It's been two months since I got back from my heavenly trip to the United Kingdom. I suppose I miss it so much that I'm going to force some more Anglo-love down your throat. But panic not: I won't bore you with my long-winded babble. It's just picture time. What better way to get to the real heart of Britain.
So you've all heard of Engrish. But what are you supposed to call funny English signs found in native English-speaking countries? Who can say. Either way, these were quality enough to elicit a few chuckles from yours truly. Enjoy. It's not only in Asia that you find comedy just walking down the street.
Oh, the good old Hoxton Whores. I'm sure their parents are proud of their choice of group name. I haven't the foggiest who these people are, but apparently they like clubbing. Whore it up, kind folk! (Edinburgh)
Talk about bold statements. On one hand, it's great to see freedom of speech in action; these types of shenanigans would result in death or "disappearance" in the good old PR of C. On the other hand, it's a little disconcerting to see that some Scots want to break from the English. More power to them. May they have more luck than the Quebecois. (Edinburgh)
(Or, The Bubbling Internal Strife Regarding Athletic Loyalties)
Time to let that national pride fly. I anticipate a healthy dose of tension and anxiety in the coming weeks, especially as an American living in China, forced to listen to the daily blithering of the locals. Since the Games have basically been reduced to a USA vs. PRC medal-snatching contest, loyalties will lie bare on the table, ripped from our proud hearts and set loose on each other in a primal death match.
Google's latest: Pig diving!
Admittedly, I was quite bitter in the days leading up to Day One, but I'm in full fever mode now. I know I said I didn't care much about the Games themselves, primarily concerned with their success rather than the over-politicized details. But that was last week when I was drowning on an exclusive diet of domestic propaganda bullshit with nary an American victory to snuff it out. No more. While still suffocating with all this Chinese chest beating, Team USA have begun to kick the other nations back into place. Now my competitive American spirit is yearning for complete destruction of the Chinese and their haughty hopes and dreams. Competitive sports can do that to a person.
Let's rewind to opening day, 8-8-08, the most auspicious day in the history of the universe for the Chinese people (that is, since August 8, 1908 and until August 8, 3008...). By now, everyone in the world who gives a damn has seen the Opening Ceremony from Friday. Hot damn with a buttered biscuit and side of grits, that show was fucking incredible. Astonishing, amazing, awesome. China deserves credit for creating the best opener ever, completely giving the uh-uh, no you didn't bitch slap to all the annoying rabble-rousers who want the Games to fail and utterly sodomizing poor London in a preemptive strike that they won't even have a chance to match in 2012. The drum intro alone caused a sea of goosebumps to prickle up in waves all over my body (and it wasn't the only thing popping up either, giggidy-giggidy). That light-drum countdown? Grab me a towel so I can clean up this mess.
Although the showcase that comprised the mid-portion of the spectacle dragged a little bit, it filled me with a sense of pride and meaning that I would have never expected from an Olympic Opening Ceremony. Showing the world - mostly ignorant to China's history and contributions to humankind - what the Chinese have accomplished through history felt like a little serving of just desserts. It's not often that the world unanimously agrees on anything. Scenic painting via interpretive dance, detailed puppetry, my beloved Chinese opera, tea and enough fireworks to take down every skyscraper in Shanghai. And that undulating print-block dance was just off the hook. Did you know there were people in there?!
Zhang Yimou did a beautiful job, all flowing garments, lush colors and clever wire-fu effects that utilized the space in the Bird's Nest perfectly. It was like his Guilin and Hangzhou Liusanjie shows on steroids, speed, growth hormones AND Red Bull.
Though the lingering effects of the soul-shaking drum riot were still booming in my bones (and Sarah Brightman's shrill chirping still ringing in my ears), the closing portion of the torch relay gave it ample competition for my favorite portion of the show. Li Ning, oh he of gymnastic and sports brand fame, has to be one of the ballsiest and luckiest dudes around. There's no way in holy hell I'd ever be caught running sideways along the top perimeter of a stadium, hanging about 70 meters above the ground on flimsy little wire. In between "oohs" and "aahs", I had to keep my fingers crossed that he wouldn't plunge to his death and ruin all of the glorious cred accumulated by China up until that point. Alas, there was no tragedy and, when he lit that mega torch at the end, I was speechless.
After giving the world the best illuminated, synchronized percussion orgy known to mankind and the glorious Erection of Fire, the participating countries were paraded out in borderline excruciating slowness - ingeniously in order of character strokes - prompting me to long for another set from the drum bashers or another fireworks carpet-bombing. Are there really only 200+ countries on the planet? It felt like 500. Were some of those places even real countries? Looking at all the random flags, it seems like Britain went a little overboard with their colonization efforts. Actually, I've never felt so ignorant or uneducated while watching a sporting event.
Now to fashion. To my surprise, the Americans were the best looking in their Ralph Lauren duds. Naysayers be damned to the 5th circle of Hell, but those little white hats were classic, so suave that they even made Kobe look like less of a cocksucker. Sure, the Italians may have looked amazing in their silver suits, but it is the order of nature for Italians to always look good. Other personal favorites include the Kiwis, who were badass in evil Mordor black; the Malaysians, who looked they were off to the market in their kebaya kurung and songkoks; and the Spaniards, who I would have preferred to just come out naked, because those devils are hot as fuck.
Disappointingly, after all the Brit-lust I've been experiencing lately, the Great Britain suits were sullied by the guys wearing them (faux-hawks = still not cool). Is it just me, or do they all look like hooligan thugs? Bunch of wankers. At least the Chinese looked joyful and dignified with the cards they were dealt - those infamous tomato-scrambled-egg suits - despite all efforts to embarrass them. [Side note: whoever designed those should be drawn-and-quartered by the equestrian team. Or crushed under Yao's foot.]
The infamous Chinese tomato-egg outfits. Could also be McDonald's uniforms too...
Now to the games themselves. It's only been 2 days, but the heated firestorm that's brewing is going to get messy at the end of this fortnight (refer to next post...). The incessant barrage of "Go China!", "China is the best!", "Glory for the motherland!" and other such nonsense is starting to drive me a *little* crazy. Also, while broadcasting only the major Team China events is not out of the ordinary (fair enough, the US does it all the time), forcing me to rewatch the Gold-winning events when I want to watch something else is going to get old really fast. Although watching that tiny little weightlifting beast Chen Xiexia win gold in the Women's 48KG (with a Turkish bitch on silver and a Taiwanese champ on bronze) was pretty awesome, I seriously could give two shits about a women's air pistol competition when there's a bunch of other stuff going on (eerily coincidental: Russia and Georgia got silver and bronze in the aforementioned event...talk about timing).
Seriously, she could totally ruin you. (from Sina.com)
I just want to see the Americans smash China in every event, hopefully as brutally as the basketball mismatch. Did anyone think poor China even had a pretty boy's chance in a prison shower with that one?
My vitriol isn't the result of some vindictive hatred towards the other half of my genetic makeup, I'm just sick of hearing all the horn-blowing fanfare from the TV announcers, my coworkers and everyone on the street sucking China's athletic cock (or teat). Way too much National Self-Love. Someone needs to keep them from getting too uppity and proud, lest they think they can take over the world after the Olympic victories, using their medals as ammo.
Fine, maybe it's not so serious. Utter annihilation of the motherland isn't in keeping with the spirit of the Olympics (nor is senseless murder or war, but who's counting?), so let's just settle for getting #1 in the medal count. With a healthy headway for good measure. China can have the #2 position, what with all those accumlated minor medals for lame shit like air-pistol shooting or synchronized spitting. As long as the French are kept from the top 5 most-medals-won list, everyone should be pleased.
Oui, Oui~ Who's Tough Now?
I don't know what's wrong with me, but I'm feeling mighty proud to be an American right now. It feels good. Walking past a cafeteria full of Chinese watching the US team beat the French in the men's 4 x 100m freestyle relay, a wide crooked smile spread across my face and sparked a satisfying warmth throughout my body.
The BBC's amazing Monkey Olympic Intro, created by Damon Albarn (Blur/Gorillaz) and Jamie Hewlett.
Totally! (Loch Ness)
