and wheezed the entire 14 hours. I would have suggested she cover her mouth, but I don't know any Viet Namese. One thing I did notice in China, is that the people don't seem to mind spitting, sneezing, coughing, and whatever with no regard to where their bodily fluids may fly. Anyway, now I'm hacking and coughing. But, at least I'm covering my mouth.
I had to go get my blood pressure checked this morning...not that I'm not a picture of perfect health, but I'm in some sort of national research thing, testing a cholesterol medicine...or else I'm gagging on a huge placebo every day; I'm not sure which. My blood pressure was a little high, and the lady there asked me if I'd put on any weight while I was in China. I don't think so. Dodging automobiles is good exercise.
I do think I know why my pressure is high though. I'm watching the local TV news again. I'd forgotten how bad it is. At least when all the programming is in Chinese, you can't tell how inane it is, unless, of course, you speak Chinese.
Is it just me, or did Gene Cox have a frontal lobotomy while I was gone? Probably just me. I watched him last night, and he breathlessly (I think it's his age, not his excitement level) said, "We're following a breaking story out of Detroit. Rosa Parks has died." Now, Rosa Parks died yesterday afternoon, but at 11:00 last night it was a "breaking story." And, just how do you follow this story? She's not going to do much of anything else at this point. She's dead. I'm sorry she's dead, but pretty much that's a done deal. Gene said he'd keep us updated. I'll have to call him this afternoon and see if she's still dead.
And, then on channel eight, the brainiac newscaster used that line this morning that drives me straight up a wall, and probably elevates my blood pressure. The news anchor said that the police had caught a guy who beat up a Chesterfield man and his dog. But, he put it this way, "You'll never guess where police captured the assailant...." First of all, why would I try to guess. It's not some sort of a game. And, since I imagine he (he, being the newscaster) will tell us right after a commercial break, I don't really need to guess. And, thirdly, if you're keeping count here, it's not like they caught the guy on the moon, or hidden in some cave in Morocco. They caught him in New Jersey. Whoop De Doo!
I guess I never would guess, because the answer is too boring. That "you'll never guess" thing is so stupid. It's the very thing that causes my blood presssure to go up. If I have a stroke, I'm suing Gene Cox and that guy at WRIC.
The results of this medicine/placebo test, of which I'm an integral part (one of about 3,000 testees), could be skewed by my blood pressure being artifically elevated by TV newscasters. This test continues until several hundred of us die. I guess they figure the people being tested are in such poor health, that they'll have no trouble with enough of us buying the farm within the next few years. But, if I die, I want it be because of what I'm eating, not because of watching the news. That would be a really bland way to go.
How did your husband die, Mrs. Cook?
Oh, it was an overdose of Gene Cox.
You see what I mean. That would truly be a senseless death.
But, keep an eye out for me. If you see my name in the obituary, please let Gene Cox know he's partly responsbible.

One Last Thrill For The Road

Well, it's 8:30 Sunday morning in Hong Kong. In about 90 minutes, I'll be on that great silver bird (airplane, for those of you who aren't in to hip talk like we savvy world travelers use). I have had the most miserable night, and yet, here at 8:30, I'm very happy...tired, but happy. Who'd have thunk it.
First, the bad part. I arrive in Hong Kong at about 10:30 last night from Shanghai. I just need a cheap hotel room for the night, but given the way things turn out for me, that's not in the cards. Almost all hotels are booked solid for a trade show. The only rooms left are in the 400 dollar (and I'm talking the real, green ones) range. I'm resigned to spending the night in the airport, when an "extremely helpful" cab driver shows up. He knows a great little hotel, room only that costs about 350 Hong Kong dollars (50 US). So, after he swears he's phoned the hotel to confirm, I get in his cab. I'm kinda suspicious of the fact that he has the meter covered with a rag, and the place where the driver's ID picture is supposed to be is empty. But, hey, this is Hong Kong.
He seems nice enough as we drive the 30 minutes into Hong Kong from the airport. We get into town and he starts driving up one seedy street and down another. There's a police blockade at one point, which, I think, he used to his advantage. "There's been a fire at the hotel," he tells me. You don't have to hit me over the head with a brick to wake me up. I'm really suspicious now. He stops on the seediest street so far and gets out, telling me to wait there.
About twenty minutes he's back, saying he found a room. He says the manager will be coming down to the street to meet me. I pay him, get my luggage and tell him to get lost.
By this time, it's about 1:00 AM, I'm standing in the middle of a really crumby street with three pieces of baggage. I stop passers-by (they're out all hours in Hong Kong) and a woman walking a poodle tells me there's a decent hotel a couple of blocks over. She leads me half-way there and points to it.
I haul me and my luggage to the front of this hotel. It's so classy that there's a guy sleeping on a cot at the front door. The hotel is two flights up, and there's no way I'm going to leave my luggage there with Cot-Man. So, I heave and ho and huff and puff and get the luggage up the stairs. The woman tells me the room is 600 Hong Kong, which isn't bad, except the place is horrible.
So, down the steps the luggage and I go, past the sleeper and into the streets. I hail another cab and head back to the airport. Total cost in the green money - about $80.00.
I then settle in on an extremely uncomfortable lobby chair, using my carry-on as a pillow. Keep in mind that the next night will be spent crammed into a clothes hamper sized United Airlines Economy Seating seat. Anyway, at about 6:00 this morning I go to the United check-in counter (they're closed overnight) and check in. I ask for an aisle seat. The nice woman says that she has an aisle seat, but it's in the back of the plane. She tells me that I had purchased an economy-plus seat, so I'd have to downgrade for an aisle seat.
Evidently what I sat in coming over was not the worst seat United could come up with. Nonetheless, I'd rather take a downgrade and get the aisle. I'm anxious to see what Economy non-plus is. I'm rather suspecting they'll ask me to clean the toilets every couple of hours.
But, remember at the outset I said I'm happy? Well, I am. Here's why. After passing through immigration and security, I head for the monorail to take me to my gate. I see a sign advertising a lounge for all travelers. The Business- and First-class passengers already have a nice lounge to wait in away from us commoners.
I decide to check this lounge out. It is the greatest thing to happen to air travel since the Wright brothers.
For 20.00 US, I get nice comfortable chairs, newspapers, magazines, CNN (okay, you can't have everything), a breakfast buffet, and a hot shower. I feel good...very tired, but good.
Anyway, I gotta go butter up my hips so I can squeeze into my seat on the plane. The next time you'll hear from me will be when I'm back on earth, I mean back in America.

Shanghai By Night

Well now, finally, I'm in China. At least, I've finally arrived in the sort of China I was hoping to find...Shanghai. This city of upwards of 20 million inhabitants, may be, at least by night, one of the most beautiful cities I've ever seen.
We arrived, by air, yesterday afternoon (Wednesday). Traffic is horrible, but what can one expect with a city of this size. But, the Shanghaiese have an appreciation for beauty, as well as their own culture. Unlike Guangzhou, Shanghai is a city that loves to have fun. There are zoos, amusement parks, football (pronounced soccer) stadiums, restaurants, and so much more. There is also much greenery. Flowers sit in boxes atop the "jersey walls" that line the roadways. At night, I'm told, trucks slowly drive by, watering the flowers.
I am traveling with three American businessmen. In Shanghai, we are met at the airport, and escorted around town, by, Mei Ling, their Shanghai associate, an attractive woman in her mid-thirties. Like most Chinese women I have met, Mei Ling is very soft-spoken. However, I am told, that in negotiations, she can be very aggressive and demanding.
She takes us to a narrow, almost alley-like, street in the old town section of Shanghai. The street is flooded with motorbikes and bicycles, and even a few automobiles. As we creep through the street, in our six-passenger van, we see beautifully-lit restaurants on both sides. Suddenly, two men with armbands begin banging on the windows of the van. Melodie's driver rolls down his window to speak with the men. Another man goes to the passenger side and bangs.
I'm thinking we're in the middle of some international incident. Perhaps, there is some sort of Chinese law about escorting Americans in a van. I'm wondering if my wife will see me on CNN as I'm hauled away to spend the rest of my life in a dingy Chinese prison. I really don't know how dingy they are, but I've seen plenty of movies.
Turns out, that what's happening is that these arm-banded men work for the various restaurants. Their job is to go out into traffic and lure in customers. We get lured in. Crossing the street here is the biggest pedestrian-related adventure thus far. You literally have to just step in front of the motorbikes and hope the driver will slow down enough to just slightly graze you.
I admit I'm somewhat scared. So, to answer the question, "Why did the chicken cross the road?" To eat authentic Chinese food, that's why.
Upon entering the restaurant, we see huge acquariums, filled with every sort of sea creature imaginable. I soon realize that these are not pets, they're dinner. Somehow I just couldn't actually go pick out my meal from among the living. I can just imagine the fish looking at me with a tear in his eye, thinking as he meets the cleaver, "that fat American did this to me."
Fortunately, I don't need to make such a selection. Mei Ling leads us into the elevator. These restaurants are several stories high, with private dining rooms of varying sizes on each floor. I've seen that in movies as well, and usually someone gets killed in one of those rooms. Well, long story short, I didn't get killed. In fact, there was no violence whatsoever, except for the way we tore into some really delicious food.
I've been in Chinese restaurants throughout the United States, including Chinatowns in D.C., and New York, but I've never experienced Chinese food like this. We feasted on chicken, fish, tofu, soups, vegetables, you name it. The attentive staff kept our glasses filled with beer or cola or whatever we desired. There were six of us and we all ate heartily. And then the bill arrived...about 300RMB, or, in U.S. currency, a little over 35.00. What a meal, and, for about six dollars a piece!
After dinner, we headed over to a hotel overlooking the Bund, one of the most beautiful spots I've ever seen. The Bund was the international political center of China in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Many of the Consulates were located here, and the architecture is truly amazing. There are so many styles including Gothic, Baroque, Romanesque, Classicism and Renaissance. Although I've never been to Europe (but, I have seen movies), the Bund looks to be more of a European city, than one you'd find in China.
For many years, after the Communist takeover, the Bund was deserted, but in recent years, there has been a major renovation. At night, the lights shine brightly on the beautiful buildings. Behind the Bund, hugh skyscrapers tower above the city. Their multi-colored lights shimmer and twinkle and change colors, making for an awesome kaleidoscopic appearance.
Because service in many Chinese restaurants, including the one at the top of the Panorama Hotel, where we sit, is exceptionally "relaxed," we have plenty of time to admire the beauty.
The Bund sits on the banks of the Huangpu River. The tour boats that ply the waters below are also beautifully decorated with many lights. They share the wide river with freighters and small Chinese junks. It all makes for one amazing site. Shanghai is definitely a city to which I would come back.
It is now about 7:30 Thursday morning. I'm going out to see the city by daylight. I'll let you know what I find.

Life in the Chinese Fast Lane

There are ten million people in Guangzhou. And every one of them must own a cart, a bike, a motorcycle, or a car. And, at any given moment about half of these ten million vehicles are on the city’s streets.
The interesting thing is, traffic moves more freely than in most major cities in the U.S. I have yet to see an accident, despite the fact that there are very few traffic lights. There’s one intersection where six roads converge. Vehicles of all shapes and sizes cross lanes, all without any traffic signals, and things move smoothly, frighteningly, but smoothly.
As I mentioned earlier, crossing the street is one of the great Chinese adventures. Pedestrians cross one lane at a time, and some city streets may contain seven lanes in each direction. You don’t wait for traffic to pass and then start out into the street. You simply move as closely as you can to the vehicle in the lane, and then slip around it and wait to slide in between vehicles in the next lane. Some of the locals are so good, they can do it without even looking towards the oncoming traffic. It’s like they have a sixth sense for this sort of thing.
Bicycles are a major means of transportation…not just personal transportation, but huge loads of cargo as well. It’s not uncommon to see a cyclist with water jugs, packages, or pillows strapped to his bike. I don’t know what’s with this pillow thing, but often a cyclist will be so laden down with big, square, colorful pillows, that it’s impossible to see the bike itself.
Frequently, you’ll see chickens in cages strapped to bikes, or motorcycles, being taken to market. It’s really somewhat sad. The little fellows seem so happy to be taken for a ride. Their heads are poked through the openings in the cages, and they seem to be really enjoying the breeze. Little do they know it’s a death ride.
No matter the time of day, the streets are going to be filled with this concoction of pedestrians and vehicles of all shapes and sizes…all defying the law of physics that says that two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time. And, rarely will you hear a horn blowing…maybe an occasional toot to warn someone, but everyone seems so polite as they share the roadways.
The people of Guangzhou are perpetually busy. The little shops are always open. In fact, I don’t believe many of them even have fronts to close and lock. They look more like garages with the door lifted up. Within any given block, you’re apt to find a store selling tires, next to a produce market, next to a “store” filled from top to bottom with plastic water jugs.
There are little food stands, stores selling paper products, auto repair shops, and just about anything else you could imagine. And there are people…so many people. I think many of these families that operate the little stores either live in them, or in one of the small apartments above them. You get the impression that these hardworking people are born in these little shops, grow up in them, live and work in them, and then die in them. One thing you don’t see on the streets of this major Chinese city are toddlers. In Hong Kong, the young children are everywhere. Parents can be seen walking through the markets with three or four children hanging on to them. Occasionally, here in Guangzhou, you’ll see a parent with one small child. But, one is the limit, not just the limit, the law.
China is, in many ways, exceptionally technologically advanced. The group I am with is here for a major export fair. We have seen building products, home appliances, electronics, and an assortment of other items that are very well made. But, for all the technological advancement, there are many parts of the country that seem to have remained virtually unchanged over countless decades. One can see a spotless black Rolls Royce sharing the road with beat-up bicycles and pull-carts.
It makes for a very interesting mix. It’s not at all as I had imagined a Communist country to be. And yet, in many ways, you are constantly reminded of the realities. I’d like to tell you more, but that will wait for another day.

Chinese Food For Thought

Here’s a little tidbit of information from China that you may find hard to believe. I know I’m finding it that way. There are no egg-rolls! None. At least none that I’ve found, so far.
There is plenty of food, however. Here in Guangzhou, restaurants are everywhere. Our hotel, the Yihe, is about twenty minutes outside of town. It’s a beautiful hotel, designed in a Japanese-resort sort of way. There are four restaurants here. One, which is on top of a mountain behind the hotel, is designed to resemble a Pagoda. The folks here at the Yihi have named it The Pagoda. I can understand why. There is also a barbecue hut, which, for some reason doesn’t open until nine in the evening. I’ve never seen it, but it’s called The Barbecue Hut. There are two primary restaurants attached to the hotel. One is a Western-style restaurant (not cowboys and Indians type western, just opposed to Far Eastern), and the other serves Chinese food. The creative minds here at the Yihe named the Western-style restaurant, Western Style Restaurant. Want to guess the name of the Chinese-style restaurant?
These are the only two restaurants in which I’ve eaten here in Guangzhou. I’ve passed a great many others. There’s one restaurant, not too far from the hotel that serves a variety of meat and fish dishes. Interestingly, it has pictures, of the animals it serves, painted on the window. There is a picture of a rabbit, so wild game must be on the menu. There is also a picture of a lobster. That sounds good. There are also pictures of a dog and a cat. I’m sticking to the hotel restaurants.
Even at the hotel, as you enter the restaurant, you pass the kitchen area. This is by design, evidently, perhaps in order to whet one’s appetite. There, hanging in the window, is the typical dead chicken, with her little head tucked up under her neck. My appetite is sufficiently whetted.
One of the businessmen in our group, a builder named James, from Virginia Beach, has spent considerable time in China, visiting many of its factories. He tells of a restaurant in a rather remote area in which he once dined. He said that many of the items in the refrigerator-less facility were totally unidentifiable, so he settled on half a chicken. What he received was exactly half a chicken, including half a neck, half a head, even half a tongue. And, says James, “It was bright yellow, just like those rubber chickens you see.” James also told me he was so hungry, he ate that whole half a yellow chicken.
He said in that particular restaurant, if the patrons didn’t like something they were eating, they’d simply spit in on the floor. Now, that’s a Chinese tradition, I’d like to institute at home.
As you enter the hotel restaurants, you’re greeted by at least six or seven smiling waitresses and/or hostesses. The waitresses are always in some cute, modest uniform. The hostesses wear colorful Chinese kimonos (if that’s what they call them in China). They then proceed to escort you to your table. And, I do mean THEY. While one might expect one of the ladies to escort you, here, they all lead you. And, it’s like they’re oblivious to each other. They’re all pointing to an empty table, sometimes they’re pointing to different tables. I told someone I felt like I had been gang-waitressed.
Some of the waitresses speak pretty good English. Others speak none. Ordering can be a real adventure. Fortunately, many items on the bi-lingual menu have pictures. But, even when you point to the picture and the item in Chinese characters, they seem to be confused. It’s as if they don’t realize we’re saying we’d like to order this. They point at the items. They get this puzzled little look on their faces. They often go get another waitress to come and point and get a puzzled look on her face too. I’m not sure if they’re really that unaware that we’re in the process of ordering, or if they’re playing a little game to see how frustrated Americans can get.
I don’t think it’s the latter, because they seem very sensitive to our emotions. They like it when we smile and say “Taste good" (a la Tonto). But, if we are displeased with something, they continuously bow and apologize and bow some more. We had one young hostess yesterday who almost broke down in tears. I was really worried about her. Not too worried that I can’t eat, however. I’m on my way to breakfast now. I’m looking forward to some baked beans and corn on the cob.

A Yen to Spend

If nothing else, this trip to China has given me greater empathy towards foreigners, visiting or living in the United States. I’m sure, that to these Chinese people, I look like a doddering old man who can’t understand even the simplest words. I’ve seen that glazed-over look in the eyes of foreigners with whom I am speaking. No doubt, I have that same glazed-over look in my eyes when someone is giving me directions in Chinese.
Interestingly, the Chinese do exactly what I do when I’ve been in their shoes. They keep saying the same thing over and over, louder and louder, figuring that eventually, when it gets loud enough, I’ll become fluent in their language. “Just turn right,” I’ve screamed at little old Chinese men in the past. “I said, ‘Just turn right!’”
It just doesn’t work. And so I do what those little Chinese men have done with me. I smile and thank the person trying to help and wander away as lost as ever.
Fortunately, it’s all a big adventure…this going out and getting lost thing. We did just that on Thursday. Our waitress, the night before, a lovely young woman, who has just completed a six-year course in English, told us we should visit the City Center, for shopping. She wrote it in Chinese characters, so we could just show it to those from whom we were seeking directions.
It worked well. We were directed to the proper bus, and although we started off in the wrong direction, when shown the paper, the bus driver did a little circle motion with his fingers indicating we needed to go the other way. So, we jumped off, crossed the street, and caught the same numbered bus going the opposite direction.
Now, I mention crossing the street as if there were nothing to it. On a life-threatening-things-to-do scale, I’d rank it at about an 8.5. I have been brainwashed, through decades of life in the U.S. into believing the pedestrian has the right-of-way. It’s just the opposite on the opposite side of the world.
Although, I never actually saw a pedestrian get hit (at least not thus far), it wasn’t because the motorist, or even bicyclist, wasn’t trying. Vehicles change lanes incessantly, even, in the case of the two-wheeled ones, going onto the sidewalk when necessary. You cross the street one lane at a time, and hope that while you’re standing between lanes, a vehicle doesn’t need that space you’re occupying.
We did make it, finally, into the downtown-shopping district, with the help of a lot of people who couldn’t understand us, and whom we couldn’t understand. Guangzhou is, in many ways, a very modern city. And, yet, in the City Center, there is a mixture of the new with the very old. Next to skyscrapers, stand small stone buildings that look as if they’d been there for centuries. Turn off the main street, into dark, ancient alleys, and you could easily imagine you’d traveled back in time.
Interestingly, while an occasional old man might stare at us, very few seemed to pay attention to strange Americans wandering through the courtyards of clusters of their apartments. This is quite a contrast to the hotel complex in which we’re staying, where, it feels as if everyone is watching you. I’m not sure if that’s an indication of distrust, or if they simply want to be sure our needs are satisfied.
Back to the streets of City Center, one can find an amazing array of wares. There are many small shops, selling baubles and bangles, shirts and skirts, hosiery, produce, you name it. These are run by merchants who stand at the entrance of their stores and call out to passersby, primarily tourists, I imagine. Some stores use more aggressive tactics, sending salespeople out into the streets to accost tourists, virtually attempting to drag them down the street, around the corner, and into their stores. At first, we politely followed. But the accosters became so numerous and persistent, that eventually we just pretended they weren’t there. I hate being rude (believe that, if you will), but there is no other way to deal with these people but to ignore them. “No,” is not in their vocabulary.
Perhaps it’s because there are a billion people in the country, but, even in the smaller stores, there may be ten or more salespeople. While in the store, even if you’re speaking with one salesman, it is not unusual for two or three others to be bringing you items to try on or look at. In one such store, after I had walked out, a salesman follows me and shows me a picture of a young Chinese woman. “Pretty,” he says, pointing to the picture. “You want?” I don’t think he’s kidding.
City Center is filled with these small stores and aggressive merchants. But there are also some very modern shops as well. Grand Buy easily rivals any department store I’ve ever visited, including Macy’s in New York. It’s an eight-story building filled with all of the things one would expect to find in a department store…fashions, jewelry, cosmetics, furniture, electronics, even a very modern grocery store.
The electronics/appliance department contains the very latest in refrigerators, washing machines, and, of course, HDTVs. I’ve never seen such brilliant, sharp images on television as on the TVs displayed there. And, I’m told, they’re all made in China.
I would have spent some money in City Center, but I didn’t have any yen. I tried several ATMs, but, they offered no English option, and when it comes to my debit card, I don’t want to just start pushing buttons. I went into a couple of banks, but, for some reason, banks are very busy places.
When you enter, you take a number, and wait. It’s not unlike the DMV. There were waiting areas in both of the banks I tried, and there were large numbers of people waiting.
I didn’t have the yen to wait, so we hopped on the bus and returned to our hotel. It’s a very interesting facility in its own right, but I’ll tell you more about that another time.

Mr. Cook's Wild Ride

It’s difficult to type right now, as I reflect on a somewhat life-threatening ordeal we have just come through here in Communist China. Our adventure began after we passed through immigration and customs. On our way out of the train station, we were stopped by a man who asked us where we were going. The man wasn’t wearing any type of uniform, but being a little unsure of what to expect, we gave him the name of our hotel. He ran and grabbed another guy and said he’d obtained a taxi for us. He quoted a price, which seemed a little high, but, hey, we’re newcomers in town. So we said if the ride would be no more than the price he’d quoted, that was fine. He and the other guy then grab our bags and head down the steps. We’re following closely behind as the two guys and our luggage careen through an area under construction and into a restaurant adjoining the train station.
We’re right behind them, through the restaurant, around the tables, past the booths, diners staring at the sight of two Americans chasing their luggage through the restaurant. We leave the restaurant and enter a small parking lot. This doesn’t seem like it would be the place to catch a cab, and I’m starting to get a little suspicious; but again, we’re in a whole new world.
The guy starts packing our luggage into the trunk of a fairly modern Toyota. The car has no markings to indicate it is a cab, nor is there any driver’s I.D. posted in the car. I’m getting a little antsy, but figure by this point, if these guys weren’t on the up and up, it was just a matter of whether they’d kill us in the parking lot or in some out-of-the-way spot that had been predetermined.
The first guy who approached us gets in the front passenger seat, and the other guy is sitting behind the wheel. The first guy says I’ll take my money now. I go ahead and pay him, hoping that he’ll just make this quick and painless.
He takes our money and hops out of the car. The cab driver starts the engine and immediately becomes a raving maniac. He’s weaving between cars, trucks, bikes, motorcyclists, pedestrians, blaring his horn, gunning the engine and slamming on brakes…somewhat simultaneously.
My friend, Rob, who is traveling with me on this leg of our trip, observes that it doesn’t appear the driver has the foresight to realize that if he changes lanes, he’s only going to have to almost immediately change again because of traffic blocking the lane he’s just changed to. I think the guy just doesn’t care. It’s like playing a video game. The driver takes one obstacle at a time and moves on to the next.
But my mind is on more important matters. I’m sitting there thinking about how I can prevent our being murdered. I’m pretty positive that we’re about to meet with foul play. We pass a policeman in his cruiser. I think maybe I can use some sort of international symbol for, “Hey, I think this pseudo-cab driver is going to kill us.” Being unable to recall that particular hand gesture, I contemplate taking my shoelaces out of my shoes and strangling the driver. I’m sitting right behind him and, from reading a good many mysteries, I think I know how to pull it off. The only problem is that I’m wearing loafers.
So, I begin to determine if I could quickly grab him by his hair and slam his face into the steering wheel. Now keep in mind, I wouldn’t do that until he, the driver, made the first move. But, as soon as it looked like he was ready to kill us, I was ready to be the hero. I was halfway daydreaming and worrying at the same time…daydreaming about crushing the driver’s skull and worrying that I might not grab his head just right and just end up irritating him. I was also wondering just what that first move on the driver’s part would be and would I recognize it in time. After all, when it comes to killing a cab driver/kidnapper, timing is everything.
All of a sudden he starts shouting and slams on the brakes. I came that close to grabbing the driver’s head and slamming it into the steering wheel, when I realize he’s shouting at a school kid who has come running out in front of the cab. I was so unnerved, that I decided that should anything happen, the driver could just go ahead and kill me. I just wasn’t up to any head-slammings.
Within a few minutes we pull up to the hotel. The driver gets our luggage out of the trunk and drives away. I have to admit I’m relieved, but slightly disappointed.
Later in the day, when I confess to Rob that I was on the verge of killing the our driver, he admits that he was trying to figure out what he had on him that he could use to defend us. “I figured he didn’t have a gun,” Rob said, “but, he might have a knife. I was trying to decide what I had in my pocket that would be a good match for a knife.”
Fortunately, neither of us had to kill anyone…on this particular day. We lived to tell the story. But, just barely. Besides, did I mention that there were no seatbelts in the back seat?

A Fast Train to China

It’s been a week of firsts for me, and today’s first is a real doozie. I’m in Communist China, although, come to think of it, I haven’t heard anyone use that term around here.
We caught the morning train from Kowloon, the mainland portion of Hong Kong. About ninety minutes later we were in Gangzhou, formerly known as Canton, and I’m not talking Ohio.
On the rather pleasant ride, I sat next to a computer systems salesman named Dzhou. Dzhou, a native of Hong Kong, travels extensively throughout China. I asked him what changes he’d seen since the Communist government took back its control of Hong Kong in 1997. “It has opened things up,” he says. "I can now do business throughout China. Dzhou thinks the Communist take-over, coupled with a more business-friendly attitude, has been good for the economy.
Dzhou is a pleasant sort of guy, quick to laugh, willing to talk, so I take a chance and ask him about the down side of the takeover. He laughs. He says that in subtle ways you know you’re under a more rigid regime. But, he adds, “As long as you don’t think about it politically, things are good.”
I’d like to find out more, but Dzhou has an arsenal of cell phones which are constantly ringing. And, apparently, he enjoys talking.
The train is modern, clean, comfortable, with plenty of leg room. I wish I could fly it back to the United States, rather than that ridiculously cramped 747 that awaits me in about nine days. On the tain, there are about five women, smartly dressed in blue uniforms. Some of the women are tending to the passengers as they struggle on board with various and sundry pieces of luggage. The car adjoining ours bustles with activity. Other blue-uniform clad women are busily moving pots and pans around, pouring various items (I can't distringuish what) from one pan to another. I’m anxious to see what’s going to happen.
Shortly after the train departs the station, the women don crisp, white aprons and commence to selling anything they can find in that adjacent car.
First one comes out carrying a tray loaded with cartons that look much like Chinese take-home containers. In a lovely sing-songy voice, she offers her wares. She's speaking in Chinese, so I can’t tell what she’s offering, but she sounds pleasant.
Next, another woman comes out with a handful of various newspapers. Turns out she’s offering those for six dollars (Hong Kong) a piece, which in exchange rate is less than a dollar.
Before long another lady comes through and she’s got chicken legs for sale. At least there were no necks and heads being served up. Then some soup or noodles are proffered. After that one of the attendants comes by carrying a book, showing it to everyone. She shows it to me, but doesn’t try and sell me anything. Later when she comes back with the book, singing her little sales pitch, she translates for me. She’s offering stamps.
She’s followed by another young woman with a bowl filled with corn on the cob. It looks good, but it’s a little early in the day for my American-trained palate. Evidently, a lot of Chinese agree with me, because when she comes back through, her bowl is still filled with corn.
As the landscape flies by, I notice that the high-rise condos and apartments which fill Hong Kong, are equally as prevalent once we're outside this Special Administrative Region. I would not have realized we had entered the true Communist China, had not Dzhou called my attention to the fence at the border. I was distracted by another onboard sales pitch. An attendant wheels through a huge cart, fully loaded with bottles of liquor and cartons of cigarettes. I’m guessing she was offering duty-free products.
"Here's the border," Dzhou says, bringing my attention back to the world outside. On the Hong Kong side, it just looks like a fence. However, on the other side, huge rolls of barbwire send a stern warning that, while things may have loosened up, the gates have certainly not swung wide-open.
Still another attendant comes through offering something in little metal containers. She sings her song in Chinese, but when she gets to me, she sings, “coffee or tea?”
Outside I notice miles and miles of high rise housing roll by. As we get out "into the country," I see terraced produce gardens, and a few irrigation ponds. A field here and there dot the landscape, and, just as in all the National Geographics, there are workers tending to the crops. Soon, factories begin to compete for space with the housing. The agricultural areas are very sparse in this part of the country.
Again, I'm distracted by yet another trayful of take-out containers being melodiously offered by one of the attendants. Dzhou has told me how there’s money to be made in China. Apparently, the Chinese have become very adept at the marketing game, even here on the train. I’m not complaining. It appears that good ol’ American capitalism has come to China. This is not your father’s Red China, I’m thinking. In fact, it’s not even my daughter’s father’s Red China. Growing up in the fifties and sixties, I’d heard plenty of horror stories. I had pictured China as being a combination of George Orwell’s 1984, Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, and the 1973 motion picture Soylent Green. That's definitely not the picture I'm seeing now.
Hong Kong is, in many ways, not so very much unlike many large American cities. I’m suspecting that when I get to Gangzhou, I’ll find more of the same…just a big Chinatown. Maybe? I'll fill you in tomorrow.

Two Different Worlds

It's 4:30 AM, Thursday morning here in Hong Kong, which means for those of you on the East Coast, you're finishing up your Wednesday work day. My body has lived in the Eastern time zone for so long that it's having a hard time adjusting. That's not a bad thing, though. It just means I'm sleeping about three to four hours a night. But who wants to sleep when you have two weeks to spend on the other side of the globe. I want to see as much as I can. Of course, that means a lot of late night/early morning Chinese TV. Thanks to satellite and cable, the hotel, here in Hong Kong, offers about twenty-five channels. And, if you think American TV is bad, just come to Hong Kong. Last night, there were about 5 late-night hours of televised bowling. It's broadcast in Chinese, but, hey, it doesn't take a lot of comprehension to catch on to a bowling tournament. It was interesting watching the way the cameras panned in on the crowd reaction. You'd have thought it was the World Series. And, as a brief aside, speaking of the World Series, I'm just glad I was out of the country and didn't have to watch the way the Braves bull-pen stunk up the joint in that last game with Houston. By the time I get back to the states, baseball, 2005, will be history.
But, back to Chinese TV - Bowling is the second most boring sport on the planet, second only to the other sporting event which dominates Chinese television. And that's soccer. Watching soccer is like watching kids play with a ball in the park. It's interesting for about 35 seconds.
In China, soccer is, apparently, of great importance. They even have an entire soccer channel. Plus, during the course of the overnight, one can watch soccer on five or six other channels simultaneously. There's also great Chinese drama. Thankfully, they use English sub-titles, so I'm able to better understand just how boring the shows are. The actors are all pretty bad. They're so amateurish, they do everything but turn to the camera and wave.
One thing I think is interesting is when one of the local channels will occasionally show an HBO movie, they'll edit out the profanity. I got to thinking how paradoxical it is, that America, which claims (at least many do) to be a Christian nation, can so freely accept filthy language, and yet a supposedly atheistic nation (at least for many) finds the same language unacceptable. Kind of makes one wonder.
I haven't spent the entire time watching television. Once the sun comes up, we're out and in the streets. I've walked so much that my thighs are raw. I know, thats TMI. But, it makes each step I take rather unpleasant. And yet, there's so much to see. On Wednesday we took the subway over to Hong Kong island. We're staying on the Peninsula, in the part of Hong Kong called Kowloon. To get to the subway, which by the way, is ultra-modern, we have to walk about five blocks through the street markets. The streets are crowded with old Chinese men and women hawking their merchandise. The people are apparently poor, but hard-working. They're not looking for handouts. They're not beggars. They're are just simple merchants, who get up early each morning and who sit all day in the hot sun, hoping to sell enough of whatever they may have to sell, to support their families. And, while population control is government mandated in most of China, that doesn't appear true in Kowloon. Children stream out of doorways, all dressed in clean school uniforms. The children laugh easily, as do their parents. The people seem to be happy...poor, but content.
There are little food shops along the way displaying a variety of roasted carcasses. Dead ducks, browned and ready to eat, hang from racks. All have their long necks and cute little Donald-Duck-like heads attached. I don't think I could eat anything with the head attached, although the ducks do look tasty.
When we get off the subway on Hong Kong Island, we're in the heart of what may be the most modern city I have ever seen. The cars are big and black and shiny. The businessmen and women (although it appears to be very male-dominated), are small, but all dressed in shiny, black suits. The men wear well-starched, immaculately-white, dress shirts with a smart, stylish tie. One of the guys in our group commented that when everyone wears the same "power suit," it ceases to be a power suit. It becomes more of a uniform, much like the ones the schoolgirls we passed earlier in the morning were wearing. The only difference is that, unlike the schoolgirls, the businessmen (and women) aren't smiling. They have tired, haggard expressions on their faces. Many, those that don't own those big, shiny cars, pack themselves into the subway with us for the evening ride home. Somehow, despite the fact that the humidity is high and there are twice as many passengers in each car than comfort would allow, their shirts and suits are still wrinkle free. Their ties are still pulled tightly around their necks.
We rode the subway one day. It was an adventure. These business people do it every day. They don't look as if it's an adventure.
I wonder if at one time, years ago, these men and women were little boys and girls, who kissed their parents good-bye each day and headed through the street markets, past the fish stands, and the duck heads, and headed off to school, determined to get a good education and, one day, maybe, one day, make it to the top. And, they made it. They work in the sleekest, tallest, most modern buildings anywhere on the planet. In the evening, they return home to one of the hundreds of high-rise condominiums and apartment buildings. They climb in the most modern elevators, which whisk them up. The more successful they are, the higher the elevator takes them.
They were determined to make it to the top. As an outsider, I look at the poor, simple, hardworking fathers and mothers who peddle their wares each day. And, I look at the successful business people who live and work (and, probably seldom play) in the city's high-rises. And, I wonder, which way really is the top.

It's Wednesday. I Must Still Be In Hong Kong

Well, it's day 2 in Hong Kong, certainly the most unique city I've ever visited. If you've never seen Hong Kong, the best way I can describe it as what you would have if you took New York City and stuck it where Miami should be, and then let Chinatown take over. It's a relatively clean city, even in the poorer sections, someone is always out in the street sweeping up trash.
The crowds are unbelieveable, and, I'm told that this is nothing compared with what I'll find in Shanghai. That worries me because not only am I a hypochondriac, but I'm a claustrophobic hypochondriac with a tendency to hyperventilate in crowds. I narrowly escaped causing a scene on the airplane. I felt so pinned in that, at one point during the flight, I started to think that being forcibly removed from the plane would be preferable to sitting in that cramped little space. If I had been abolutely sure that no straight jackets would be used, I would have caused quite a stir. So, we'll see how I handle this Shanghai thing in a few days.
A friend, who is on this trip with me, happened to mention that the Chinese view light-complexioned people as very attractive. With my pasty-white body, the Chinese must think I'm gorgeous. That may be why last night at least fifteen women approached me and asked me if I wanted to go out on a date. I declined them all, I must say.
The street markets here are fascinating. As the sun goes down, the locals gather in the street to shop, visit, and eat very unusual-looking things. Various merchants set up their wares. Some simply pile their merchandise on a blanket lying in the street. Others are set up under tends. They have microphones to attract the crowds to their booth. It's kind of like the state fair, except with everyone speaking Chinese, they're a little more understandable than the hawkers at the fair.
I was drawn to one booth by the sound of a flute. "Ah," I thought to myself, "I'm going to find something ancient and wondrous at this booth, perhaps jade statuettes or other treasures of the Orient." Turns out the guy was selling used computers...and playing the flute at the same time. Those Chinese are talented.
As I was walking through the market place, I saw a crowd gathered. Again, I did some thinking to myself. "Oooh," I thought, "perhaps the folks are looking at a group of Chinese acrobats." Indeed the crowd seemed to be really enjoying the show, whatever it was. And, I hurried towards the throng to find out. No acrobats or jugglers or mimes. Just an old man yelling at a group of police officers who were trying to calm him down. The police, all dressed in those little uniforms and hats that you see in the movies, were very polite to the angry man...very restrained. Not a one of the police officers was clubbing him. I stood around for a while, thinking maybe I'd see a good old-fashioned clubbing. Nothing ever happened. They sure aren't making Communists like they used to.
Well, I gotta get out and see more of this strange, new world. Hopefully, I'll talk to you tomorrow. Unless that Communist crack ruffles a few feathers.