I’ve spent the last two days getting very well-acquainted with a paper cutter.
This explains the relative silence on my internets site.
Today, I want to talk about toilets.
The standard toilet in Xiamen is a squatter (Crouch and Crap™), a porcelain bowl embedded in the floor where you squat over it and hope for the best. Fortunately for me, a born and bred Singaporean, I am used to both Crouch and Crap™s and Western toilets — many public facilities provide both. Unfortunately for other types of foreigners (yes, I’m talking about you dastardly Westerners), squatting on one’s haunches is not what one would call a ‘relaxed’ position.
Now, if you’ve spent any time in China or Singapore, you’ll know that a fashionable young man about town (I call them Ah Bengs) who’s waiting for mates will choose to squat on the sidewalk, planter, or a bench. This is apparently very relaxing for them. Makes my knees hurt, but I do have bad knees.
Many foreigners dislike Crouch and Crap™s. “Too dirty” and “I can’t squat” are the usual complaints. Proponents of the concept claim it’s more sanitary that Western toilets (your bum doesn’t touch anything, but watch out for splashback).
What a Crouch and Crap™ defender misses out on, in my humble opinion, is the ability to fully utilise the time spent, er, voiding one’s bowels. I’ve only seen a few seasoned crouchers take a newspaper to the loo, and that’s because they wipe their arses with it at the end. And as many of us are fully aware, the male Western toilet user is very likely to be seen toting a magazine or novel when they wish to ‘use the facilities’.
This is bad in two ways. One, they plan to be in there a long time; bad news if you’ve only one toilet. Two, after they’re done, it’s very likely you’ll not be able to use it for over an hour because the room needs to air.
One feature Western toilets sorely miss out on is a moveable desk, like at college. I develop some of my most creative ideas while sitting on the loo — it’s not like I have anything else to do while I’m there, the bodily functions tend to be pretty reflexive.
So I’d be a stayer if toilet desks became a standard. Are you a stayer or what I like to call ‘efficient’?
When you use the Crouch and Crap™, it’s poop and go. With some Crouch and Crap™s in China, it’s “Look, there’s no door! Better not suffer from performance anxiety!”
“OhmyGod OhmyGod, they’re serving real breakfasts at McDonalds!”
“NO!!”
“Look!”
“Hotcakes! Muffins! I have to call [name deleted] right now. (Tap, tap, tap.) You will not believe what we just saw. McDonalds is serving real breakfasts in Xiamen! … Yeah, I’ll see you later. (Click.) He said he can’t believe I just called to tell him that.”
“Mmm. McDonalds breakfast.”
“I am SO THERE this Saturday. Who’s coming with me?”
“Me!”
“Me me me!”
“… Man, we’re such junk food junkies.”
This conversation happened less than 30 minutes ago, I shit you not. We are so deprived of trashy American culture the fact that McDonalds in Xiamen is finally serving breakfasts is like seeing God.
Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie are going to film A Simple Life 3. I’ve never seen a single episode, but these rich girls really, really question the concept of Darwinism.
“It’s two girlfriends having fun and being silly which I think a lot of girls can relate to,” Richie said in an interview in a penthouse loft in Manhattan.
…
“I’m just over doing manual labor, we don’t want to get dirty any more,” she said.
Emphasis mine. And sigh. I’m not exactly sure how she, in her statements, has shown that regular people can relate to her. Unless those ‘lots of girls’ last names are Hilton.
In this Reuters report, George Bush has spent his time slamming John Kerry:
“My opponent has no plan, no vision, just a long list of complaints. But a Monday morning quarterback has never led any team to victory,” Bush said.
Um, John Kerry’s complaining about George Bush, and George Bush complains about John Kerry. It’s election season, it’s not only expected, it’s mandatory. Is he talking down to the populations of Iowa and Wisconsin, or are they really that gullible?
From the horse’s mouth: “To us Chinese people, foreigners really do all kind of look alike.”
Terry informs me that the US government has imposed a quota on socks imported from China. He says, “I will wave hi to Dave‘s relatives the next time I drive by the bargain store.”
Some useful basic tips for protecting your PC from evil, evil scriptkiddies and hackers.
You’d better not be reading this in Internet Explorer.
Apparently, Burma’s military dictatorship is seeking help from India to bring about the peace and prosperity of a democracy.
New Delhi wants Yangon’s backing in crushing anti-Indian rebels allegedly hiding out in Myanmar and other neighbouring nations. The rebels have been blamed for recent bombings in India’s northeast that left more than 80 dead.
So, days after sacking their prime minister who was slightly more reform-minded, the Burmese junta profess a desire to make the transition toward democracy? Sounds to me like as long as they keep making the right noises without any real action, countries can soothe their collective consciences about dealing with the dictatorship.
I got all excited when I first heard about Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, mainly because Neil is very amusing as he effs and blinds at the teevee while he’s playing Rockstar Games’ other winner, Vice City. I was even more impressed to read analysts’ predictions that the debut of the game would be the best-selling game ever, beating out the takings of some Hollywood films.
The Chicago Tribune tells the story of a beggar in Shanghai. By no means is his story confined to big cities like Shanghai. Many disabled and perfectly healthy people ply the streets of Xiamen, begging for food and money.
Many of them don’t need to beg. We have scam artists who pretend to be disabled (I have photographic proof!), and we have those who are just strolling along the street and decide to approach foreigners for money as they see them (happens to Neil and I on a regular basis).
There are begging gangs in Xiamen, too, and lots use children to spark sympathy.
We can never tell who’s for real (except the fat ladies who swear they’re starving to death), and it’s usually better to not give at all. Makes my karma go all musty.
When Mark and Kristen visited us back in January, they brought along a bunch of books for me. I’ve read Why Girls are Weird by Pamela Ribon three times now. The parts where Anna K deals with her father’s death always makes me cry. First time I read it, I just about bawled. Subsequent times I shed a few tears.
We all know my father is an arsehole. After he ran away, my sister and I talked a lot about what it meant to us, how we felt about him.
I don’t feel anything but disgust for who he is and what he’s done, but I am heartbroken for what my life has lacked.
Someone I care about very much lost their father this year, and in their pain I saw a good husband, father, and friend who people cared about enough to travel long distances, to fill his house with flowers and notes, to say goodbye. I told them they were, in a sense, lucky they had someone they could mourn.
I can safely say that when my father carks it, his family will probably not be there, and we will probably never even know.
I wish I had memories of my father playing with me, reading to me — instead, I remember him being hungover and extremely grouchy in the mornings, the only time I really saw him. If he was ever at home in the evenings, his word was law. We were inconveniences who got in the way of him having a good time.
I wish I had memories of my father taking an active role in my school life — instead, I remember him coming by only when he wanted to tell a teacher off. He was the man who exacted revenge. He still is. If you ever meet a man who swears to “fix” those who cross him, that’s my father.
I wish I had memories of my father taking the time to talk to me, getting to know his daughter — instead, he was a great uncle to my cousins and friend’s kids, and we were all but ignored. He had no interest in my daily life, but felt entitled to know all my teenage secrets and angst.
My greatest regret is I will never know what it’s like to have a father, a decent person who at least tried their best. Even if he felt remorse (and that would only be for financial reasons, i.e. he needs money), this bridge has been so long burnt that not a trace remains. My sadness is by no means the most heartwrenching father-daughter story in the world; I got off fairly lightly because I never had his influence to corrupt me. I am probably a better person for it.
You don’t miss what you never had, but you can be sad about it.
Human testicular tissue grown in mice:
In a proof-of-principle experiment, researchers have shown it is possible to grow immature human testicular tissue in mice. The next step will be to mature the tissue and harvest sperm cells. These would then be frozen for a pre-pubescent cancer patient to use later in his life.
Will the mice get to live with their recipient? Will there be a wheel?
I’ve never heard anything about Ports going bankrupt a decade ago, and I presume it’s not something the boss wants to be reminded of.
Last night, I met a Frenchman who does not like wine. What’s the world coming to? Next thing will be a Scotsman who doesn’t like scotch.
… oh wait, I already know someone like that.