I subscribe to a blog called "the simple dollar", its premise to share tips and ideas for leading a more frugal and thus less financially stressful existence. The post today focused on linking your spending to your passions and using these passions as a guide in making purchases. As are most of the articles, it is well-written and immediately applicable as well as thought provoking as far as what is important in life. It got me seriously thinking about what my own passions are.
These last few months (years perhaps, if I really want to be technical about it), I've kind of been in a sort of denial of myself as far as my passions and pursuits. While I'm not a big hobby person, one that's come for me lately is the desire and passion for knowledge.
In preparing for the state dept exam, I've discovered just how much I DON'T know and whether it's because I either missed it in school (not likely) or just haven't devoted the time to learning outside of my daily demands, I'm now almost manically focused on filling the holes (the large gaping variety) in my young adult education. For the most part it's a lot of history and geography, having just never really taken the time to think about on a real level what life is like in other regions or how the maps came to be drawn the way they are or where and why exactly there is so much conflict and what it means in the grand scheme of things. I've been so focused on the here and now for most of my life, that this opportunity to step outside myself and learn for the sake of truly understanding the world is refreshing, enlightening and intimidating.
It makes me wonder what I've spent so much of my time doing otherwise and I think a lot of it has been thinking about the future and things that I can't control. I get so wrapped up in my head thinking about what if, that while I have done some cool things, I so rarely stop to live in the moment and reflect on what it all means and how great life can actually be. I am a reflective person, but cynically so, unrealistically downplaying or overplaying what I've done. It sometimes feels as if I'm centered slightly askew of reality.
This is a growing up process that is necessary and while I have a long road ahead, it's invigorating because I can see (for once) glimpses of where I want to be in my future and what I need to do to get there.
2009年7月31日星期五
2009年7月7日星期二
Simple pleasures
It was a gorgeous day today and neither Shibo nor I were feeling particularly motivated to do anything serious so we decided to take a long bike ride to visit the North campus of Liaoning University (Shibo's "alma mater" and where we first met.)
Along the way we passed through the Dutch village (helancun), a large residential/light commercial development designed and built true to Dutch architectural style. It is quite picturesque...red brick and white trim apartment buildings, storefronts that reminisce of strolls down a busy European cobblestone shopping street, large fountains with gold plated and ceramic edifices, foot bridges spanning canals that run throughout the development, even a dutch barn off in the distance surrounded by cornfields. Had it not been for a shady investment deal and a case of embezzled government funds on the part of the developer, the Dutch village would probably be one of Shenyang's choicest areas to live. As it was, the Communist party did not take kindly to being swindled and the developer was carted off to jail sometime between the completion of the structures and the issue of titles and lease agreements, which would have attracted no small number of well to-do residents and businesses. The village has stood as a brand new ghost town for years and, save for a small block of apartments that were sold before the crackdown, an empty and unfortunate waste. Recently, large sections of the zone (including my favorite part, the street of storefronts) have been reclaimed by the government and as I discovered to my dismay today, have been completely demolished. Change unfortunately is inevitable, but it's sad that such good things must come to an end before they'd even begun.
Our bike ride did not end there, though, and we trekked on past what had turned into large fields made lush and green due to the recent and frequent thunderstorms. This portion ended abruptly after we crossed a musky-smelling (I'm being optimistic) river and made it into "town". We took the back roads, which is something probably only few foreigners outside of backpackers and gutsy English teachers really get to enjoy. The dust never settles (even after several days of rain) and rather creates a permanent fog that gets in your teeth if you talk too much, open your mouth or, well, breathe.
Once you get outside the developed parts of Shenyang proper, you get into these underdeveloped central villages. Here you have the true farming and peasant communities that make up the vast majority of the Chinese rural population. One-story buildings the color of calamine lotion on each side of the road make up the backdrop of a seemingly never ending winding strip mall of meat and vegetable vendors, country restaurants, donkey carts with people selling melons off the back, tool and building material stores, metal shops, rice and feed supply and family markets. Interspersed every few stores are signs for China Mobile distributors where one can purchase telephone cards and knockoff cell phones at exhorbitant prices.
There is no curb or sidewalk so there are areas where the local life tends to spill out into the way of traffic. Beyond the creative parking jobs (or long attempts--more on parking another day), we ended up sharing the two lane road with three wheel trucks (the ones that go "putt-putt-putt" as they chug around carrying four passengers upfront and anything from cabbage to chopsticks to live pigs to building materials to barrels of raw sewage in the back), large tanker trucks carrying flammable contents with air horns in case you forget who has the right of way, motorcycles that sometimes carry as much as the three-wheeled trucks in deep baskets strapped to each side and all manner of foot, bicycle and bicycle-cart traffic. The roads are paved, but it's hard to tell between the mud, dust and potholes. The first big rain after the spring thaw tends to open up a minefield of pockmarks in what has become in most places, a patchwork quilt of asphalt. This being a markedly wet year, the pore (intended misspelling) teenage face of Shenyang's road system suffers not from pus-filled whiteheads but rather something more unfortunate. It is general practice to steer around and avoid the large, murky, ominous looking mud puddles that normally smell like garbage and feces and can be as deep as 8 inches in places. I love adventure.
Keeping our wits about us as we maneuvered through town, Shibo and I were eventually greeted by a long stretch of country highway lined on both sides by willow trees. Finally, fresh air, as Shibo verified that this was indeed what I meant when I said I wanted to get out and see the countryside. I was surprised by the patches of corn that stood almost as tall as me (isn't it knee high by July?) and wondered about what exactly these crafty farmers were using. My wondering was cut short by the realization that we had the luxury of open road with at least a kilometer between me and the next pedestrian, bike, car or driveway that might impede a mad, all-out two-wheeled sprint. Shibo saw what I was about to do and took off (if we were going to go fast, he wanted to make sure he was in the lead when we finished). I kicked it up too and for about a kilometer and a half, we were flying.
A rider by necessity from a very young age, like most Chinese, Shibo is very comfortable doing just about anything you could imagine while riding around on two wheels. As a somewhat ironic comparison of people's behaviors while commuting, I regularly see people carrying two or three members of their family on the back of their bike, not to mention appliances, furniture, household goods and caged animals. I've been nearly sideswiped a couple of times by people yakking away on their cell phones while riding and once even saw a man with his nose in a newspaper! Shibo proudly explained to me once that at his best, he could lift up a foot, tie his shoe, then lift up and do the same with the other foot, all without touching his hands to the handlebars.
The bike Shibo uses is essentially a two-wheeled equivalent of a rusty, tired-looking1970's station wagon with wood-panel doors and hard seats, groans and threatens to fall apart if it accelerates too fast (or at all), yet still somehow manages to haul the family on a cross country road trip at least once a year until the kids graduate. The bike was bought over 17 years ago by Shibo's grandfather. It sat unused for the past four years until one stormy night I decided we needed some adventure in our lives and the bike was henceforth pulled from retirement and restored to active (though not very willing) duty. It's enjoyed a seat replacement and new rear wheel tread (the costs of which probably exceed the scrap value of the whole bike itself at this point) and despite all odds (including a tenuously secured rear mud plate and fold away basket) faithfully continues to shuffle along begrudgingly, much to Shibo's (and probably its own) chagrin.
If Shibo's bike is the family station wagon, my bike is a lifted shiny red Jeep Grand Cherokee with visible shocks, reinforced iron roll cage and silver mudflaps. The bike was a hand-me-down from my good friend Ray when he left for Hong Kong. (Prior to Ray's ownership, the customized Giant brand bike belonged to Dave, who owned a black flat-coated retriever named Miranda whose shed was still being discovered to the dismay of dear borderline-OCD Ray upon final cleaning before moving out two years after he inherited the place from Dave. (This fact is not important in the life of the bike, just amusing in knowing how this affects Ray's mental state.)
Shibo and I once convinced Shibo's best friend Daqian that my "car" was a Mitsubishi crossover and that I was trying to sell it for 240,000rmb (normal asking price 500,000rmb) and if he could only come up with 500rmb and payments of 50rmb (about $8.50) per month until he dies, it could be his. The deal was off unfortunately when we showed him the photo.
It's a HEAVY sucker, though efficient in getting around town, especially in low gear and when careening down hills and the sides of potholes. It can usually outdo the station wagon though today Shibo was feeling frisky and with his lead, I just couldn't make up the distance.
The seratonin officially flowing and in continuation of our ongoing English lesson, we agreed that our little burst of energy was indeed along the lines of fantastic, fabulous, brilliant and "fucking great" (I just don't know where he picks these words up! Just the darndest things come out of his mouth sometimes!) It was about this time that Shibo realized we had taken the long route to the university though, as with most things with him, this was a good thing as it gave us more time to enjoy the scenery, and eventually yet again, the truck filled highway...
At the university, we took the leisurely tour then ended up parking our bikes to make use of the food court. It's amazing how much things change, even over the course of a few months. Several new restaurants had opened and the whole place was starting to take on a mall feel. The tea and juice shop on the first floor was a natural magnet for me as I suddenly had a huge hankering for a lemon iced tea with soft serve ice cream. I ordered my ice tea (which was literally freshly sliced lemons and black tea with ice and absolutely no sugar in it -- Excellent! hence need for ice cream) and went in search of ice cream. Alas, the soft serve ice window was closed ("Come back tomorrow!" was the janitor's response). Disheartened, I followed Shibo upstairs to the cafeteria (Shibo was in search of his own simple pleasure: roast chicken leg over rice.) While Mr. Meat was hunting, I sauntered over to another drink station that was selling popsicles. No soft serve, I was told, but there were several ice cream cups to choose from, including a mango ribbon swirl cup. Hmm I thought, mango and lemon...a surprisingly refreshing and delightful combination! I purchased the cup and made my way back to our table to assemble my concoction while Shibo scarfed down his chicken.
I used the wooden tongue depresser "spoon" to slide the ice cream into my brimming full cup of tea. It made a funny looking color and Shibo just shook his head as I did my little happy dance and mixed up my float. I felt like a five year old, fresh from outside playing in the sun to making "goodies" in her mom's kitchen (I probably looked that way too given the silly look plastered all over my face and propensity to bounce around in delight) but at that moment, I honestly couldn't have been happier. And for the record, mango and lemon tea make a quite fantastic ice cream beverage, though I might add some 7up next time to really get the float reaction.
On the way home, Shibo's station wagon was feeling awfully tired so I took it upon myself to sing for him to "keep him going". He claims he likes my singing...but I think he's just being supportive. Those who know me know that I am not a singer by nature and song lyrics might as well be a foreign language as far as I'm concerned. This naturally limited my musical selection, though I was able to get us about 3/5 of the way home without repeating. The playlist started out with Christmas carols, for which I have Mom to thank for her expanding and various collection, played religiously every year. I then moved onto patriotic hymns and chorus songs that we used to sing at church (I'm a "first verse" kind of gal so these didn't last very long, though I extended them out with codas "for feeling". When those were exhausted, I moved on to camp songs.
We returned home about seven, sweaty, sunned and sleepy. While I waited for Shibo to finish his shower, I fished out my Liaoning map book and started tracking how far we'd ridden and where we could go next time. Shibo came back in and laid down on the bed, just shaking his head at the thought that I was going to make him do that again sometime. Needless to say, he was out within 15 minutes but I know he enjoyed every minute of it.
Simple pleasures of the adventure: lemon tea with mango ice cream, chicken leg rice, cycling in the beautiful sunshine with my favorite person, getting exercise, getting to feel like I was five again.
Life needs to be filled with more days like these.
Along the way we passed through the Dutch village (helancun), a large residential/light commercial development designed and built true to Dutch architectural style. It is quite picturesque...red brick and white trim apartment buildings, storefronts that reminisce of strolls down a busy European cobblestone shopping street, large fountains with gold plated and ceramic edifices, foot bridges spanning canals that run throughout the development, even a dutch barn off in the distance surrounded by cornfields. Had it not been for a shady investment deal and a case of embezzled government funds on the part of the developer, the Dutch village would probably be one of Shenyang's choicest areas to live. As it was, the Communist party did not take kindly to being swindled and the developer was carted off to jail sometime between the completion of the structures and the issue of titles and lease agreements, which would have attracted no small number of well to-do residents and businesses. The village has stood as a brand new ghost town for years and, save for a small block of apartments that were sold before the crackdown, an empty and unfortunate waste. Recently, large sections of the zone (including my favorite part, the street of storefronts) have been reclaimed by the government and as I discovered to my dismay today, have been completely demolished. Change unfortunately is inevitable, but it's sad that such good things must come to an end before they'd even begun.
Our bike ride did not end there, though, and we trekked on past what had turned into large fields made lush and green due to the recent and frequent thunderstorms. This portion ended abruptly after we crossed a musky-smelling (I'm being optimistic) river and made it into "town". We took the back roads, which is something probably only few foreigners outside of backpackers and gutsy English teachers really get to enjoy. The dust never settles (even after several days of rain) and rather creates a permanent fog that gets in your teeth if you talk too much, open your mouth or, well, breathe.
Once you get outside the developed parts of Shenyang proper, you get into these underdeveloped central villages. Here you have the true farming and peasant communities that make up the vast majority of the Chinese rural population. One-story buildings the color of calamine lotion on each side of the road make up the backdrop of a seemingly never ending winding strip mall of meat and vegetable vendors, country restaurants, donkey carts with people selling melons off the back, tool and building material stores, metal shops, rice and feed supply and family markets. Interspersed every few stores are signs for China Mobile distributors where one can purchase telephone cards and knockoff cell phones at exhorbitant prices.
There is no curb or sidewalk so there are areas where the local life tends to spill out into the way of traffic. Beyond the creative parking jobs (or long attempts--more on parking another day), we ended up sharing the two lane road with three wheel trucks (the ones that go "putt-putt-putt" as they chug around carrying four passengers upfront and anything from cabbage to chopsticks to live pigs to building materials to barrels of raw sewage in the back), large tanker trucks carrying flammable contents with air horns in case you forget who has the right of way, motorcycles that sometimes carry as much as the three-wheeled trucks in deep baskets strapped to each side and all manner of foot, bicycle and bicycle-cart traffic. The roads are paved, but it's hard to tell between the mud, dust and potholes. The first big rain after the spring thaw tends to open up a minefield of pockmarks in what has become in most places, a patchwork quilt of asphalt. This being a markedly wet year, the pore (intended misspelling) teenage face of Shenyang's road system suffers not from pus-filled whiteheads but rather something more unfortunate. It is general practice to steer around and avoid the large, murky, ominous looking mud puddles that normally smell like garbage and feces and can be as deep as 8 inches in places. I love adventure.
Keeping our wits about us as we maneuvered through town, Shibo and I were eventually greeted by a long stretch of country highway lined on both sides by willow trees. Finally, fresh air, as Shibo verified that this was indeed what I meant when I said I wanted to get out and see the countryside. I was surprised by the patches of corn that stood almost as tall as me (isn't it knee high by July?) and wondered about what exactly these crafty farmers were using. My wondering was cut short by the realization that we had the luxury of open road with at least a kilometer between me and the next pedestrian, bike, car or driveway that might impede a mad, all-out two-wheeled sprint. Shibo saw what I was about to do and took off (if we were going to go fast, he wanted to make sure he was in the lead when we finished). I kicked it up too and for about a kilometer and a half, we were flying.
A rider by necessity from a very young age, like most Chinese, Shibo is very comfortable doing just about anything you could imagine while riding around on two wheels. As a somewhat ironic comparison of people's behaviors while commuting, I regularly see people carrying two or three members of their family on the back of their bike, not to mention appliances, furniture, household goods and caged animals. I've been nearly sideswiped a couple of times by people yakking away on their cell phones while riding and once even saw a man with his nose in a newspaper! Shibo proudly explained to me once that at his best, he could lift up a foot, tie his shoe, then lift up and do the same with the other foot, all without touching his hands to the handlebars.
The bike Shibo uses is essentially a two-wheeled equivalent of a rusty, tired-looking1970's station wagon with wood-panel doors and hard seats, groans and threatens to fall apart if it accelerates too fast (or at all), yet still somehow manages to haul the family on a cross country road trip at least once a year until the kids graduate. The bike was bought over 17 years ago by Shibo's grandfather. It sat unused for the past four years until one stormy night I decided we needed some adventure in our lives and the bike was henceforth pulled from retirement and restored to active (though not very willing) duty. It's enjoyed a seat replacement and new rear wheel tread (the costs of which probably exceed the scrap value of the whole bike itself at this point) and despite all odds (including a tenuously secured rear mud plate and fold away basket) faithfully continues to shuffle along begrudgingly, much to Shibo's (and probably its own) chagrin.
If Shibo's bike is the family station wagon, my bike is a lifted shiny red Jeep Grand Cherokee with visible shocks, reinforced iron roll cage and silver mudflaps. The bike was a hand-me-down from my good friend Ray when he left for Hong Kong. (Prior to Ray's ownership, the customized Giant brand bike belonged to Dave, who owned a black flat-coated retriever named Miranda whose shed was still being discovered to the dismay of dear borderline-OCD Ray upon final cleaning before moving out two years after he inherited the place from Dave. (This fact is not important in the life of the bike, just amusing in knowing how this affects Ray's mental state.)
Shibo and I once convinced Shibo's best friend Daqian that my "car" was a Mitsubishi crossover and that I was trying to sell it for 240,000rmb (normal asking price 500,000rmb) and if he could only come up with 500rmb and payments of 50rmb (about $8.50) per month until he dies, it could be his. The deal was off unfortunately when we showed him the photo.
It's a HEAVY sucker, though efficient in getting around town, especially in low gear and when careening down hills and the sides of potholes. It can usually outdo the station wagon though today Shibo was feeling frisky and with his lead, I just couldn't make up the distance.
The seratonin officially flowing and in continuation of our ongoing English lesson, we agreed that our little burst of energy was indeed along the lines of fantastic, fabulous, brilliant and "fucking great" (I just don't know where he picks these words up! Just the darndest things come out of his mouth sometimes!) It was about this time that Shibo realized we had taken the long route to the university though, as with most things with him, this was a good thing as it gave us more time to enjoy the scenery, and eventually yet again, the truck filled highway...
At the university, we took the leisurely tour then ended up parking our bikes to make use of the food court. It's amazing how much things change, even over the course of a few months. Several new restaurants had opened and the whole place was starting to take on a mall feel. The tea and juice shop on the first floor was a natural magnet for me as I suddenly had a huge hankering for a lemon iced tea with soft serve ice cream. I ordered my ice tea (which was literally freshly sliced lemons and black tea with ice and absolutely no sugar in it -- Excellent! hence need for ice cream) and went in search of ice cream. Alas, the soft serve ice window was closed ("Come back tomorrow!" was the janitor's response). Disheartened, I followed Shibo upstairs to the cafeteria (Shibo was in search of his own simple pleasure: roast chicken leg over rice.) While Mr. Meat was hunting, I sauntered over to another drink station that was selling popsicles. No soft serve, I was told, but there were several ice cream cups to choose from, including a mango ribbon swirl cup. Hmm I thought, mango and lemon...a surprisingly refreshing and delightful combination! I purchased the cup and made my way back to our table to assemble my concoction while Shibo scarfed down his chicken.
I used the wooden tongue depresser "spoon" to slide the ice cream into my brimming full cup of tea. It made a funny looking color and Shibo just shook his head as I did my little happy dance and mixed up my float. I felt like a five year old, fresh from outside playing in the sun to making "goodies" in her mom's kitchen (I probably looked that way too given the silly look plastered all over my face and propensity to bounce around in delight) but at that moment, I honestly couldn't have been happier. And for the record, mango and lemon tea make a quite fantastic ice cream beverage, though I might add some 7up next time to really get the float reaction.
On the way home, Shibo's station wagon was feeling awfully tired so I took it upon myself to sing for him to "keep him going". He claims he likes my singing...but I think he's just being supportive. Those who know me know that I am not a singer by nature and song lyrics might as well be a foreign language as far as I'm concerned. This naturally limited my musical selection, though I was able to get us about 3/5 of the way home without repeating. The playlist started out with Christmas carols, for which I have Mom to thank for her expanding and various collection, played religiously every year. I then moved onto patriotic hymns and chorus songs that we used to sing at church (I'm a "first verse" kind of gal so these didn't last very long, though I extended them out with codas "for feeling". When those were exhausted, I moved on to camp songs.
We returned home about seven, sweaty, sunned and sleepy. While I waited for Shibo to finish his shower, I fished out my Liaoning map book and started tracking how far we'd ridden and where we could go next time. Shibo came back in and laid down on the bed, just shaking his head at the thought that I was going to make him do that again sometime. Needless to say, he was out within 15 minutes but I know he enjoyed every minute of it.
Simple pleasures of the adventure: lemon tea with mango ice cream, chicken leg rice, cycling in the beautiful sunshine with my favorite person, getting exercise, getting to feel like I was five again.
Life needs to be filled with more days like these.
The Death Race
What a fantastically insane and exhilarating form of self-abuse. See the video here.
It starts at 4am in Pittsfield, Vermont, with a race across the field, four feet deep mud sink hole and 200 meters of barbed wire up a creek, which can only be crossed by belly crawl. At the end of the creek, they have to find the tree stump with their bib number, dig the stump out of the ground and crawl back through the mud and barbed wire to the starting point.
Next is a mile long river walk...participants must carry their bikes and stumps for most of the race.
Along the way there is a log cutting challenge (what would a Vermont race be without it?)
For those who press on, there is a 2000 foot vertical climb to the top of a mountain. There they are presented with a list of ten US presidents, which they must memorize and recite at the bottom of the mountain. If they screw up, it's back up the mountain they go.
Next, racers are given a bag of legos and must crawl up a culvert (with more barbed wire of course) where they are presented with an assembled cube. They can diagram it, but then they must go back down and assemble their legos exactly the same. If one piece is out of place, they must return crawl back until they get it right.
After the legos, they are given an egg and some firewood. They must build a fire, cook the egg and eat it.
Racers then retrieve their bike wheels and head to a pond, where their bike chains are put in a plastic bag and thrown in deep. They have to dive in, recover the chains, reassemble the bike AND to prove that it works, ride the bike up and around a hill and back. (Carried the bike for about nine hours and rode it for about...5 minutes)
Those who are left take 20% of their bodyweight in rocks up a steep mountain and poke around on the mountain for awhile.
Wow.
It starts at 4am in Pittsfield, Vermont, with a race across the field, four feet deep mud sink hole and 200 meters of barbed wire up a creek, which can only be crossed by belly crawl. At the end of the creek, they have to find the tree stump with their bib number, dig the stump out of the ground and crawl back through the mud and barbed wire to the starting point.
Next is a mile long river walk...participants must carry their bikes and stumps for most of the race.
Along the way there is a log cutting challenge (what would a Vermont race be without it?)
For those who press on, there is a 2000 foot vertical climb to the top of a mountain. There they are presented with a list of ten US presidents, which they must memorize and recite at the bottom of the mountain. If they screw up, it's back up the mountain they go.
Next, racers are given a bag of legos and must crawl up a culvert (with more barbed wire of course) where they are presented with an assembled cube. They can diagram it, but then they must go back down and assemble their legos exactly the same. If one piece is out of place, they must return crawl back until they get it right.
After the legos, they are given an egg and some firewood. They must build a fire, cook the egg and eat it.
Racers then retrieve their bike wheels and head to a pond, where their bike chains are put in a plastic bag and thrown in deep. They have to dive in, recover the chains, reassemble the bike AND to prove that it works, ride the bike up and around a hill and back. (Carried the bike for about nine hours and rode it for about...5 minutes)
Those who are left take 20% of their bodyweight in rocks up a steep mountain and poke around on the mountain for awhile.
Wow.
2009年7月6日星期一
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