Jamie Doom...

Tuesday, November 04

Togalicious

So this past weekend I went to a Halloween party dressed as Mark Anthony. Erin went as Cleopatra. Normally, I get a lot of attention here in China because I am a foreigner and because…well let’ face it…I’m hot. But the fact I was only wearing a toga and sandals as I got into the taxi didn’t seem to register in the faces of the gawkers on the street. I was receiving the exact same penetrating gazes as usual. I may have stumbled on something here. I no longer can achieve shock value. In China, me being me on the street is shocking enough for everybody. If I wear a toga, they just assume that’s what I would usually wear. I am completely free now. Free to be me. Free from expectations. I can now throw off the chains of good manners, smart fashion sense, and hygiene…like…like…the Germans or the French. Ooooh. It’s disappointing when you realize your “cutting edge” social idea is already a way of life for people of two entire nations.

When I arrived at the Halloween party, my costume was a huge bomb. All the Chinese party goers kept asking me why I came as a Buddhist monk. I pointed out that my robes weren’t saffron, and my wrapping method was an obvious Greek style. If I spent more than two minutes explaining my lame costume, they would shake their heads and say with a big smile and glazed over eyes, “Oh yeah, I know, Greeks!” Which is roughly translated, “I’m humoring you because you’re an idiot, and maybe later you will speak more English to me.” In order to clear up the confusion, I spent much of my evening eating hotdogs—a decidedly un-Buddhist action I felt.

One of the Americans approached me and complimented me on my Julius Caesar costume. I told him that my lack of head garland should be a big indicator that I was not in fact Caesar. Everybody learns the proper equation in college: man + toga - garland = Mark Anthony. (insert compulsory Et Tu Brute joke here) I then complimented him on his costume idea, Tacky American Tourist, right before he told me he hadn’t changed into his costume yet. Costumes can be a cruel, messy business sometimes. The host’s of the party made jack-o-lanterns out of gourds, and they were great. Apples were bobbed, children were scared, and English was spoken the entire time—like a big scary English corner--so everyone had a good time. My favorite costume of the evening was a young Chinese student who came as an apple tree. She had spray painted her hair green and stuck paper apples all over herself. It was a simple and effective costume. There was no confusing what she was. Nobody mistook her for say a banana tree or a Hari Krishna. She probably went home very satisfied. For two hours she had been an apple tree…and people had understood.

I on the other hand had not faired so well. I had eaten way too many hotdogs. In America, we often eat the left over parts in the form of a hotdog. In China, no part of any animal is ever “left over.” Realizing this forced me into a deep, almost meditative, contemplation about the composition of Chinese hotdogs. Also, I had allowed myself to d become a bit irritated during the evening. My toga kept coming unwrapped at the worst times, like when I was putting on the mustard or having my picture taken with the Pirate.

During the taxi ride home, the other Americans were quiet also. I was riding comfortably in the front seat. The four in the back were packed a bit tighter. All the windows were down, and we were lost in our own thoughts amid the sound of swirling breeze, beeping taxi horns, and busy mopeds. Ten minutes passed; we rode on into the Haikou night. Even the taxi driver possessed a wide-eyed distance in his face. No doubt he was pondering the meaning of obscure side streets, monotonous meter beeps, and the constant leaving and returning of humanity. Then finally from the back of the taxi, the silence was broken.

“That apple tree was a really good idea.” We all nodded silently in agreement. I adjusted my toga.