Jamie Doom...

answers his own rhetorical questions.

Chinese Dukes of Hazzard

Over at Hollywod China, there is some interesting news about a new Dukes of Hazzard--China series.Here is an excerpt:

"Laoban Zhu, not Boss Hog, will be the villian in the Chinese take on Dukes of Hazzard. He will be fat. He will wear all white. And he will be a big advocate of supply side economics. Each show he will  lose face to the Cousins and their Uncle Jessie (name is still the same in the Chinese Version) as they drive fast, run baijui, and save the farm/collective farm from everybodies favorite capitalist roader."

I hope I'm back in China in time to see it.

posted by: jmedoom at August 31, 2005 20:28 | link | comments (1) |

John Pasden's Chunky Salsa Web Design

John Pasden took my pleas to heart and incorporated my Chunky Salsa Web Design idea into his website. 

I know when I have been bested. And John Pasden's Chunky Salsa Web Design is better than mine. Even though the overall impact of my big Tupperware container o' salsa is appetizing, John put thought into his theme and actually had an overal design. I, on the other hand, just had a huge picture of salsa which caused my page to shift and re-structure to accomodate all that yummy salsa. So, ok, he got me. But I'll be back. Know this. Anyway, I'm sure it took him a long time to do this.

Here is a picture before John started his Chunky Salsa Web Design. See how young he looks? He seems so happy and care free here.

Here is a picture after he was done.

Even if he didn't spend a lot of time working on it...he seems to have aged a good bit. And he no longers seems like the "whimsical John"  we all love. Oh well. I hope it was worth it.

posted by: jmedoom at August 31, 2005 15:19 | link | comments (6) |

New Web Page Design

So, I was thinking about changing my web page design. I like my classic two column design right now, but I am still thinking about spicing things up a little bit. So here is my first idea...let me know what you think. It makes my page go a little widescreen, (If anybody knows where my links, archives, and counter buttons went, I would appreciate you telling me) but I like having the ability to have bigger pictures. So I think it's totally worth it. Here it is, The Chunky Salsa Design, I think it's Bumpin'.

Bang

 

 

 

posted by: jmedoom at August 29, 2005 15:18 | link | comments (5) |

Letters from Baisha

July 13 2003

To A Silly Girl,

Today, I'm sitting in this large room. There is this musical tonal echo of voices bouncing off old gray walls, and I'm smiling like a fool. A generous, smiling, thirty-eight year old man is pressing a coal-like papaya against my ankle, which I messed up several days earlier playing basketball. It suddenly hits me that I'm in China. I'm sitting in a huge kitchen, and loud, fat cooks are walking by and poking my belly and telling me about their daughters. It is all music and wet ink to me. When I laugh, I'm laughing with my whole body. It is been a good 45 minutes since I said anything sarcastic or felt smarter than anyone.

I'm in China and I don't want to miss any of this. I want do see, smell, taste all of it. I stay awake at night wondering if I will remember the way our cooks nostrils flair when she starts to yell at me or the way Martin's (the thirty-eight year old) voice gets soft when he talks about his son. I wonder if I will remember the way the other blue-uniformed cooks slap the water from their wet onions, or the way the old boss men with skinny, coffee-colored legs poking out of cheap plastic sandals lean on each and pick their teeth and talk about who knows what.

Sometimes I wish that I could just open my mouth wide and breathe it all inside me. Mostly, I wonder how long till that vivid picture of you hanging in the middle of my brain begins to fade. How many months will it be before I can't remember exactly the way your laugh starts and stops so suddenly?

So these days I'll be trying to get it down. I'll be breathing in more. I'll be trying to memorize you. I don't want to leave anything out. I want to get it right. These days, I feel differently. I'm staring hard at things--trying to get it all inside. Who knows? Perhaps I need to forget all my sunsets and clouds just to make room for all your things. If this is so, I will evict the sun and whistle while I sweep every fluffy cloud out the door.

Jamie

 

7-18-2003

To My Friend Mike,

Hope it is all well there. Here is amazing. The other day I thought of you. I was listening to your wonderful compilation "The Spirit of St. Louis" on my MP3 player while I was riding through the dirty streets, then through the countryside of Baisha on the back of a dusty motor bike. Rice patties and priceless bent antiqued men in straw hats whizzed by while Busta Rymes broke it down. This is China, my friend.

We were riding bikes to the lake, where we went fishing. The lake is quite large and on this lake are Islands where entire villages live with no electricity, indoor running water or gas. We had been invited to hike into the hills on one of the islands and feast on two chickens, two fish, and a goose, and conversation. These are the Li minority people and they know who they are. First they want to get you drunk on their hospitality. Once that is accomplished they just want to get you drunk. They begged, pleaded, cajoled, cried, and threatened me to drink baijiu with them. Three other Americans were there, but they all know a drinker when they see one. I (thinking of the other American’s who were not drinking and the fact I was trying to be a good example) said no, but to appease them I proceeded in slamming bowls (they ran out of cups) of warm Coca-cola. These were the Li men, and they kept telling me through a Li interpreter that they wish they could speak English so that they could tell me how much they liked me. I was the only whitey drinking with them, and it being only Coke did not stop me from yelling, sputtering and coughing every time I slammed a flimsy, clear bowl of it. Two hours and four gallons of Coke later we were finally ready to go. We (or they rather) had drank two large gasoline looking containers full of rice alcohol. I felt really awake and had to pee. We had to take a boat back first. It was at this time that I realized I had been getting our boat driver and all our motorcycle drivers drunk...oh well. We are still here one month later.

In the evening, I go out with the guys and they lean on me and tell me stories. The men in Hainan like to sling their arms loosely around you when you are their friend. They can often been seen walking down the street. in unison heads angled together...communing. So at night, I drink iced lemon tea, and kind male English teachers tell me about their hometowns, their families, their mistresses and their lives. They won’t let me pay for anything. They won't let my cup get any more empty than half full, and they clap for me when I tell them a good story. This is how people are supposed to live. They are simple, but smart. They are happy, but not cynical. They are loving, but not mushy. They don't watch CNN, and they have never checked E-mail from their Blackberry. But they can tell you the name of all 753 people who live on their hand-swept streets, and can tell you what kind of tea that each of them likes to drink. These are the Li minority people. They have never been as rich as they are now, and they are poorer than anybody I’ve met the U.S. But they laugh and give and give and give. I am having a blast. I wish you were here, bro.

Jamie

7-27-2003

To Mom and Dad,

Things are wonderful here. This is the weekend after our third week of the workshop. We have split one hundred Li teachers up into four groups based on English level, and we have each taught seven classes a day five days a week. The work here is hot, busy, and long, but instantly gratifying. Many of these teachers come from obscure minority areas where no westerner has ever been. Somehow they see the value of learning English and helping all their students improve. Most of these teachers try very hard and stay up late, many using gas lighting to study for the next day’s lessons. Many of them teach in horrible conditions with over seventy-five students in each class. But they are warm and gracious and try to give to us every chance they have.

The town of Baisha is small. It has about eleven thousand people. We four westerners are the first westerners to ever stay there for any period of time. The people on the street are much friendlier and warm than the people in the bigger capital city of Haikou. The pace of life is slower here. There are no car taxis, instead there are seemingly hundreds of little motorcycle rickshaws swarming about like bees every time on of us walks outside or walks down the street to the store to buy something. Many Li Minority people populate this town and some of the older ladies still have the tattoo markings on their faces from times past. The teachers, my students, are all asking me to come visit them and come to their school and give advice on how to make their classes more exciting.

This is a pioneering effort. Baisha County is the poorest county in all of Hainan. These teachers have the most challenges and the fewest resources. …I am so happy to be part of this workshop, the first one. We have our own cook, who I call Mom. She reminds, in Hainanhua, all the time that I am her naughty god-son. I sneak up on her and scare he, and sometimes I hide the food after she puts it on the table. She thinks I’m strange and funny. She laughs at my pronunciations. I have had a good time getting to know her.

This week will be our final week here. In my writing class, I asked my students to write me papers about their China, their lives, their towns, their families, their jobs. I am learning China one paper at a time through their eyes. It has been a rich and humbling experience. I'll write more later.

Jamie

July 27 2003

To My Friend Mike,

After you have eaten fried rat, nothing bothers you any more, you ate rat. You are man. You now think like rat.

Last night I ate a fried rat, and I meant to. All cliches aside, it tasted a lot like chicken. I did it for the experience. I did it because the rats there seemed cleaned. Mostly I did it for shits and giggles. I like the attention one gains from being the loud tall westerner eating the short, quiet mouse. It was fun.

I am starting my last week here in the country town of Baisha. I like it here better than Haikou. Haikou is too busy and too big for me. This is simple and easy. I am lazy, and that is ok.

Jamie

 

One Year Later

July 27 2004

To My Friends and Family,

A couple of afternoons ago I was sitting in a study/hall homework class contemplating the end of my time here in China. It was raining then as it is now. Earlier that morning the dark, suspicious looking clouds had been loitering in the green hills in the west. By that afternoon they had taken over the entire sky, and the rain tropical-style, came fast and furious. 

From my vantage point on the second floor I could see the rain glisten the green leaves of the palm, coconut, jack fruit and banana trees in the Baisha #1 Middle School courtyard.

Inside things were mostly dry. The floors are a gray unfinished concrete. It’s the color of the two-day old chewing gum one might find stuck to the bottom of his favorite pair of shoes. The desks are a happier, mahogany color.

On the gray halls that lead to my classroom are long posters of famous people. Michael Faraday, Niu Dun, Hua Luo Gung, and Thomas Edison are pictured on my hall. Their names are in English, but the descriptions of their contributions are in Chinese. Stickers of the middle school students’ real heroes are stuck mischievously to the desks: Michael Jordan, Lebron James and Yao Ming. The rain is soaking everything now. Through the courtyard I can see puddles forming on the three basketball courts. I won't be playing any ball with the kids that afternoon.

Life here in Baisha is simple. It's so simple one could even call it boring. Around ten o’clock at night, teashops begin opening all along the small narrow streets. The people in Baisha have three great loves: sipping new green tea, playing cards, and watching T.V. Farmers will come into the town and pay one RMB to gather around a twenty-two inch television set to watch a movie and drink tea. All those makeshift theaters are situated outside. So if it keeps raining there will be no movies tonight either. One can walk down the streets and pick from a variety of movies. Most of them are stories about the past dynasties. They all have lots of Kung Fu, love, bravery and betrayal. Those not watching T.V. at one of the miniature cinemas are busy playing cards. They slap their cards down with a gusto and flair that would give the brashest American pause.

In some ways, I feel these are my people, even more than the teachers I am teaching or the officials that are entertaining me. Baisha’s people possess an innocence and a naiveté that I find endearing. Having never seen any other part of the world except Hainan, these people are satisfied to have their families and their friends and a cup of green tea from one of the bushes that are visible on the hills surrounding the town. This is a different kind of ignorance here. It’s not rift with consumerism and excess, like back home. We can recognize the evilness in that. The ignorance here is more comfortable, more simple.

I like to joke with these people that nothing happens quickly in Baisha. And that is true, but as I help them with their education, I don’t want to spoil any of the good stuff going on here. I try not to tread too heavy, or speak too much about things I don’t understand or haven’t had the time to digest.

I am ready to return home. I have been ready for the past three weeks. I don’t want to say my heart wasn’t into coming to Baisha again, for it was. But I have been distracted. I have memories here in Baisha. Things are never quite so pure and wonderful the second time around. Thomas Wolfe said you can’t go home again, but we humans try. We have more teachers here this time. After spending my last five months in the company of eight male teachers in Hangzhou, it’s quite a change to suddenly be in the company of so many women, and dare I say so, many emotions. In Hangzhou we lived to spar, to argue, to discuss. Every off-hand statement received scrutiny and challenge. So I have arrived with my tongue honed razor sharp by my ZUCC brothers, ready to parry. These girls just want to get along and be comfortable.  

I am not much of a curmudgeon (some of you care muttering "yeah right" right now and I know who you are and you should be ashamed), but I feel myself playing that part these days more often than I care. But this past week I have spent more time with the girls and have become closer to them all. All of them except one,(my closest friend here at the workshop who grew up here and speaks the language well) have been in China for one month. I think they sometimes consider me "too Chinese." But I believe I will miss them all when we leave.

The Chinese teachers here are wonderful. They don’t seem as fresh and energetic as last year's teachers, but I am sure that is mostly my fault. I don’t feel as fresh and energetic. These teachers are a younger group. Maybe they are bit cooler and more self-conscience. Being self-conscience won’t do when trying to improve in a second language. But I enjoy my time with them; they are all so beautiful and dedicated to the idea of communication. And I get to act silly and stupid in front of them, which everybody knows is one of my greatest pleasures. The American guys up in Hangzhou referred to it as the "Jamie Show." Mostly it is me craving the exact center of attention. And when you are whiter, five inches taller, and forty pounds heavier than everybody else for a hundred miles, you naturally become the center of it all.

I miss my family. I miss all my friends. I miss my books. I miss my little sister (I thought it might irk her if I mentioned her after my books). I miss my mountains—those beautiful mountains that are as much a part of me as the skin covering my body. I imagine when I arrive home I’ll be surprised by how well everybody has got on without me. I imagine that it will perceive my absence to have been longer than it actually was. But I can’t wait to be on a trail high in the mountains—sweat in my ears, a beautiful ache in my legs, and that anticipation about what is over the barrel of the next hill.  

Jamie

posted by: jmedoom at August 26, 2005 12:53 | link | comments (5) |

I don't usually link articles, but this is interesting:

China's Search for Stability with America

by Wang Jisi

 

posted by: jmedoom at August 25, 2005 08:24 | link | comments (1) |

Intestinal Worms, Reverse Cultural Shock, and Accrual Based Accounting

Some of you wonder what I have been doing since I got back from China . Well, to answer your questions…lots of things. Here are a few of them:

• Safely back in the States, I blew the whistle on rampant and widespread steroid use among China Bloggers. 
• Moved in with my current roommate, Brian—a chef, who spends his free time organizing his Grateful Dead tapes geographically according to tour year. Tried to convince him to let it go. Failed.
• I secretly renamed my roommate’s three black cats. 
• I finally passed the last of my intestinal worms, named Chen, after a street vender in Hangzhou . I had a simple yet heartfelt ceremony in my back yard. Chen’s memorial service was not well-populated even though I passed out invitations and wrote an obituary for the newspaper. It was in the middle of the week, so I guess people had a lot going on.
• Stole all the pumpkins from my neighbors “Harvest Displays” during the fall and took them to the Salvation Army to cheer the less fortunate. Watched homeless guys throw them at each other for a few hours. Felt bad as a skinny, white-bearded old warrior named “Ace” got a face full of pumpkin while trying to bum a cigarette from a telephone pole.
• Discreetly undertook a plan that would change the way people viewed Accrual Based Accounting forever.
• I had Thanksgiving with my family, and tried to defend the direction of my life so far with my older siblings. Failed.
• I finally got a job—but with a medical collection agency. I was a real go-getter and climbed the company ranks quickly. I even won a free vacation to Hawaii after repossessing three prosthetic arms, a Craftmatic adjustable bed (1001 comfortable sleep positions at the touch of a button), an artificial kidney, seven walkers (assorted colors), a colostomy bag (empty) and a sleep apnea machine after only two weeks on the job. But after I returned from Hawaii , I just didn’t have the stomach for it anymore. 
• I began to miss my intestinal worm as I began to gain weight.
• Cleaned out the trunk of my car and found two squirrels (one dead and one alive) and a rare Coke bottle buried under the tomatoes growing near my tire jack.
• I went to 80’s Night at a local club and “brought the funk.” I even asked several bystanders if they had noticed how I had “brought the funk,” and received overwhelming affirmation.
• Worked on the Hubble Telescope for a couple of weeks.
• Tried to “bring the funk” again at 90’s Night but failed.
• I started a Jody Foster Fan Club. I wonder if she even knows I’m alive. If there were just some way I could get her attention…
• I began working as a lobbyist for the powerful, but mysterious Asbestos Lobby. I started to crave the taste of asbestos despite harmful effects. Quit.
• Bought a lottery ticket on a “gut feeling,” but somehow didn’t win.
• "Got served" in an impromptu dance-off while waiting for a table at the Olive Garden. 
• Started to work on my novel and update my blog.

   

posted by: jmedoom at August 24, 2005 10:12 | link | comments (4) |

Li Elementary School, Hainan, China

"We were all meant to shine as children do"

posted by: jmedoom at August 23, 2005 12:11 | link | comments |

Recently, I have had some friends ask me to repost one of my first posts about Linda. Yes I am doing reruns, but I'll have lots of original stuff in the days to come. I wrote this two years ago. Most of my friends are too lazy/stupid to go back through my archives and find it, so I am going to repost this for them. I hope you enjoy

Five Reason Why I’m the Greatest

 English Tutor in All of China (and Maybe the World)

 

  

 

 

Before I begin, let me make it clear that I am not claiming to be the greatest English Teacher. I am not an English teacher. I have taught English though. I have a great deal of respect for all ESL teachers, but I do claim to be the Greatest English Tutor. How can I claim this? Read on.

 

 

 

1. I Incorporate Ancient Chinese Stick Fighting into My English Lessons. When Mr. and Mrs. Linda’s Parents first approached me about teaching Linda (see picture), I looked deep into their eyes (I’m am able to look deep into four eyes simultaneously) and asked them, “Do you want Linda to simply learn English or do you want her to learn English AND learn how to beat people with ordinary households sticks(see picture)? For just a few more RMB, I can teach your daughter more than English; I can teacher her a way of life—the way of Fluent English Speaking/Ancient Chinese Stick Fighting.” At first they were skeptical; but in no time, I had them seeing the value of a Bi-lingual, stick-swinging four year-old. Now, not a day goes by without them thanking me for transforming their cute four-year old into a chatty, English-speaking warrior. Now their only trouble is forgetting to hide the brooms and mops before they tell Linda (see picture) to go to bed or turn off the cartoons. But I think that’s kind of cute.
2. I Supply the Stick and the English Books. That’s right. Not only do I supply years of Native English Speaking experience and Ancient Chinese Stick Fighting experience*, but I also supply the stick…and the English books. Notice Linda’s stick (see picture) is purple with pink trim. What four-year old little girl wouldn’t want to thwap somebody’s noggin with those cute colors? I invested much thought into the color of her stick; and let me tell you, she loves it. In fact, one time I brought her back some children’s English books from Shenzhen, and she looked through them once then asked where her stick was. That’s dedication, and that’s knowing your stick color.
3. I Only Have One Student.** Linda (see picture) is my only student. She solely receives my vast wealth of English and Ancient Chinese Stick Fighting knowledge. I hate to brag (but I will), but Linda (see picture) has rapidly become one of the top English-Speaking Ancient Chinese Stick Fighting four-olds in all of China. Don’t let the cute face fool you. She’s a killer. I have seen her ruin people’s day with ordinary household sticks (see picture). Also, because she is my only English student I can tailor her lesson plans so she never learns stupid English words. Which bring me to my next point:
4. I Don’t Teach Stupid English Words. You will never hear Linda (see picture) say the word “hello.” In fact if you greet her with “hello,” you are just as likely to get a mouth full of stick as any other response. Linda (see picture) says “hi” like normal people. To explain why “hello” is so harmful here in China , first let me give you a little history. A long time ago China invented a little something called “Chinese water torture,” here in China known simply as “water torture.” In the ancient past, this was an effective means of making people crack/tell them secrets/agree to let them have the Olympics. But this is a new century now, and their methods are much more subtle than water torture. Now they use the ingenious “hello torture” instead. Some people (foreigners for instance) are subjected to thousands and thousands of “hellos” every day. Like the drops of water before it, it doesn’t seem so bad at first. At first, like the water, it seems refreshing. Quickly it becomes too much. Everywhere these people go they hear thousands of “hellos.” It usually ends tragically with some timid ESL teacher going crazy and punching some poor street vender in the face, getting kicked out of China , then going on Dave’s ESL Café and complaining about his school. Other useless or harmful English words or phrases I shelter my pupil from are: “politically correct”, “Yesterday Once More” and “boy bands.”
5. I Have Never Visited the Dave’s ESL Café Website. Somebody told me about it, and I took their advice and never visited that website. So the way I see it, I’m automatically five times smarter than any ESL tutor who has.

*Note # 1. You may wonder how I am such an expert at Ancient Chinese Stick Fighting. Perhaps, you have observed, I am neither ancient nor Chinese. Well, let me ask you a question. When did you become so narrow? Maybe if you would quit going to KKK meetings, you would have more time to read a little something called…books. Maybe then you could broaden your mind. But no, no, it’s much easier to stereotype people. (I enjoy getting upset about my own hypothetical questions. Is that wrong?) Also, when I was young, I was alone in the woods a lot (something I did?). My parents also never bought me toys. One day as I was trudging glumly through the woods alone and bewildered, I suddenly looked around and saw a forest full of sticks—Ancient Chinese Stick Fighting Sticks that is. These sticks became my friends and soon my world was changed. Years later I learned English as a native language. The rest is history (see picture).

 

 **Note #2. Next summer I will be leaving China and going back to America . By then, Linda (see picture) will be getting on with the business of taking over the world with her stick; meanwhile, I’ll be available to teach English and Ancient Chinese Stick Fighting. I realize with the proliferation of MTV, video games and well…the Internet, most children in America can no longer use basic English words. I will be searching for one worthy pupil. Please don’t E-mail me though. I’ll find you.

posted by: jmedoom at August 23, 2005 07:58 | link | comments |
china, jamie doom

#1 Middle School, Baisha, Hainan, China

A Sky Full of Gold

 

posted by: jmedoom at August 22, 2005 14:39 | link | comments (2) |
poetry, china

Familiar Stranger

I think I should know

when I’m looking at

a picture of me. But instead,

I squint hard, tilt my head

and whisper

vaguely

"that’s me."

 

That person isn’t me.

 

I’ve twirled

in rain-soaked shoes

at a wedding

then argued the

finer points of economics

at a funeral. I’ve

found a sentence here

while misplacing

volumes of words there.

I’ve laughed till my eyes hurt

at jokes in a dialect I’ve never heard,

and cried once or twice almost like

I meant it.

 

I’ve asked

and received the kindness of

strangers who seem to

recognize me even though

they’ve never been to America.

 

I’ve been kicked

getting on a train in Suzhou. I’ve

kissed a pretty girl, cute babies,

old ladies, lost friends, black cats,

a lame dog, and the last paragraph

of a book. The dog kissed me back.

 

My smallest niece has

held my hand—all her fingers

around one of mine—while

smiling for no reason.

 

That person looks like me, but he hasn’t

lost enough love, or seen enough

tea leaves, or sang enough sadness.

Not yet.

posted by: jmedoom at August 22, 2005 13:18 | link | comments (2) |
poetry, china, jamie doom

For Chris

posted by: jmedoom at August 19, 2005 08:19 | link | comments (1) |

Watch MTV or Eat a Rat?

(hypothetically speaking)

 

 

 

The other day I was chilling out in my modest yet classy abode in beautiful Asheville, NC , and I decided I would watch a little MTV. I was in the mood for some music, some videos, and maybe even some new music. So I changed the channel and waited for the music. This is MTV. Music Television. And I waited and waited and waited. I’m still waiting. Music Television is now made up of the most mind numbing, ignorant, proud of itself, smug reality shows on television, and that’s all. There is nothing else on MTV except reality TV. I understand now that if you’re after music, you are supposed to subscribe to MTV2. Dumb. So anyway, I switched over to VH1. Remember that channel? They used to play music and videos there for the more mature crowd, which I am quickly becoming. So I waited and waited and waited. Nothing.

It wasn’t that long ago, early to mid nineties, that VH1 had music. Am I wrong? In the place of music, we now have a show called Hogan Knows Best. It’s a cute little show about Hulk Hogan raising a family. Hulk Hogan still says “brother” a lot and dresses up like a pirate (which is actually kind of cool). He no longer wrestles now, though I can’t imagine what would stop him from still wrestling since everybody with a GED knows that it’s FAKE. So according to the show he, as it turns out, is a tough disciplinarian. I think that’s fake too, but anyway. After watching thirty minutes of this show, you feel like somebody has shot peanut butter through your ear hole into your brain. I’m not sure if that is medically possible, but that’s how you feel, like you are thinking through peanut butter. Hulk Hogan was a wrestler. He is now retired. His job title should tell you that his daily life, away from wrestling, is not going to be all that interesting. And it’s not.  It’s not like now he is retired he has time to work on his newest symphony, or donate his time to the community, or cure the common cold. One day at the end of my life, I’m going to want thirty more minutes, and I’m going do die cursing VH1.

So every now and then, I go back to MTV, looking for music, but I am always rebuffed. Instead, I usually find Jessica Simpson or Ashley Simpson doing one of three things---saying something stupid, preparing to say something stupid, or finishing saying something stupid. For those of you who have trouble getting them straight, Jessica is the blonde with no talent, and Ashley is usually the brunette with no talent. I’m saying usually to the brunette part, not the talent part. She never has had any talent. Actually, as it turns out, she has built her career the same way Hulk Hogan has—by faking it. So I was watching some special about the Simpson sisters the other day, and their mind numbingly stupid entertainment father, and that’s when it hit me. Why do they lower the bar so much? If we can’t watch music on MTV anymore and evidently we can’t, why can’t we at least follow the lives of people who are smart or talented or have original thoughts? Ok, so the MTV nation has millions of mindless, drooling fans who are going to watch hours of whatever you decide to schedule. So why not schedule something a little bit smart? And don’t get me started on that show that will make millions of parents want to spay and neuter their children, Laguna Beach--or as I like to call it "The Sign the Apocalypse is On Us."

MTV only has one thing going for it now, and it will screw that up. It’s not a even a personality, it’s just a sound. It’s Pimp my Ride’s host Xzibit’s laugh. Amid all the noise and self-important droning, that is the only sound that keeps MTV from certain and immediate destruction by a benovelent higher power. If MTV ever loses that, it’s over. 

So this is the bottom line. Hypothetically speaking, I would rather eat a rat than watch thirty minutes of MTV. Rats are not my favorite thing, but given the choice of would I rather subject my skull to blatant stupidity of MTV or the hypothetically furry comfort food called rat, I’ll eat the hypothetical rat. To make the point more clear, I have the following pictures below:

A cage full of rats, one of which I might hypothetically eat rather than watch MTV

What that rat might look like skinned and battered

How I might contemplate the hypothetical rat

What the hypothetical rat might look like if I were to put it in my mouth

and chew it

posted by: jmedoom at August 18, 2005 09:41 | link | comments (9) |

Reader Comments:

I AM EVIL

In my posting from last week I Killed A Chicken with A Tennis Ball, Am I Evil?, I thought I was asking a rhetorical question. Somebody, still unidentified, took the time to post this followed by an entire article from Knight-Ridder about minorities in China.

"How long have you been in China, and you are telling people to go to a "Minority Cultural Village Park" to dance with minorities and drink out of cocounts? I think you have a responsibility as someone educated on racial equality to avoid encouraging people to participate in one of China's least subtle forms of racism. If you don't know what I'm talking about, please read the following article for example:

"China's Minorities Get Huge Affirmative-Action Benefits

Rena Singer

Knight-Ridder Newspaper"

I'll refrain from posting the entire article here that she cut and pasted, but if you want to read it in my comments... it's there now. I wrote this person back a short, uninteresting reply:

I thought that would be the end of it. It was a blah response to a blah comment. I was wrong. She wrote back:

posted by: jmedoom at August 17, 2005 12:44 | link | comments (9) |

Jana and the Dragonfly

posted by: jmedoom at August 15, 2005 13:13 | link | comments |

New Water Lillies Bathe in Scented Breeze and Sun While Old Willows Silently Observe

The Chinese have been

at this awhile. They

have seen murders, experiments,

and plots. They have been betrayed--

betrayed by the sky, by history, by their

own tongues.

They are still here. Deep lines

linger--plowed by rains that

never came, or came too fast,

or came like blood.

And for their trouble they have

a Wall, and a Lake, and

a Language, and buried Cities

guarded by buried

soldiers, and an idea of

Time.

In some places their language

is sung, in others flung; still in

others it's hummed; and in

more it's whispered haltingly.

They are still here. Time

is an ancestor that died as

a child.

Time is quiet, silky

tears digging

holes in rock faces.

But they are still here, bent

over slightly, drinking tea

delicately, bouncing all

their possibilites

on their knees.

Bouncing their

rewards hopefully

to the hum of

an idea and

a memory that

stretches like

a Wall, and shimmers

like a Lake in

the spring under

willows and lillies.

JSD, West Lake, Spring 2004

posted by: jmedoom at August 12, 2005 10:50 | link | comments (3) |
poetry, china, jamie doom

 

 

 

 

 

I Killed a Chicken with a Tennis Ball

 

 

 

 

 

Am I Evil?  

 

 

 

 

 

After one has taken a chicken’s life using only the crude instruments at hand: a tennis ball, a high powered air cannon, and deadly aim; the world changes. Soil and trees are suddenly real, solid things. The summer days, while blue on blue on blue, seem warmer and closer to the skin. One minute a chicken was alive, taunting me with nervous energy; then there was bright light, the blur of a yellow tennis ball, and it’s over.

Silence.

There is me standing proudly beside my tennis ball cannon at the Li/Miao Minority Cultural Village Park. There are the resentful stares of the six other Americans—all girls. I can’t high five anyone. All I have is the electricity of the moment and a fallen fowl. Soon some of those girls, getting over their initial shock, begin to form words with their mouths. “How…How could you,” the first and most annoying of them finally stammers.

Suddenly, I realize I am part of their culture shock. I have been in China for a year now, and they have been here less than a week. A chicken done in by a tennis ball seems almost natural to me at this point. It’s not my fault. It’s just something that happens here. I imagine last week they were carefully licking and sealing pre-addressed envelopes with donation enclosed to PETA.

“How could you?” They are now collectively whining, feeding off of each other. “What did that chicken do to you?” “What are you going to do with a dead chicken anyway?” “Grow up” “That is the most heartless, cruel things I have ever seen.” “I’m going to be sick.” “You are Satan.” “I’m going to cry.”

During their short time in China they have felt foggy, disoriented, and lost. Now they recognize a collective cause and feel themselves quickened by it. What’s more, they don’t have to worry about insulting the culture because this is me, Jamie Doom. I should know better. Things seem clear to them, and they are gleefully angry.

I, on the other hand am feeling the opposite of guilt at this moment. I feel quite pleased with myself. The chicken was moving when I shot it.

“It’s just one of those things,” I finally offer. “I’m walking around the Li/Miao Minority Cultural Village Park minding my own business, buying trinkets, watching traditional dances, drinking out of a coconut, and then I run into this.”

I make a broad motion at the scene in front of us, which is three cannons facing a small field where five soccer balls hang from ropes about two feet apart. About twenty feet away, in the corner of the field, a chicken lies motionless. New, curious chickens are now strutting in to check out the commotion. My trigger finger has a sudden familiar itch.

“Ask any man in the world what he would have done. The conditions were…well…too perfect. I paid my money for the target practice. One minute I’m shooting tennis balls at the old soccer balls hanging there. I’m pretty good too—I’m not missing; then the next moment, out of the corner of my eye, I see a chicken. And I was polite about it. I asked the Traditional Li/Miao Minority Cultural Village Park Tennis Ball Cannon Supervisor lady if I could kill the chicken with one of the tennis balls. I asked her in perfect Chinese. I even bargained with her. Oh she had moxy—all gold teeth and Hainanhua. And we settled on a fair price, more than fair—40 Yuan—which is like five bucks. And you were all standing right there through this whole negotiation, and you didn’t say a word in protest.”

Silence.

“Oh, what’s that? Well, maybe you should learn Chinese.”

One of them is crying now. They only met me for the first time the day earlier. They will be teaching English with me to the Li/Miao minorities for a month in Baisha. They think I am an animal. They are all from Alabama , where I would think the chicken population has little to no rights. This chicken died quickly, with minimal pain. It was clean shot—very clean. I defend myself out loud.

“It was a clean shot. Clean, I say.”

More eyes water.

Then, I try a different tactic. I shrug my shoulders.

“Hey, you say potato; I say…kill chickens with a tennis ball…?”

I realize my reasoning is weak here and keep talking. “I saved all of you from that chicken. It’s called bird flu, and it’s real. I was trying to be cool about it since you just got here, but that chicken looked crazy, ok? There it is. It seemed to be having bird flu symptoms, you ungrateful, ungrateful ingrates. Good thing I know how to use an air cannon with tennis ball modifications. Ever seen Old Yeller? Bird Flu is like that, except …well I don’t even want to talk about.”

Just then my new gold-toothed friend, the Traditional Li/Miao Minority Cultural Village Park Tennis Ball Cannon Supervisor lady, arrives at my side holding the dead chicken up to my face.

“Bu yao ,” I say and push the chicken back. I smile as I do this. I tell her it’s hers. She tells me they will cook it that evening and say lucky words about me while they eat it. I paid 40 Yuan—more than she paid for it—to kill one of her chickens so her family could eat it. It’s a sweet deal for her. If I feel bad, it’s only because I know I am perpetuating the stereotype of wasteful, rich foreigner. But at this moment if I stuck the dead chicken under my arm and whistled off to the van, my six new friends from Alabama would hate me much more than they did now.

Instead, I sigh and rock back on my heels. I notice two sturdy looking chickens hiding behind a log and feel the 80 Yuan burning a hole through my pocket. I turn quickly and run towards the trinket venders—my work here is done. But I do need some authentic Li/Miao Minority Cultural Village Park back scratchers and about 20 more fans.

I have always wanted to kick a chicken. That is well documented here. But this… well, this was better than I could have ever imagined. As I rode away from the Traditional Li/Miao Minority Cultural Village Park, muffled Alabama-tinged sobs were soon drowned out by the sound of the road and that crazy, mad hum in my brain.

posted by: jmedoom at August 11, 2005 05:01 | link | comments (17) |
china, chickens, culture shock, jamie doom

Thanks to one of the websites that plagiarized my writing for hosting this picture for me

posted by: jmedoom at August 10, 2005 03:39 | link | comments |

Intellectual Property is Funny…well…That’s China

Last year, I agreed to write an article, for 1,000 Yuan, in English about my Chinese acting career for a magazine called That’s China. I sent them the article; they wrote me back and told me they wanted a different ending. I thought the ending was fine, and I was tired of dealing with them, so with the help of my fellow teacher, Greg Kummery, I sent them back a bunch of over-the top endings just to show them that I am cool. They never contacted me again, and they never sent me the money. After I got home from China , I Googled (I’m a pathetic, pathetic man) my name and found this at That’s China – but I’m still waiting on my 1,000 Yuan. Now several websites have in turn plagiarized it from them. They are found here and here and here and here and here (scroll down) and here. Some of them do mention they got it from That’s China. That’s fine. They paid me as much as That’s China and have just as much right to publish it as That’s China. Also, they kept the original ending. Notice the sweet photography, and enjoy the good read (I actually plagiarized most of the article from my own website because I’m lazy).

posted by: jmedoom at August 10, 2005 03:21 | link | comments (2) |

                       Doom In ...?

I will soon be changing the name of my website. Doom in China is not appropriate at this time because I, Jamie Doom, am not in China right now. Granted, I could pretend or lie. It’s just not worth living a lie for a website that nobody reads anymore anyway. But my name is still Jamie Doom. I live in Asheville, North Carolina . I will be moving somewhere way exciting soon, but not as soon as I want. 

The name Doom will still be part of this weblog. Although, the other day I was sitting at my desk at work, and I made an unsettling discovery. I am not the only Jamie Doom on earth…or even on the internet. You see, I was undertaking one of my more favorite office pastimes, Googling my own name (more evidence pointing to the fact that I will die sad and alone?).  When I ran I came across two other people named Jamie Doom, and a bunch of geeks named Jamie who have their own Doom, Doom2, and Doom3 websites. 

In fact if you type in “Jamie Doom” in the Google search bar, the first six results are me and then we have our first “other” Jamie Doom. He is a DJ from Sydney . Now because he is a DJ maybe I should be concerned that he is a much cooler Jamie Doom than I. He is Australian. I have met some cool Aussies…and some that make Steve Irwin look cool. He spins Drum and Bass for a group of Sydney DJs called the Bang Gang.  

The second “other” Jamie Doom from the Google search results is from Edinburgh, Scotland . It’s a coincidence because I was born there as well. What if I had stayed in Scotland ?. This Jamie plays for a stoner metal band called The gODS of fUTURE mYTHOLOGY. They seem to have quite a following in the Scottish metal scene. I am just not sure what “stoner metal” is. I don’t have that genre pre-programmed into my iPod. The world has two Scottish Jamie Dooms (I have dual citizenship); surely the apocalypse is upon us. No question about it though, the Scottish Stoner Metal Doom is way cooler than me.  

Because both of these guys are in the music scene, it does cause one to wonder if “Doom” is really their last name-the name on their birth certificates. I believe it is. Maybe if they Google themselves one day and run across this page they can clarify things for me. We also should meet up and discuss why I don’t have any musical ability (apart from singing Chinese karaoke versions of Bob Marley) and they do.  

I’m not really going to talk smack about the people who are in to Doom and Doom 2 and Doom 3 websites because those people all have the necessary computer knowledge to crash this website and steal my cc information. There is a big buzz in the Doom Community about the new Doom movie. Of course there has already been a Doom Movie.  

So I am ready to get some writing done. I plan on returning to China after I have made enough money to live for a while there without having to work. I have lots of stories to tell, both about China and my life back in the U.S.   Some of them are sensitive and strange. Some are sweet and funny. All are true. Welcome to Doom In …. Enjoy. 

posted by: jmedoom at August 10, 2005 01:49 | link | comments |