I love my job search:

"Good afternoon,

Our records indicate that you have applied to the GAO Entry Level Analyst position, announcement number GAO-08-TEAMS-0347-02. You have been deemed minimally qualified, so your application is currently in the second face of the screening process. We expect for this second review to be complete by the last week in May. I will update you again on our progress when this process is complete."

And the wheel spins on.

I have had several exceedingly short careers. First was my computer science career. I went to one class, 50 minutes, and it became very clear that I was not going to program the next Mario Kart later that day. But more that I was going to do awful math problems for no particular reason and write boring codes. So much for that class.

My consulting career was even shorter lived. I never even made it to class. I went to one pre-class meeting. We talked, everybody threw out various pointless ideas to solve a problem that I didn't care about. We tried to be positive and animated (well, maybe they were and I tried.). Then it clicked. Consulting is all meetings! About nothing! And I hate meetings! I dropped that class like it was hot. And I am glad I did.

Currently I am in the business of making monumental decisions about my life. It should be exciting, but it's more just ghastly terrifying. At least I can rule out two careers: programmer and consultant. I can rule out some other ones too: buyer for "Limited Too" tween brand girls clothing. Yes, I do have an opportunity there. Bear Trap Tester is low on my list, as well as side walk shoveler.

Ironically, or perhaps not, it is becoming obvious that I cannot have my cake and eat it too. I am interested in working as a linguist in the Air Force. But one cannot be an officer linguist, one is either a enlisted linguist or an officer something else. And it seems that life is going to be composed of millions of choices that have no exactly right answer.

That's lame.

So this big news is in, counted, and verified. I need a job. A job that fulfills at least one of these three requirements.

1. Fulfills my federal service requirement. No, Americorps does not count.
2. Makes enough money that I can save up $20,000 and buy off my service requirement
3. Transforms me into a Confucian master of Chinese, so I can get employed with a job that will fulfill my service requirement.

The Feds, you see, are tricky. The scholarship only mandates one year of service. But all the jobs are something like lifetime commitments! In one interview, that last 3.5 hours (I didn't even get offered the job) the recruiter informed that, "You are aware, you do not quit this job." So if you want to employ me, just let me know.

Above is the amazing experience of supercharged go-carts. They come equipped with matching suits, helmets, neck braces, and liability forms. But I'd still like to thank Rachel (third from left if you can't tell) for a really fun night. I needed that.

I have a Peace Corps interview on Wednesday morning, my secret motto is "China or bust."

Good news! I have survived my mandatory terrible fall quarter. And on the scale of terribleness, this one wasn't even all that bad. It is difficult for me to process my junior year abroad. I feel like it happened in some other dimension, so when I arrived at Northwestern it was hard to accept that nearly everything was different. I wanted it to pick up from the end of my sophomore year, not the start of my senior. Things I've learned from fall quarter

1. The bureaucracy at Northwestern is unbelievable, but there are people on your side
2. Some people will criticize you. And some of those people are hypocrites.
3. I'm amazingly lucky to be a part of MEIV

And so now I can look forward to a good winter quarter. Historically winter quarter has been good to me. I got to know Alice winter quarter my sophomore year. I finally fit in and thrived in Hangzhou last year. Who knows what will happen this year. I suppose I'm ready to find out. And I know that guessing is pointless.

Technically referred to as "Regional Link Jets" the toy planes I flew in this past weekend are notable for one main reason: taxi speed. Perhaps the crew is trying to compensate: "You know it's not the size of the jet, Ted, but the speed of of your taxi." Or maybe the pilot is simply embarrassed to by flying a MiniJet and wants to avoid to detection: "No, Jane, I don't fly those tiny things, must have seen the wrong guy!" It's possible that going fast on the ground is the only sense of speed the pilot gets all day. But for whatever reason, the leg cramped single stewardess tiny window MiniJets sure can stick it to the big boys: on the tarmac.

"I am not a girl... does that matter for this job?"
"I don't know anything about basketball..."
"No, I have no experience of this sort."

One week later after a more or less random encounter at the Work-Study job fair, I am now the newest member of Northwestern's women's varsity basketball team. I can only hope finding a real job goes that well. I present to you, Manager Michael. I am not really sure how I got this job (other than I get up early), but whose going to turn down free shoes, clothes, and charter flights? Yeah, not me. And when my other job option involved passing out flyers, attending meetings and doing office work, the choice is easy. And I bet I have enough time in my life to do a real job too.

In even more improbable news, I went to the international student picnic with my conversation partner. A friend of mine I knew from a couple of years ago introduced me to her parents who were visiting from China. Who recognized me...

from the dating game show on TV. Unbelievable.

Long back in the day, Caroline Na wrote me an seemingly innocuous e-mail, asking if I'd like to staff the football concession stand Intervarsity operates. Reasoning that it would be a good excuse to call and reconnect with people, that it would help me integrate back into Northwestern, I took the job.

Oh dear goodness. I have cajoled and convinced and screwed (sorry Jerett) and begged and pleaded and had people fly international flights and arrive to work concessions. And the concession stand has been filled, though not by any friendship building method I can think of. Even my gourmet dinner offer has not rustled up much, posing the question, "if I avoided the previous concession worker, why would I assume people wouldn't avoid me now?"

Adjusting to Northwestern has been slightly strange. I seem to feel that I am still a sophomore and all the people I know are freshmen. Somehow they're juniors. Above is my current residence, Kemper. Below is my Hangzhou residence.

Nobody has written demanding that I close my blog and turn in my computer in order to assuage their pain, so I will attempt to continue running this blog as I go into my senior year.

Since returning home I have not really passed through reverse culture shock, which is surprising. I miss things about China and enjoy things about America and wonder where all the Americans are. We really do seem to be few and far between!

I have discovered that I am living with five other guys in a suite back at Northwestern, and that all five are Asian. I know two of them. So I suppose that's ironic. Yet simultaneously frustrating because the myth of my ethnic confusion can only grow by this situation. Plus I don't know the other 3 guys, one of whom on facebook has a battery clenched in his eye. Such is life.

Later this week I return to Washington D.C., this time for a post abroad job fair. My scholarship stipulates government service after I graduate. I'm excited to go, and I'll even get to see Rachel Wiggans while I'm there, but sometimes this scholarship makes me crazy. When I was abroad and wanted to leave, I couldn't. And now when I'd like to go back, I have to solve this first. It's like a clamp on the steering wheel.

Saying goodbye to my co-workers at the outdoor shop

It seems, sitting in my house, that the last year may not have happened. It probably didn't happen at all, because nothing else has changed. My grandparents eat hamburgers on Tuesdays, my family goes to church on Sundays, and my sister watches Friends DVDs at night.

Have I lived inside a Chinese University for 9 months? Gone from crying on the floor to clubbing in Hong Kong? Is it really possible that I've taken 31 airline flights in twelve months or gone by train across more than half of China? Have I made my best friends with Chinese workers and been to Beijing for the national baseball tournament? Been ill for weeks with diarrhea? Rented an apartment with an art student and worked at an outdoor shop? Has all that and more really happened?

Yes. But it doesn't feel like that.

On August 8th I returned to the U.S. I had spent the previous three days saying goodbye to my friends, in some sort of strange fog. Slowly shrinking my acquaintances, when all I had ever tried was to grow them. Chinese goodbyes. Wet eyes, no tears but tight throats. Thank you's and well wishes, but knowledge that this was the end. Unspoken understanding that we would not see each other again, that we would not communicate much once I left. And then we would turn, and walk our on way, and when I would turn around, my friend would be gone.

I am glad to be home, though I'm concerned Americans are going extinct. I go to the store and it's deserted. I go to the mall and it's empty. I walk outside and see strange green grass everywhere. And I can feel that I am an American and this is most comfortable. I don't wear pants to try and blend in, I can watch baseball on TV. But at the same time, I find that Chinese life became so normal. I miss the swarms of people, going out late at night for a meal, bartering with people on stuff.

It seems that life in America has advantages and yet so does life in Hangzhou. And that is extremely difficult to deal with, as I feel split between two cultures. And America is ironically a very defined place. White people are white, Black people are black, and Asian people are asian. We're all cool, just don't mix up what race you are.

In China, "How old are you?" is an extremely common question, sometimes even before your name. Except that I have no exact age. In America I'm 21. In China I am somewhere between 21 and 24, though most people say I'm 23. As a result, I just give my birth year and let the asker decide. For a long time I thought that question was funny, that a country couldn't calculate my age. But gradually I actually became unclear about my age. Am I 21? Or 23? Perhaps somewhere in the middle? I realized that I had assumed the factors that go into counting my age only have one answer. But they don't. And the resulting fuzzy range is reality. Sort of.

__________________________________

This blog seems to have reached the end of its lifespan. I am, after all, no longer in China nor do I know when I will return. Thank you to all the people and friends that have read this blog, I am thankful to have an audience. Hopefully you enjoyed most of this blog. I'm not sure if I will continue this blog or not. If you have any thoughts, I'd love your input.

A lot can change in a year. For example this bridge in Minneapolis fell down yesterday randomly. That's a big change. Or you can move a cross the world. That's a change too.

Chinese College Baseball Tournament

Yours truly is the "coach" of the Zhejiang University Baseball team. We went to Beijing, and it was bloody. Combined scores of the four games we played 81 - 9. Put that one in your hopper. But it was beautiful weather, baseball players goofing around, bilingual PA announcements. It felt like baseball. And if I had to pick one high to my year in China, it's this trip. Particularly the first inning of the third game--we won it 7 to 5. The second inning never ended because we only got two outs when time expired (they had scored 28 runs...).

Goodbye my friend

I have started saying goodbye to people, some go easier than others. By far my two hardest will be Shuan Shuan and Ge Qian. On my birthday each year I try to guess what might happen in the year to come. I would have never listed two migrant workers from He Nan becoming my best friends in China. But really it's more about getting by in China, more than anything else, and the three of us certainly make each others' lives brighter. I am taking Ge Qian to the train station on Monday, she's going home for the first time in more than two years. I estimate 1 in 3 I'll ever see her again.

I hate US Airlines

American Airline companies are rotten. For your benefit I have recorded a possible real life encounter with a Chinese airline and then with an American.

me: I'm sorry, I made a mistake and booked my ticket wrong

China: I am soooo sorry! In fact, I'm sure it was our mistake! Please, what could I do to help you in the least bit?

me: do you have a flight I can take today?

China: would it be okay if you went first class with a beautiful woman to accompany you? perhaps we could have a famous baseball player come? I am ashamed!

And American Style

me: There was a mix up. Can I changed my ticket?

US: hold on! Can't you see I'm busy?

me: You're chewing gum

US: yeah well stuff it. No, can't help you. NEXT!

Above: the mining town my friend took me too... and insisted on playing catch in.

Hott Stuff

Zong Ke is hot. Just ask the ladies in the club. On Friday I made good on a promise and went out dancing with some friends, who told me I might have to "find my own partner" to dance with. So we're there, and I'm glancing around. One person is staring back. I mean dead drill nail me to the wall staring. She even gives a come hither look. She's not 20. Nor is she 30. Not 40 or even 50 years old.

The woman was at least 65. There is a white haired hand bag carrying grandma bobbing to JZ along with the crowd. And she was hitting on me.

Only in my life.

Chefs

I make a mean dish of garlic-spicy potato strips (suan la tu dou si), but that's about it. Rae is attempting to teach me to cook a couple dishes a week. I generally butcher them, but my fourth try on potato things was pretty good. Good thing Americans won't know the difference.

Re-Entry

In slightly more than two weeks I return to the United States for the fore seeable future. Meaning at least until I graduate from Northwestern. It seems beyond impossible that I've been here almost a year, but I have. I don't expect my re-entry to go particularly smoothly at all, but I'll be fine. That's really the truth: aside from something happening to my family, anything else I'll just push through. Because you know way?

It's a good day if you make it that way.

Striking resemblences.

That's what I've started noticing. And I am not sure why Shuan Shuan's boyfriend is Luke Liang or how a four year old girl I teach looks as much like a little Alice Zhao as I can imagine, but they do. What I find more interesting is my friends here have started reminding me of non-Chinese acquiantences back home. But at the same time I can never quite place them. Does Ge Qian remind me of Marina, or just some other face that I can't quite dredge up? Tough to say.

Neither cute nor cuddly!

"I'm not cute!" I finally lost it on my roommate as she told me that "I'm so cute" for the 10,000 time. "Where!" I sputtered, "Do I look like a 6 year old girl! And why is it," I continued on, "that every girl I meet tells me I'm cute! Ahhh!" My outbreak (imagine my vioce raised slightly) subsided, Rae proceded to tell me that, "Cute is a good thing," sending me off again.

Turns out we simply suffered from miscommunication. In Chinese calling a boy cute means something like he's not a mean bastard, or that he doesn't treat girls poorly. Basically that he's a Mr. Nice Guy. And so while Rae kept telling me that I'm a "nice guy," all I heard was that, "You're like a 6 year old girl."

Rae then told me I am nothing like a girl. "Good," I said, "why?"

"You don't wash your clothes enough."

Case solved.

Above: I told you airline stewardess can't resist me! :)

Zong Ke Learns to Teach

Zong Ke (me, for the record) is now an English teacher. Bring your nearest 4 to 12 year old to my school and I will teach him or go hoarse trying. I'm not sure that I am really meant to teach little kids, but I really enjoy teaching the 12 year olds. I teach things like, "hot day, hot weather, hot girl!" or "what's up?" Very practical knowledge! If I ever open my own school, it will be called, "The School for Precocious and Sensitive Young Ladies that Want to Learn English Good." Of all my problem kids, not one is a girl. One little boy in particular I wouldn't mind turning him into a slurpee, but that's probably illegal.

Bad bad Baseball

Having completed intensive and extensive daily training for two weeks (no, I'm not kidding) the Zhe Da baseball team is off to Beijing. I will join them for a few days next week, but my four year olds are crimping my style. Despite all the hard work, we are still really bad so I am hoping some sort of mercy rule exists because to be honest, we only have 3 pitchers. And so the pitcher of the day automatically gets a complete game. Besides, we'd have to make a call to the bullpen cell phone because there's sure to be no real phones!

MB Phone Foreigners!

I would, if I could. Except that my cellphone has 70 numbers and only 1 is a foreigner who lives in Hangzhou. And he's a 50 year old man. At first I got pretty lonely when I realized that all the Americans were gone, even though I wasn't close to them I guess their presence was a normalizing factor on me. But I suppose I'm fine now. Give me two weeks and I'll adapt to most things in China anymore. And my friends like to point out, usually while singing karaoke, "you've got us! and we won't leave."

MB Sing Songs!

I do. I even have a repoitoire that I can rock it out too. My specialities: It's my life by Bon Jovi and Everybody by (none else) the Backstreet Boys. In my defense, English song selection is limited and I can only sing about 2 Chinese songs. I ought to be more diligent! Everyone go download (band) S.H.E. (song name) Superstar

4th of July. Left to right: Wu Jian Guang, a student a Zhejiang University of Technology (ZUT) that I met during my first semester in China. Gao Rui Xia, a senior in college in Beijing whom I met in January. She wants to be a psychologist. Chen Shuan Shuan, one of my migrant worker friends, she is from Henan and has mad badminton skills. Huang Lei, my current roommate and a student at China Art Institute. Majors in sculpture. And on the right, Wang Guo Jiang, my first roommate. He probably got the worst end of the deal, as he had to live with me when I hated everything in the universe.

We're celebrating the 4th of July on the 5th because 1) I had the day off and 2)I used the time difference as an excuse. They all piled into my apartment and I whipped up some burgers with steak sauce, chips, fruit and of course pot stickers (饺子). It was a really nice celebration. We even sang America happy birthday.

People often e-mail me and ask, "Michael, when it's 102 every day, what underwear do you like?" I reply that while I have done exclusive testing under multiple conditions, the results seem inconclusive. I present the following scientifically gathered data:

Boxers: while cool and hip, in extreme heat less than ideal. vanderwalls bonding in the boxers will cause them to shear, slowly ascending the corpus rearus and creating a wedgie maximus. Best worn under reasonable conditions.

Stretchy underwear (with cool insignia): while insignia attempts to make them cool and hip, intense cross polyhesional bonding creates an impermeable layer of material, or greenhouse fabric, around critical areas. Also best worn under reasonable conditions.

Conclusion: while no underwear is suitable for Hangzhou in the summer, it still must be worn. Effects can be minimized by replacing jeans with light pants. Shorts aren't the solution.

Despite how much suffering goes into underwear in general, at least underwear shopping can be a real morale booster. Observe:

*Excuse me, what size is this?

*Medium, but that's way too small for you

*Oh? What should I wear?

*I'm thinking at least extra-extra-large, let me look in the back

I apologize for any and all inappropriate imagery that was generated by this entry!