Exactly one month from today, nearly down to the hour, I will board a Japan Airlines 747 and fly to Tokyo, then on to Hangzhou.

sure--why not?

The lady at the art store knows me. For those of you that know me, this fact alone may be shocking enough. But what shocked me today was when she asked, "Why do you always look so sad when you're here?" Of all the possible questions, that one cut straight to the heart of this summer. I have discovered recently that I appear to others as if not only my dog had just died, but also my parrot and hamster. In short, the expression that I wear on my face is not neutral or pleasant, as I thought, but actually sad or intense. This is disconcerting to me. It raises some questions. Why do people like to be with me if I am constantly raining on the party? Is it because, perhaps, they're afraid I will eat them if they're not nice to me? How am I going to appear in China? Does Botox work to create a smile? All of this I have pondered, and I have learned a lot about myself. I guess being bored a lot teaches you things, and I am not sure how to assimilate my new information. It's not as rosey as I would like. On a seperate note, have you ever just wandered around an art store? It's wonderful.

There are thousands of colors and hundreds of devices, none of which I can wield, to release their potential.

Dreamy music fills the background, singing about summer and witches and watermelon. And I am there, staring at paint brushes as if they're wilting flowers, while joking with the only art store employee on earth who knows me.

The Chinese must have a different definition of comedy. The last two Chinese movies I watched, which were billed as "tremendously funny" and "hilarious" respectively, ended with a blind girl heading into the city searching for her father and a couple passing out from a gas leak. That is not funny. And that proves worrisome, as it leads to one of two conclusions. First, it is possible that life in China is just so wrenchingly difficult that those movies are actually hilarious in comparison.

The second possibility is that the Chinese have
never actually seen a comedy.

Both of these are troublesome, so I will have to go with secret option C. It's a different culture. And while I currently find it mystifying, I hope that by the time I return I will have a small grip on it. And to be fair, The World was not really described as a comedy, but it did have the adjective "hilarious" on the back. I didn't laugh once. Hopefully, next July, I will laugh more. Above, a particularly comedic scene from the second movie, 世界 (The World).

Penguins really are the best pets. If you don't believe me, please observe this documentary footage obtained from a Chinese news service. Not only does the penguin wear a penguin backpack, but he walks to the fish market and consumes gigantic fish. And, evidentally, can also deliver things for his owners, a lucky Japanese couple. How they got a penguin, I cannot imagine, but I can only wish that I too had a penguin. Most of this is brought on by my recent visit to the Shedd aquarium in Chicago, which has more amazing fish and animals than you can shake a stick at. For example, chameleons! Who knew that chameleons actually change color to reflect their mood (not their environment).

Ideally, I would have a pet penguin that itself had a pet chameleon that would ride around on the penguin.

What say you? In a week attempt to keep this blog China-trip centered, I did recently take an Oral Proficiency Interview over the phone with my good friend, Hao Deng. The most notable feature was that I got the time zones confused and answered the phone having just left the shower, meaning, naked.