Peaches Penetrates Shanghai

It's been a long ass while since Shanghai was graced by an international act worth seeing. Ever since Bjork went and screwed us all by making it harder for foreign acts to receive government approval, this place has been a veritable ghost town devoid of overseas musical talent.

Owl City? *Eye roll*
Andrew Bird? *Zzzzz*
Michael Bolton? Are you kidding me?

Thus, when it was confirmed that raunch queen Peaches would spread her gospel of filth onto our fair city, I nearly burst from my boxer briefs in premature excitement. With the Expo mere days away, it's a shock that the authorities even let her airplane onto the tarmac. Luckily for old Peach, she flies so low under the radar that the All-Seeing Eye of the Ministry of Culture couldn't stop her. Poor Bob Dylan was blocked mere days from his scheduled performances, while Peaches-disciple Lady Gaga had to cancel an entire PRC/ROC/HK tour because Beijing wouldn't allow her disco stick into the motherland.

When we arrived at Mao Livehouse, openers Reptile & Retard were wrapping up a typically insane set. I didn't care about missing these wacky Danes (they'll perform at the Expo, I'm told); I had been waiting for Peaches for months.

We like it hardcore

As the intro music blasted through the wall of dry ice smoke fuming from the stage, the crowd of idiots began to inexplicably smash their glass cups and bottles onto the floor. Some dickwad behind me -- a foreigner, of course -- tossed not one, but TWO glasses onto the floor, sending shards of tumbler all over the place.

I will pose the question again and again with exasperated anger: how the fuck do these people get here? It's not like it's easy for a lowlife Westerner to just relocate to Shanghai without a job or school. So are these jack-offs releasing pent-up anger from a day at the office or classroom, or are they dreaded hipster scum come to China to metastasize like skinny-jean-wearing, high-top-rockin, 80s-throwback-wannabe cancer? I didn't move halfway across the world to be followed by this scourge. Go back to Williamsburg.

My rage was quelled as soon as Peaches rose from a backstage hydraulic platform. Dressed as a giant mop.

Relentlessly slamming through a mix of old hits and tracks from her latest album, I Feel Cream, she executed one of the most enthralling shows I've ever seen. She crowd surfed, played a laser theremin, and even walked across the audience atop a sea of upstretched hands. "Jesus walked on water, Peaches walks on YOU!" @__@

This woman is over forty years old. I was in awe.

Behold the Peach!

While singing such child-friendly fare such as "Fatherfucker," "Lovertits," "Shake Yer Dix," "I Feel Cream," "2 Guys 4 Every Girl," and all-time playground favorite, "Fuck the Pain Away," Peaches changed wardrobe about a bajillion times, from that aforementioned shag suit (looked exactly like the Beck Odelay dog) to a bath towel, a glittery cape and cowel, skanked-out leotards and the infamous Pussy Light, as seen below (apologies for the crap quality).



The crowd unfortunately remained obnoxious through most of the show, but all was forgiven because I was probably being quite annoying as well, with all the jumping and jamming and head banging and screaming. We really need more shows like this in Shanghai. Full-fledged loss of sanity and surrender to the performance. It's been so. long.

Our Caped Crusader

By the end of the final encore, Peaches challenged us to a little contest: to see if Shanghai was crazier than the other Asian tour stops. How would we prove ourselves? By stripping. You can see where this is headed.

As she egged on the crowd, it was apparent that most folks preferred to remain robed. Myself included. No one wants to see what lies beneath my impeccable clothing. But some minx behind me grabbed my shirt and demanded it be separated from my person. I had to oblige. No matter how self-conscious, above all I am indeed a ham.

Luckily I banged out a couple of push-ups before the show, because my flab was flying alllll over the damn place. Looking up at Peaches, wiping fake blood from her mouth and looking like an overused tranny hooker from an alleyway, I felt empowered. Here is this nasty ass woman who sings filthy, filthy songs about guy-on-guy action, copious fornication, tits, balls, ass, pussy and dicks (in Chinese! 摇你的奶，摇你的蛋!), even the Shocker! and yet there is something so electrically sexy about her while she is performing that even I am disgusted by my admission. If she is comfortable in her skin, why shouldn't I be?

Hands in the air, I continued to jump up and down to the beat. Peaches is all about breaking down stereotypes and prudishness. If that meant baring my flesh to a crowd of drunken hipsters, so be Peaches' will.

V&K couldn't bear being blinded any further, they had to cover up my love handles!

Red Pill, Blue Pill

(Or, (Likely) Adventures in Shanghai Dealing)

Usually when I see a black guy in China, I get a little excited. Perhaps it's for nostalgia's sake, reminiscing of my homeland and the daily interaction with various, chocolate-hued folk. It could also be a subconscious longing for my little brothers, as if by exchanging a glance or a kind word to these fellow foreigners-in-China, I am also sending a small bit of love back home. Therefore, it was strangely soothing -- after a long day of work and long night of moonlighting -- to see a black dude standing beside me, waiting for the subway to pull in. When the train arrived, we stepped on together.

Without an empty seat to rest my weary ass, I leaned against the doors and turned my iPod up to drown out the noise. Twelve stops to go before I reached home.

Eyes shut, about to doze off, I felt a tapping on my shoulder. My friend from the platform was standing next to me, already clear past the comfortable border of my bubble space. I could smell that familiar nicotine and cocoa butter scent that I knew so well from days gone by. He gently pulled the earbud out of my head and smiled.

"Do you speak English?" he asked in a thick African accent.

Still bewildered -- I usually expect this type of upfront behavior from locals looking to make fast English language-exchange friends, not black guys in flat-rimmed baseball caps -- I nodded and smiled. He passed over a red Nokia mobile phone, clearly the cheapest of the cheap, probably about 200 RMB at Carrefour and cheaper if it was second-hand (trust me, I know: I own a cheapo shit brick myself). If The Wire has taught me anything, it was that this phone was very, very disposable, if you know what I mean.

"Can you tell me what does this mean?"

The message read: "Don't use the word love so much. You don't use the word love with a complete stranger! Don't ever call me again!"

Awkward.

I instinctively puckered my lips and cocked an eyebrow, mulling over my options. This was going to require a lot of tact.

"Umm, this girl, she, uh... she doesn't want you to call her. You know? No calling. She said do not use the word love. You just met her, eh? Well if you like her, you will still call whatever she says. But she said do not call her."

He looked confused. "Do not call her?"

"Yes. She said do not call her. But you gonna anyway, eh?"

I was just trying to mask my anxiety with a little humor defense mechanism, nervously laughing to an invisible crowd. Bitches, they straight crazy! He just smiled and nodded. Persistent. If that girl was any bit smart, she'd change her number.

At this point, he was almost leaning against me. The swaying of the train didn't do much to help. A few younger local folks were staring at us, likely transfixed by the ebony and ivory exchange that they'd only seen in Hollywood buddy cop movies. My friend hadn't said a word in a few seconds, so I hoped he was finished with the uncomfortable exchange. Then he reached into the pocket of his loose denim and pulled out another beat-up Nokia, an identical model to the first, except this one was blue.

"Read this one."

I took a deep breath. Should I be charging him for my services? Not only do I get annoyed by being bothered by complete strangers, I also don't like when my precious "me" time is ruined unexpectedly. But I didn't want to be rude. Or murdered. The fact that his eyes were literally bugging and he looked a little cracked out didn't do much to ease my nerves. The dry, ashy skin around his chapped lips, yellowed fingernails, and milky white eyeballs were familiar. I'd seen faces like this many, many times before, so I thought it best to just be a polite little boy and help the nice man.

This message read: "I got the good stuff. Don't reply with messages." It was signed "Your good friend."

I was pretty sure what the "good stuff" referred to, so I tried my best to play it cool.

"Hmm... This says that 'he' has some good stuff" -- at which point I gave him the wink-wink-I-can-be-trusted-don't-kill-me face -- "and you should call. Do not send message. Call."

I wagged my fist near my head, extending my pinky and thumb toward my mouth and ear, respectively, in the universal 'phone' motion. Just in case my English wasn't clear enough.

He looked puzzled, like a puppy. "So I should call? No message?"

"Yes, call."

Pushing the red Nokia into my hand, he politely asked, "You type message for me. 'I have the good stuff. Don't message. Your good friend.' You type." Apparently my hand signal wasn't clear enough.

I looked around, half expecting a narc team to swing through the windows and arrest me for being an accomplice to a potential drug deal, until I realized that we were barreling through the Shanghai underground at top speed. Glancing around, I decided that the ladies in sheer-panty-ankle-socks and guys flicking the airline business cards posed no viable threat to my life outside of Chinese prison. I quickly entered the message and passed the phone back to him. A guy sitting on the seat across from me had been staring at us the entire time. I gave him a weak smile and raised my eyebrows. What else was I supposed to do? I had always heard that the Nigerians were the big suppliers in China -- one was supposedly even murdered recently outside a bar by the local cops in a drug bust gone awry -- but I didn't realize it wasn't just an assumed stereotype. This was just ridiculous.

At the next station, my friend looked at me and said "My stop." I breathed a sigh of relief as he alighted the train. Best of luck to that girl he's after and whoever was on the receiving end of the "good stuff." Now I know what expats in Shanghai refer to when they say they are in the import/export business.

November 5th, 2008 (Shanghai time)

(Or, Yes. We. Did.)

We did it. After eight years of mind-numbing bullshit, we finally have a new leader. It is a truly historic day that I'll never forget.

Growing up, my memories of presidential elections drew exclusively from the fact that they were so close to home: first with Michael Dukakis, a former Massachusetts governor, in '88; then Paul Tsongas, a senator from my hometown, Lowell, in '92. That year, Clinton defeated Tsongas in the primary and went on to become President. So aside from assuming that all presidents had to somehow originate from my home state (foreshadowing unsuccessful runs by Kerry and Romney), politics were not a priority in my life. This trend would continue into adolescence.

As the Clinton years went on, I began to develop a better idea of the importance of the position of President of the United States. Despite my admitted lack of deep political knowledge, I tried my best to at least maintain a basic grasp on the situation. Playing saxophone, good. Sex with interns, bad. Compared to Bush Sr. and the Gulf War, impeachment hearings for a paltry semen stain seemed silly to me. I couldn't see what the fuss was about. I suppose hindsight really puts things into perspective. None of this was more apparent than in 2000, the year I cast my first ballot.

Now, we all remember that year with mixed grief, disbelief and anger. In my dorm room at UMass, just as we began celebrating Gore's "victory" with skunked beer spilling on ruled notebooks, what would become one of the worst presidencies in American history had begun. It's a little unnecessary to rehash the details of the past two terms. The entire world is painfully aware of those realities. In retrospect, I find it interesting that my formative adult years are inextricably bound to that presidency. Pretty much all of our lives were influenced by it. So for me, this current election was - and probably will remain - the most important in my lifetime.

In the days and months leading up to Election Day '08, it felt like the most excruciating countdown to the most uncertain decision at the most unstable time ever. Lofty. Even though the general mood in the final days was positive, everyone knew that we couldn't rest until it was official. We had all been fucked at the last minute before, mind you. For me, this felt like the final inning of Game 7 in a Red Sox/Yankees playoff series that we were *just* about to win, with me hanging off the edge of my seat, knees shaking my ankles into the floor, mouth agape and eyes glued to a TV screen. Maybe it's this Boston mindset ingrained in my psyche, but I just can't rest easy until the outcome has been confirmed by at least ten separate media sources, a victory parade has been scheduled and a trophy or speech has been given before a crowd of cheering onlookers.


Bright and early on the morning of November 5th (i.e. late Tuesday night in the US), over a hundred compatriots and I played hooky from work and set up camp at a local American bar, fueled with heaping breakfast plates ("Breakfast with Barack" har har), free flow caffeine (sorry, ran out of coffee, only have Coke), and enough Chinese "Obama 奥巴马 2008" swag to make a killing on eBay years from now. The energy was high, though that nagging uncertainty still overshadowed my mood.

Affirmative Action Wet Dream

Viv and Neil: Obama's Biggest Campaign Contributors

The crowd was a big old mix of Americans, who would summarily hoot and holler their hometown allegiance whenever CNN announced their state's winner. While mostly white, there was also a healthy dose of black folk, some ABCs, and an Indian dude. Even a few witless Republicans somehow managed to wander in thinking it was just an "American" gathering, not an explicit "Obama" gathering, the idiots.

Malone's First Floor

Ebony and Ivory! Perfect Harmony Starts Now

This Kid Loves Obama
(and, on a side note, boogers too. I saw him eat like 10 in the span of a minute!)

A British NPR writer was also in the ranks, searching for any hometown Chinese that could help shed some light on the local opinion regarding the election. According to her count, she could only find two; though her local photographer pals were the only Chinese I saw. However, in preparation for her piece, she did manage to interview some locals and was happily surprised to see that the seemingly innate prejudice that Chinese have against blacks didn't rear its ugly head this time around. In fact, about 70% of Chinese polled (according to a totally scientific survey, mind you) supported Obama, reflecting the overwhelming global opinion. In my personal conversations with Shanghainese friends, their view has also been refreshingly enlightened. Although siding with Obama because McCain looks "old" and "evil" probably isn't the most educated of judgments.

The Friendly Local Photogs

Watching CNN, I felt like we had tuned in to the wrong channel. At points it felt like Monday Night Football, with the booming music, swooshing sound effects, and overblown anchorperson shouting. I was half expecting a CGI football to go flying past Wolf Blitzer's grizzled head, hitting Anderson Cooper in his pretty face. Then the very next minute, like New Year's Eve in Times Square, with the ominous CNN PROJECTION (TM) graphics counting down the seconds until the next batch of states were announced. I got a few laughs from the scant coverage of the Republican base in Phoenix, especially their frenzied boys choir performance. Wow, they sure bring out the heavy hitters. My personal favorite bit came during the insanely hallucinogenic hologram segments. If you haven't seen it yet, CNN basically beamed in anchors from different cities via freaky 2-D hologram, Star Wars style. Like Leia in A New Hope, even Black Eyed Peas frontpea, Will.I.Am, made a quick cameo.

"Help me O-ba-Ma Kenobi, you're my only hope!"
(Certainly I couldn't think that I was the only one that thought of this within the first 2 seconds of seeing this awesome advance in technology?)

At the start of the coverage, I expected a nailbiter. However as each hour passed and state after state proved their ability to vote for the right guy, the possibility of a landslide had me secretly grinning like a fool. But I didn't want to jinx anything, so the anxiety and nervous shaking continued.

At noon, about 11PM US time, CNN's hyperactive "Breaking News" animation flashed across the screen for the first time.

Barack Obama Elected President

The room exploded in celebration. As Stevie Wonder blasted through the speakers, it was pretty much official. Seeing the screaming (and crying) crowds in Grant Park, Kenya, and before my eyes in Shanghai, I too was moved to tears. We finally did it, together, and it felt so damn good.

Pure Joy

Watching Obama's amazing speech in Chicago, before a crowd so massive that you'd think Lollapalooza was back in town, I couldn't help chuckle to myself at the sight of all those white people nodding their heads and shouting out "Yes we can" in response to Obama, gospel church style. In addition to hope, he's also going to inject the country with soul ~Mmm-hmm, das righ'~ Needless to say, the speech was moving and emotional to watch, but seeing Oprah leaning on that fat white dude just pushed me over the edge. Hand me more tissues...

Although it's going to be a rough start, I believe Obama can bring the change he's promised. Hopefully he doesn't get as much criticism as Taiwan's Ma Ying-jeou, who not only shares an alma mater with Obama, but also has the astronomically unfair expectation to clean up eight years worth of accumulated shit in a very short span of time. [Editor's note: they are both also dashingly handsome and quite eloquent too.] In the very least, we'll be able to reclaim a more positive image in the global community, which is something every expat American can be thankful for. Though I will truly miss the inspired comedic soundbites that spew forth from Bush's retarded mouth, it is time for a change. My dear friend, Jigga, summed it up best by saying:

"Rosa Parks sat so Martin Luther King could walk.
Martin Luther King walked so Obama could run.
Obama's running so we all can fly."

I've never felt this proud to be an American. I have a feeling I'll be telling my grandchildren about this monumental day: the day a black man, nee, a fellow halfie, became President of the United States of America.

The Ego Has Landed (Or, Kanye West Is Coming "Home")

Jesus didn't walk last night, but we had a great time all the same. On the final stop of his Chinese mainland trek, Kanye West played a modest (see: short) set that kept the crowd on its toes, which is a feat in itself considering most Chinese audiences often resemble the pile of stinky, dead fish on the melting ice chips at your nearest Carrefour. Unfortunately, he left the mega-LCD screen and spaceship back in the States, making this billing as a Glow In The Dark show a bit of a misleading misnomer. However, from start to finish, the energy was high and the setlist was tight. In the 4 years since I last saw the man, he has really come a long way.

Mr. West, the college dropout who eventually re-registered (late, mind you) and finally graduated, was not the first performer I would have thought of had you asked me "Who do you think will come to China next?" He's just too hip and cutting edge and, after Bjork, I assumed we were done for. I would have thought someone safer and more boring, maybe another stint by the Black Eyed Peas. So after his initial date was scrapped and then rescheduled in order to fit in a gig in Beijing, a hefty 380 RMB per ticket (for the "cheap" seats!) was shelled forth in anticipation for one of the best hip hop artists alive.

Remarkably, We Each Paid 380 RMB To See This Man.

News of Kanye's impending arrival got me crazy excited in all the right places. As most of us would learn, this was a "homecoming" of sorts, according to the overexited Chinese press. You see, back in 1987, Kanye's mom Donda (R.I.P.) took a Fulbright teaching position in Nanjing, site of the eponymous massacre north of Shanghai, and brought her then ten-year old son with her. His Mandarin apparently got fluent enough to "translate menus" at restaurants. Hrm... Oddly, he didn't utter a word of Chinese during the entire show, so maybe he forgot it all during his 21 year absence from the mainland. His beloved mother, the unfortunate victim of a botched plastic surgery procedure, got a proper shout out though, via his heart-wrenching tribute, "Hey Mama," which gets my vote for the Best Momma Ode By A Rapper Award (suck it, Tupac).

Although no one would ever accuse Kanye of being the greatest rapper alive, his lyrics are thought-provoking, oftentimes hilarious, and don't need to resort to the typical violence-drugs-and-bitches sludge that clogs other rap catalogs. His long list of collaborations is equally inspired, reading more like a fantasy dream team of duets plucked from my iPod playlist. Jay-Z. Mos Def. Common. Lauryn Hill. Lil' Wayne. Chris Martin. Daft Punk. Lupe Fiasco. Adam Levine. Even John Mayer isn't safe from Kanye's greedy clutches. At one point during the set, the band launched into a familiar tune (Journey's "Don't Stop Believing"); familiar to soft-rock radio stations, not stadium rap concerts. Yet they managed to pull it off effortlessly. Kanye's self-appointed status as "genius" is starting to make sense to me now.

The show thumped to a start with strains of "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" - a track Kanye is slowly but surely usurping from Daft Punk - then morphed into "Good Morning," the first track off his latest album, Graduation. Controlling the crowd with his rhymes, Kanye blazed through hits like "All Falls Down" and "Good Life" (with laughably out-of-place show opener, Vanness Wu of LA Boyz and F4 fame) without a word of nihaoxiexie filler in between. Although the show wasn't a sell-out, the people in attendance were fully capable of going nuts. The suckers with expensive 1000 RMB-plus seats managed to partially recoup their money, filling out the front of the floor section, as if we were at an actual general admission concert. Whether because of the high expat percentage or simply because he was that amazing, the audience was fun and rowdy, something you don't see very often around here. Even though he skipped "Jesus Walks" and "New Workout Plan," the energy was palpable, making the vibe more like a sweaty club show than a gaping indoor arena.

From the swaggering "Gold Digger" to the anthemic "Touch The Sky," Kanye's ability to keep both the energy and the spirit positive is one of the reasons I like him so much. His music makes you feel good without dumbing down the message. Even when the subject matter gets heavy, there is always an addictive beat to back it up and make that head nod. On those more foreboding tracks - most notably "Diamonds From Sierra Leone" (my personal favorite) - he exhibited a passionate intensity that I usually only see at rock concerts, with lighting production to match. Trent Reznor would be proud.

Flashing. Liiights Lights Lights Lights~

Much to the delight of the Brits in attendance, Kanye whipped out his verse from Estelle's "American Boy," the huge UK (nee, "you, K") summer hit. Proving just how painfully hip he is, the bloke drops some "rubbish", namechecks my favourite superjuice Ribena, and knows the proper use of the term "wag." I'm convinced that Estelle was hiding somewhere backstage singing her choruses, but it could have also been a prerecorded loop. Part of me secretly hoped that her fellow countryman, Chris Martin, would magically appear for "Homecoming," during which I would have willingly shit my pants in excitement, but I assume he was stuck back in merry old England with Estelle.

Mr. West

Unfortunately for me, my dreams of hearing the new tracks from the soon-to-be-crowned break-up masterpiece, 808s & Heartbreak, were dashed. All we got was a verse from "Love Lockdown," which, without the aid of Kanye's new best friend, the auto-tuner, sounded a little out of place plopped at the butt end of "Touch the Sky." The Singaporeans should consider themselves lucky, as they not only got "Lockdown" but also "Heartless." I wait patiently for that album to drop on November 25th. In any case, it is just a minor quibble in an otherwise strong set. Speaking of "strong" (oh ho, ho, what a segue!)...

Still on a high from "Diamonds," "American Boy," and "Flashing Lights," Kanye finished me off with the explosive "Stronger," which is the closest I've ever come to the pure ecstasy of live Daft Punk. Although some complained of poor speaker quality, that percussion hit me in all my sweet spots and I was as happy as a rapper swimming in a pool of gold necklaces, booty sweat and big titties.

As the show came to a close, Kanye stood at the center of the stage illuminated by a megawatt flood light, arm in the air saluting a rabid crowd. And just as suddenly as he had entered, Yeezy bounded off the stage and the house lights flickered to life. Touch the sky, Shanghai.




Kanye West "Glow In The Dark" Setlist
(more or less -- if you were in attendance and have a more complete list, let me know...)

"Good Morning"
"I Wonder"
"Heard 'Em Say"
"Through the Wire"
"Champion"
"Get 'Em High"
"Diamonds from Sierra Leone"
"Can't Tell Me Nothing"
"Flashing Lights"
"Gold Digger"
"Good Life"
"Hey Mama"
"Don't Stop Believing" (Journey Cover)
"Stronger"
"Homecoming"
"Touch the Sky" ("Love Lockdown" verse only)

Take What We Can Get

Sweet Lord on high, this is one of the lamest songs I've ever heard in my life. Even more baffling are the positive comments on YouTube. Maybe I'm just out of touch... In any case, this video from Australian duo Empire of the Sun would be totally disposable if not for the sheer saving grace of its setting: Shanghai. Peep Lujiazui's skyline, the Longhua temple and our lovely yellow taxis. While I'm sure the locals who got to witness these two poofs poncing around the city might have thought it a riot, I'd have preferred more suitable musicians to stop by and shoot a video. Like Bjork.

Go China! Go Olympics! Go To Hell!

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A Good Day's Work

(Or, Getting Our Charity On)

When the earthquake hit Sichuan last Monday at 2:28 PM, I received some emails from friends with the breaking news. The general air surrounding the event seemed more like gossipy shock-news to me. A big earthquake in the middle of nowhere, separated from Shanghai by a swath of land equidistant to the one that keeps Boston at safe distance from Los Angeles. Big deal. I quickly dismissed those paranoid friends who claimed they felt tremors, having felt no such thing myself. And we were in the same building. I was happy to hear from family and long-lost friends, concerned about my safety and well-being, but overall, it felt like people were overreacting.

So when the numbers started trickling in that afternoon, and the following day, the full scope of the event began to sink in. A week later, the death toll is over 30,000 and expected to reach 50,000, with thousands more missing or injured for the rest of their lives.

To help give you a better idea of just how big that fatality figure is, think about it this way.

1. Pick one of these more recognizable small US towns:
Chapel Hill, NC. Ithaca, NY. Palm Springs, CA. Fairbanks and Juneau, AK. Beverly Hills, CA. Bozeman, Helena, MT. Concord, NH. Hackensack, Atlantic City and Hoboken, NJ. Roswell, NM. Burlington, VT. Revere, Methuen, Woburn, Northampton, MA. (More here)
2. Add a terrible natural disaster.
3. Poof, the entire population, all gone.

I mean no disrespect to compare and make light of other tragedies, but Katrina claimed less than 2,000. Maybe because we're so inundated with news headlines and attention-grabbing statistics, or perhaps because of the distance from the event (much like Burma last month or SE Asia, post-tsunami), but it's hard to actually grasp those numbers without some perspective.

In the aftermath of the quake and in the face of the unanswered questions from angry, newly-childless parents that will no doubt come to light when the rubble is cleared, the country has banded together in a display that is refreshingly more positive than the pre-Olympic bullshit that we've been swamped with in the past months. In an ironic twist, this tragedy might actually garner China more sympathy (man, does it need it...) and help balance all the inane pro-China/anti-West stupidity that's been festering. For now, everyone is focused on doing as much good as possible.

Over the weekend, our company's annual Spring Fair was turned into an impromptu charity event, with many participating vendors offering some or all of their proceeds directly to the Shanghai Red Cross relief effort. Our company, to its credit, organized an easy system that deducts donations directly from our paychecks, making charitable contribution even easier (and tax deductible, natch).

Most encouraging of all was the outpouring from the children. Throughout the day, a steady line of kids brought their piggy banks (seriously, all pigs!) to the Red Cross booth, giving as little as 10 RMB in hard-earned coinage and upwards of 200 RMB for the little rich ones. Some kids, just casually walking by, emptied whatever was in their pockets onto the table, doing their small part. It was heartening to see how excited they were to contribute however much they could.

Little Guy Doing His Part

The annual clothing drive that I organize saw a huge bump in contributions, blowing up almost three-fold from previous years. In some ways, it was a little daunting to move it all to the donation drop-off, but how can I complain about such a good turnout?

Working Hard or Hardly Working?

Lots Of Donations

Over the course of a day, bag after bag of clothing and bedding was donated, resulting in two fully jam-packed moving trucks that required two hours and four people to shift. The poor donation drop-off volunteer lady was happy to see it all, but admitted it was a little "psychologically overwhelming." We ended up filling about 1/3 of the space in her garage. It's going to be a bitch for her to get her bicycles out of there now. Ha.

Poor Garage...

Thank God For Happy Helpers

Since I started the annual clothing collection, I've seen the attitude towards charity shift in a positive direction. The first year, I got a lot of "Donation? Henh! Why don't you just sell the clothes instead!?" As if I was insane for suggesting a contribution of old clothing to the needy in poor Chinese villages was a good thing. Charity? What's charity when there's a buck to be made? Ahhhh, China~

By the following year, the idea of charity and donations was slowly catching on around here. Even though some people still didn't get it ("Why give away clothes!?!", "Can I sell them to you instead of giving?" etc.), the younger people were learning that there's more to life than consumption and me me me.

So, reflecting on the response from this year's drive, it is inspiring to see people giving so much in a time of crisis. I admit a strong sense of pride in what we accomplished, however small it turned out to be. There's still a lot to do. If you'd like more information on donating to the Sichuan earthquake relief, check the information here. If you'd like more information on River of Hearts, the local Shanghai charity organization that accepts these clothing donations, click here.

Best Driver Ever

And finally, if you're looking for a good moving service, call Mr. Meng. The man was an immense help for us on Saturday, even giving a sweet charitable discount for his services. He can be reached at 13817207577 (24 hours a day, services going as far as Anhui).

You knew there'd be a jumping picture involved...

I'm Gonna Be A Father!

(Or, The Beauty of Creation)

Whip out the champagne, cigars and gummy bears, for it is a momentous occasion. I'm finally going to be a dad. And twins! After days of planning and hours of deliberation, I made the decision. My parents wouldn't be too happy if they knew how big a hit my wallet took, but they'll eventually come to accept my choice. I never thought this would happen so soon, but I'm ecstatic to make this announcement. I'm going to be the proud father...of a new pair of Nikes. My babies are due in 4-6 weeks.

NIKEiD, the most badass idea that Adidas failed to get to us first (why Adidas, WHY!?!), opened its flagship studio on the mainland in April 2008. The concept has been around for a while, with shops already buzzing in London and New York City. However, unlike the snobby SoHo locale, the Shanghai studio is open to anyone with enough cash. Appointment only, please.

Gaze Upon Her And Be Humbled!

So what is the big deal? Making your own damn shoes. For those with a shoe fetish or sneaker addiction, this is on par with a mainline hit of pure, uncut dope, with less residual pain and none of that pesky anal leakage. But rather than incorporate another convoluted metaphor to this blog party, I'll return to the whole baby idea. Basically, designing your own sneakers at NIKEiD is like genetically manipulating your own superhuman, bionic, test tube baby in some secret laboratory. Depending on how picky and indecisive you are, the process can take minutes, hours, or days. Come take a quick jog with me:

1. Pick your sneaker model.

Whether you like the bulbous chunk of the Dunk line, the classic smoothness of the Cortez, or the sexy sleek of the Zoom, there is a model for every fashion preference. You can play around with these online at nikeid.nike.com, but the real treats of in-studio conception are exclusive models, colors and fabrics that are not available online.

2. Design your sneaker.

This is where the real fun (or stress, depending on who you are) begins. Each section of the shoe, from the shell to the lining to the laces, is clearly marked on the menu, with each available color/fabric/texture listed below it. Go nuts with the mixing and matching until you find your desired superbaby.

Color: Depending on your chosen canvas (i.e. sneaker model), you are allotted a certain set of colors to play with. And they are all over the place. Ranging from boring, conservative pastels for the classic Tennis model to an orgy of rainbow-on-crack color explosions for the more expensive Jasari running shoe. Neon pink, electric red, taxi yellow, solar orange, lucky green, metallic gold, grey granite... Crayola gone mad in an 80s disco.

Fabric: Much like the color choices, these also vary by model. The casual lines have more selection, as the running shoes and basketball hightops tend to stick with set fabrics for ultimate athletic performance. Choose from patent leather, suede, plain cloth, hard shell, or the exclusive Paul Smith (check) inspired stripe patterns.

Texture: As important as color and fabric, the texture will also dictate the look of the shoe. Whether you pick the gleen of the hard shell, the soft mute of nubuck, the easily dirtied denim cloth, the glittering sheen of metallic silver, or the classic smooth of the patent leather, make sure to check out the actual look and feel on the examples lining the studio walls. There are some things a computer monitor can't convey.

3. Customize that shit.

Vanity is expensive. Since you're already busting out the big monetary guns (~850-1200 RMB) for the oppportunity to design your own footwear, how do you go all the way and truly make it your own? Create a design name and have it stitched to the side, forever cementing your identity and creative prowess. Anything you want, max 10 letters (some models allow 8 letters per shoe). And no profanity, please. Trust me, I checked: it's in the terms. I guess my left shoe "Mother", right shoe "Fucker" design is just not meant to be. Should have settled on "Mass" and "Debator"...

Who in God's Good Name would get "Flaming"!?!?
Although, this is not as bad as the dude who picked "Tool"...
Totally serious about this...

If you're anything like me, you'll go nuts with all of these options. Considering how personal this opportunity really is, I found myself burdened with a lot of pressure to make that one special pair. In my mind, the design had to be a perfect representation of who I am. Lofty, I know. But we all know how much I overthink things.

Aborted Pair: Too Flashy....Laces didn't match well

More Aborted Models: Like A Rainbow Took A Giant Shit On My Feet

So, in the process of playing with different creations, I made a few designs that were pretty loud. Sea green, bold red, radioactive yellow, cobalt blue, tangerine orange. I figured, if I'm making something special, why not go a little crazy? Well, because I'm not crazy or as ostentatious as I may want to be. My main concern was how well the sneakers would match my average outfit and, sorry highlighter yellow and seafoam green, but you are not found in my wardrobe. In the end, I settled on a design that was quite befitting of yours truly - clean and quietly bold, nothing too showy, with a subtle dash of spice snuck in for good measure. I think that sums me up quite nicely. So I present to you, the Nike Neopolitans:










Existentialism-via-shoeware aside, the experience is well worth it, if you care about what covers your feet. Drop by the studio, conveniently located in People's Square, at the corner of Nanjing Pedestrian Road and Xizang Road (metro exits 15, 19, or 20). If you fear commitment, there are 4 Mac stations on the first floor for you to play around with (See below). Designs can be saved in your online locker, after creating a free Nike account. The studio design staff are all very helpful (and bilingual), so consult them as you see fit.

Ground Level Entrance: Four Macs in the center console waiting to be played with

Once you decide to take the plunge, schedule an appointment in the studio located in the basement lab. During your session, you get a free drink, a designer to help you through the process, and about one hour to design the shoe of your dreams. Play with the in-store models and fabric samples, ask questions and do what you have to before plopping down your credit card. You get a personalized birth certificate, free keychain (whoopdidoo!), and an ID card with the design specs and picture of your new baby. They even have stork service: delivery of the final product to your door, free of charge. So much easier than childbirth.

Descending Into Goodness

What are you waiting for?

More studio pictures here:
http://www.kenlu.net/forum/showthread.php?t=25772

NIKEiD.Studio - Shanghai
819 Nanjing East Road (corner of Xizang Road)
Brilliance Shimao International Plaza, Basement level
021-6352-6616
NIKEiD.Shanghai@nike.com