Saturday, October 11, 2003
Well, my site, in all its vivacious infancy, has had its proverbial wings clipped before it was able to truly fly and "Go Where Eagles Dare." The Sinosplice administrator who has preferred to have his identity remain anonymous (John Timothy Pasden) requested that I watch the content of my site, and make sure it doesn't get too, "crazy," or, "over the top." So in adhering to his wishes as I would any of his wishes because his smile lights up my life the way a cuttlefish lights up the briny deep of the ocean I will for the remainder of my stay in China write only about my socks.
Going abroad for an extended period of time can be a frightening experience for anyone, especially when it is a culture and society so markedly different than your own (like China for instance.) You really start to cherish the little things from home, like all you can eat night at the Ground Round, and quality toilet paper that doesn't let you down in the softness department. The worst part about embarking on a journey abroad is realizing you forgot something that you cannot get in your host country. I forgot quite a few things when I hastily packed two days prior to my departure (my Chinese textbooks, my CBGB's shirt, my lupus medication etc. etc.) but one thing I remembered to pack and in great quantity was socks.
In China you walk a great deal. Even if you were affluent enough you probably wouldn't want to choose to purchase a car and drive, because most roads (in Hangzhou at least) are not the safest around. Most people here don't so much have an idea of how to operate a motor vehicle as much as they have an innate instinct to survive in what is, in essence, an asphalt simulacrum of Hawkin's Chaos Theory. Add to this that most people here drive with the urgency of a sprinter on crystal meth-amphetamines you can understand that walking is probably the safest bet. Although motorists in Hangzhou won't hesitate for a second to pull into a lane of oncoming traffic to try and bypass the line of cars in their own lane, they haven't yet developed the audacity to drive on the side walks.
Since I've been here I've probably walked close to a million miles. My footwear has atrophied, but my socks remain strong. I came to China with the health of my feet on the forefront of my mind. Contained within my 90 pound uber-duffle, were no less than 32 pairs of socks. All less than a month old and top of the line. My everyday socks are 16 black pairs of Hanes all cotton athletic crew socks with reinforced toe and heel zones. I specified their color because black allows an effortless shift between standard sportswear and more formal ensembles. It is important to have a durable sock for all occasions. For more energy intensive outings such as hiking, soccer, and late night panty raids with Carl and Alf (which, for the parents out there, has never occured), I have 8 pairs of Wilson double soled crew socks that cushion the feet more effectively for high impact activities. The aformentioned socks have been greatly cherished by my feet but their quality pales in comparison to the two pairs of Prince all-pro tennis socks I brought with four times the heel, toe, and arch cushion of any other sock on the market! I almost need to go up a shoe size whenever I slip them on! Bar none the Prince all-pro tennis sock is the best sock I've ever worn. They have provided a soft yet durable support I have not experienced in any other foot-related under shoe garment. This is the sock I would wear if I ever decided to fight a yeti. I really can't say enough about these socks. I could wear these socks on an all day excursion sloshing through the banks of the Yangtze and not only would my feet stay dry, but they'd actually smell better than before I went out. Cults and religions have been borne on less of a foundation than these socks. They are fantastic.
The remaining pairs of socks that found their way into my collection were brought more for their aesthetic qualities than functional qualities. Although they don't hold a candle to my Prince socks they are much more pleasing to the eye. I usually wear them in combination with my handmade Italian leather walking shoes, or my leather Wolverine dress clogs with dura-shock sole technology (which is hands down the softest shoe I've ever had the pleasure of slipping on my tootsies but lets not get too crazy here, this entry's about socks not shoes!)
All in all there are things I miss, things I regret having forgotten back home and it can be kind of disheartening...but you won't hear my feet complaining! (I hate you John.)
Going abroad for an extended period of time can be a frightening experience for anyone, especially when it is a culture and society so markedly different than your own (like China for instance.) You really start to cherish the little things from home, like all you can eat night at the Ground Round, and quality toilet paper that doesn't let you down in the softness department. The worst part about embarking on a journey abroad is realizing you forgot something that you cannot get in your host country. I forgot quite a few things when I hastily packed two days prior to my departure (my Chinese textbooks, my CBGB's shirt, my lupus medication etc. etc.) but one thing I remembered to pack and in great quantity was socks.
In China you walk a great deal. Even if you were affluent enough you probably wouldn't want to choose to purchase a car and drive, because most roads (in Hangzhou at least) are not the safest around. Most people here don't so much have an idea of how to operate a motor vehicle as much as they have an innate instinct to survive in what is, in essence, an asphalt simulacrum of Hawkin's Chaos Theory. Add to this that most people here drive with the urgency of a sprinter on crystal meth-amphetamines you can understand that walking is probably the safest bet. Although motorists in Hangzhou won't hesitate for a second to pull into a lane of oncoming traffic to try and bypass the line of cars in their own lane, they haven't yet developed the audacity to drive on the side walks.
Since I've been here I've probably walked close to a million miles. My footwear has atrophied, but my socks remain strong. I came to China with the health of my feet on the forefront of my mind. Contained within my 90 pound uber-duffle, were no less than 32 pairs of socks. All less than a month old and top of the line. My everyday socks are 16 black pairs of Hanes all cotton athletic crew socks with reinforced toe and heel zones. I specified their color because black allows an effortless shift between standard sportswear and more formal ensembles. It is important to have a durable sock for all occasions. For more energy intensive outings such as hiking, soccer, and late night panty raids with Carl and Alf (which, for the parents out there, has never occured), I have 8 pairs of Wilson double soled crew socks that cushion the feet more effectively for high impact activities. The aformentioned socks have been greatly cherished by my feet but their quality pales in comparison to the two pairs of Prince all-pro tennis socks I brought with four times the heel, toe, and arch cushion of any other sock on the market! I almost need to go up a shoe size whenever I slip them on! Bar none the Prince all-pro tennis sock is the best sock I've ever worn. They have provided a soft yet durable support I have not experienced in any other foot-related under shoe garment. This is the sock I would wear if I ever decided to fight a yeti. I really can't say enough about these socks. I could wear these socks on an all day excursion sloshing through the banks of the Yangtze and not only would my feet stay dry, but they'd actually smell better than before I went out. Cults and religions have been borne on less of a foundation than these socks. They are fantastic.
The remaining pairs of socks that found their way into my collection were brought more for their aesthetic qualities than functional qualities. Although they don't hold a candle to my Prince socks they are much more pleasing to the eye. I usually wear them in combination with my handmade Italian leather walking shoes, or my leather Wolverine dress clogs with dura-shock sole technology (which is hands down the softest shoe I've ever had the pleasure of slipping on my tootsies but lets not get too crazy here, this entry's about socks not shoes!)
All in all there are things I miss, things I regret having forgotten back home and it can be kind of disheartening...but you won't hear my feet complaining! (I hate you John.)
Wednesday, October 08, 2003
This is just a quick shout-out to my friends ("posse" if you will) in Tallahassee (mainly my Momo's crew). Joe (my alter ego and close friend) I hope all is well and hope the drudgery of college isn't taking too much of a toll on you. You have a wonderful mind, let it take you where it may in your search. Luke (Run D.M.) Lassiter (I apologize if I spelled your last name wrong) keep it real brother, and I hope all's going well with the band and the free-styling. Randy (you sexy Portuguese lothario) I hope all is well with you and Ashley, thanks for letting me win at Golden Tee my last night there in Tally (oh wait you didn't! I beat you like a bitch. I'm just kidding.) Look after your brother, he's can get kind of wacky. Ryan L. (also sexy but in a more annoying, drunk Brad Pitt sort of way) keep up the culinary studies. I plan on weaseling a lot of free food from you when I get back. Jerome (you underwater Adonis) go for that underwater archaeology degree. There are mad sites over here ready to be excavated and China's still in its infancy in the field of underwater archaeology so....? And Brandon, my brother who's actually a brother (word), if you are serious about visiting my door is always open to you (and everyone else for that matter). I'll try my best to see that you have a great time here. Okay some Chinese guy is throwing me out of the office so I have to cut this short, I miss you all (especially Carla even though she's a tease) and hope all is going well for you (all) (I like parentheses.) Jarret stay away from waterfalls and embrace the three jewels of the Tao. Miss you and love you all. I'm Audi 5000.
Tuesday, October 07, 2003
On Being Alone (part 1 of what I'm sure will be many):
I've only been in Hangzhou for a little over five weeks, so I'm hardly what you could refer to as an "Old Hat" in this Hangzhou game. But I feel I'm acclimatizing quite well. Actually I'm having an incredible time and the other foreign playas here at ZUCC have proven to be invaluable assets to my mental and emotional health. Truth be known, they are the main reason I am having the time I am, and I doubt very little I'd be having as much fun anywhere else. I'm very thankful I'm here and proud to straight represent the Poison Tea Leaves (fo' rizzle).
Lately however, at the end of the night, I find that I am alone. I don't like being alone. I miss the warmth of physical contact that only came from my love (you know who) and by the innumerable number of prostitutes that took you know who's place when you know who wasn't there. But I miss human contact. The guys here are great but I hardly want to sleep with any of them. Well one, maybe, but it would take a lot of Bushmill's and a wax job.
I'm not even talking about sex. Carnality aside, I'm only talking about the comfort that comes from having another person's heartbeat near your own. That sense of security that comes from having someone in your bed that you can hold or snuggle up to when its cold (this is in danger of getting very Dr. Seussy). Perhaps I'm just needy or insecure, or both as well as a myriad of other neurosis inducing psychological shortcomings that have found refuge in my brain.
I've always searched for this sense of security in other people because I've never quite been comfortable with myself, and I think it largely explains my penchant for oral sex ("muff diving" to the layman). It has that "return to the cave/womb" feel to it (I remember that term from some Freudian book on the nature of man but I never really paid too much attention to or had that much interest in it so I can't site the reference as accurately as I'd like but you get the picture) that I find very calming. Having your head affectionately nestled between the thighs of a groaning woman tends to have a soothing affect on me.
But lo, there are no thighs for me to burrow between in China, or at least none I am particularly interested in. Even if I were it would do little good. My Chinese is barf (please infer: of poor quality) which means I have no way of communicating with women outside of miming sexual positions and parading around bars with my cock out which I'm not going to do and I think is illegal. There is the off chance I could find someone who speaks some English but how do I ease into, "Listen, I don't want a relatioship, in fact I don't even care if you tell me your name. I just want to bury face in your crotch because I'm feeling very vulnerable and alone right now and that tends to help." I'm not foreseeing a high likelihood of success with that method but it's the best plan I got going for me at present (I'm not good with women).
So everynight as I prepare for sleep my bedroom feels a bit colder. Everynight's a little more sterile and solitary than the night prior. Up until I finished my Oscar Wilde collection I could at least go to my slumber with dreams of being a 19th century British Dandy swooning about my melon but now I don't even have that, and if I read Ex-Libris one more time (which I believe would make an even ten times though some of the essays I've read over thirty) I'm going to cross into that freaky realm of book enthusiast I've never been comfortable with. Regardless the book kicks supreme ass and is written by Anne Fadiman (you should read it) but I'm straying far from the point and you know this so I don't know why I felt the need to draw attention to the obvious, but anywho. I guess at the heart of the matter is that it can get lonely in a foreign country (duh), so if you can't get pussy you better have enough to read.
On the previous post my dear friend Constantin commented:
"And how about you answer the REAL question we're all wanting to know... uh huh. You know the one."
I, in fact, DO know the answer to "the one" in which Constantin is referring, and it was not easy to find out. It took several drunken treks to some of your more seedy "massage" parlors but I have definitive proof (my own eyes) that Chinese women do indeed have sideways vaginas.
I've only been in Hangzhou for a little over five weeks, so I'm hardly what you could refer to as an "Old Hat" in this Hangzhou game. But I feel I'm acclimatizing quite well. Actually I'm having an incredible time and the other foreign playas here at ZUCC have proven to be invaluable assets to my mental and emotional health. Truth be known, they are the main reason I am having the time I am, and I doubt very little I'd be having as much fun anywhere else. I'm very thankful I'm here and proud to straight represent the Poison Tea Leaves (fo' rizzle).
Lately however, at the end of the night, I find that I am alone. I don't like being alone. I miss the warmth of physical contact that only came from my love (you know who) and by the innumerable number of prostitutes that took you know who's place when you know who wasn't there. But I miss human contact. The guys here are great but I hardly want to sleep with any of them. Well one, maybe, but it would take a lot of Bushmill's and a wax job.
I'm not even talking about sex. Carnality aside, I'm only talking about the comfort that comes from having another person's heartbeat near your own. That sense of security that comes from having someone in your bed that you can hold or snuggle up to when its cold (this is in danger of getting very Dr. Seussy). Perhaps I'm just needy or insecure, or both as well as a myriad of other neurosis inducing psychological shortcomings that have found refuge in my brain.
I've always searched for this sense of security in other people because I've never quite been comfortable with myself, and I think it largely explains my penchant for oral sex ("muff diving" to the layman). It has that "return to the cave/womb" feel to it (I remember that term from some Freudian book on the nature of man but I never really paid too much attention to or had that much interest in it so I can't site the reference as accurately as I'd like but you get the picture) that I find very calming. Having your head affectionately nestled between the thighs of a groaning woman tends to have a soothing affect on me.
But lo, there are no thighs for me to burrow between in China, or at least none I am particularly interested in. Even if I were it would do little good. My Chinese is barf (please infer: of poor quality) which means I have no way of communicating with women outside of miming sexual positions and parading around bars with my cock out which I'm not going to do and I think is illegal. There is the off chance I could find someone who speaks some English but how do I ease into, "Listen, I don't want a relatioship, in fact I don't even care if you tell me your name. I just want to bury face in your crotch because I'm feeling very vulnerable and alone right now and that tends to help." I'm not foreseeing a high likelihood of success with that method but it's the best plan I got going for me at present (I'm not good with women).
So everynight as I prepare for sleep my bedroom feels a bit colder. Everynight's a little more sterile and solitary than the night prior. Up until I finished my Oscar Wilde collection I could at least go to my slumber with dreams of being a 19th century British Dandy swooning about my melon but now I don't even have that, and if I read Ex-Libris one more time (which I believe would make an even ten times though some of the essays I've read over thirty) I'm going to cross into that freaky realm of book enthusiast I've never been comfortable with. Regardless the book kicks supreme ass and is written by Anne Fadiman (you should read it) but I'm straying far from the point and you know this so I don't know why I felt the need to draw attention to the obvious, but anywho. I guess at the heart of the matter is that it can get lonely in a foreign country (duh), so if you can't get pussy you better have enough to read.
On the previous post my dear friend Constantin commented:
"And how about you answer the REAL question we're all wanting to know... uh huh. You know the one."
I, in fact, DO know the answer to "the one" in which Constantin is referring, and it was not easy to find out. It took several drunken treks to some of your more seedy "massage" parlors but I have definitive proof (my own eyes) that Chinese women do indeed have sideways vaginas.
Well the blog is up (finally) so I should probably put some content on here that might be pertinent to anyone interested in coming to Hangzhou, Zhejiang province for either business or pleasure, though I recommend you never mix the two.
I have to start by prefacing that China is wonderful. I've yet to travel outside of Hangzhou city but I am so enamoured by the people and places I've come in contact with that I hardly see a reason to leave. There is a kindness and warmth here that you are not likely to find anywhere else. From the friendly smiles and smells of all the street food vendors who set up and peddle their delectables right next to a rancid mountain of fucking garbage, to the warm demeanors of the Public Security Bureau officers that seem to embrace you with their disarming body language as they come within millimeters of hitting me with their God Damn bicycle on Zhoushan Donglu the other day. This city tries to kill you with kindness, and I for one am ready for Hangzhou's dagger of ardency to be thrust betwixt (yeah 'betwixt' you wanna fight about it?) mine breast bone and allow myself to be embraced by the collective pious hands of these glorious people.
Like all the glorious people that jibber-jabber in Chinese and snicker while eye raping you as they walk past, then shouting towards your back, "Hello!" Apparently this is hysterically funny to the Chinese though I find the humor is lost on me. This happens quite often and they mean no malice by it. It's quite innocent really, for the most part they just want to talk to you because you are an object of interest. They want to be your friend and they sincerely want to learn about your way of life. Most of all I think they just want to be liked by you and whenever they yell, "hello," I usually respond and smile, but sometimes you know I just want to stomp their heads into the concrete till my shoe's covered in their brains.
I should probably let everyone who doesn't know me know that I am kidding. This was written to make the people I know laugh. It is not meant to be taken seriously. If you like it I'm truly happy if you don't I'm sorry and I don't care. Hangzhou IS a wonderful city and I couldn't be happier. Almost getting hit by various modes of transportation just makes you more alert. Just because a street food vendor's set up next to a landfill doesn't mean his or her food contains garbage, only the aroma of garbage which is delicious. And lastly, the people here really do kick ass. They are very nice. So some people want to practice their English or coax a reaction out of you by vociferating, "Hello!" or, "How are you?" Don't be a prick, smile and respond. You're possibly making someone's day brighter.
I have to start by prefacing that China is wonderful. I've yet to travel outside of Hangzhou city but I am so enamoured by the people and places I've come in contact with that I hardly see a reason to leave. There is a kindness and warmth here that you are not likely to find anywhere else. From the friendly smiles and smells of all the street food vendors who set up and peddle their delectables right next to a rancid mountain of fucking garbage, to the warm demeanors of the Public Security Bureau officers that seem to embrace you with their disarming body language as they come within millimeters of hitting me with their God Damn bicycle on Zhoushan Donglu the other day. This city tries to kill you with kindness, and I for one am ready for Hangzhou's dagger of ardency to be thrust betwixt (yeah 'betwixt' you wanna fight about it?) mine breast bone and allow myself to be embraced by the collective pious hands of these glorious people.
Like all the glorious people that jibber-jabber in Chinese and snicker while eye raping you as they walk past, then shouting towards your back, "Hello!" Apparently this is hysterically funny to the Chinese though I find the humor is lost on me. This happens quite often and they mean no malice by it. It's quite innocent really, for the most part they just want to talk to you because you are an object of interest. They want to be your friend and they sincerely want to learn about your way of life. Most of all I think they just want to be liked by you and whenever they yell, "hello," I usually respond and smile, but sometimes you know I just want to stomp their heads into the concrete till my shoe's covered in their brains.
I should probably let everyone who doesn't know me know that I am kidding. This was written to make the people I know laugh. It is not meant to be taken seriously. If you like it I'm truly happy if you don't I'm sorry and I don't care. Hangzhou IS a wonderful city and I couldn't be happier. Almost getting hit by various modes of transportation just makes you more alert. Just because a street food vendor's set up next to a landfill doesn't mean his or her food contains garbage, only the aroma of garbage which is delicious. And lastly, the people here really do kick ass. They are very nice. So some people want to practice their English or coax a reaction out of you by vociferating, "Hello!" or, "How are you?" Don't be a prick, smile and respond. You're possibly making someone's day brighter.
Monday, October 06, 2003
I'm An Uncle!! (and I'm in China)
Thus far my five weeks in China have been an eye opening experience, and those experiences will be touched on later. For now though, on the inaugural post of my totally kick-ass weblog, I would like to announce the birth of my sister, Stacey's, baby. A 5 lb. 11 oz. little boy named (are you ready for this?) Dominic Vincenzio Parlotto. Can you say future head of the Five Families? Anyway I'm now an uncle, and to celebrate the change in title some friends and I got drunk off a bottle of opium-laced cough syrup and watched Reign of Fire. Congratulations Stacey and Brian I'm overjoyed with this latest addition to our family and cannot wait to see pictures of the little capo. Everyone here in Hangzhou sends their best as well.
From here on out, this will be the place to go to find out what's going on with me while I'm existing (I couldn't call it 'living' because I suck too much) in China. Mom and Dad I apologize ahead of time (Carl just farted up my snoot) but I will be profane so let's just get this out of the way now: Shit! Fuck! Cock! Ass! Whore! Twat! Jism! Nuts! Cunt! CUNT! CUNT!!! BITCH! Douche Slut! Knuckle Fuckin' Glue Sniffer! Pecker Snot! Cock Barf!
I love you mommy and daddy.
Thus far my five weeks in China have been an eye opening experience, and those experiences will be touched on later. For now though, on the inaugural post of my totally kick-ass weblog, I would like to announce the birth of my sister, Stacey's, baby. A 5 lb. 11 oz. little boy named (are you ready for this?) Dominic Vincenzio Parlotto. Can you say future head of the Five Families? Anyway I'm now an uncle, and to celebrate the change in title some friends and I got drunk off a bottle of opium-laced cough syrup and watched Reign of Fire. Congratulations Stacey and Brian I'm overjoyed with this latest addition to our family and cannot wait to see pictures of the little capo. Everyone here in Hangzhou sends their best as well.
From here on out, this will be the place to go to find out what's going on with me while I'm existing (I couldn't call it 'living' because I suck too much) in China. Mom and Dad I apologize ahead of time (Carl just farted up my snoot) but I will be profane so let's just get this out of the way now: Shit! Fuck! Cock! Ass! Whore! Twat! Jism! Nuts! Cunt! CUNT! CUNT!!! BITCH! Douche Slut! Knuckle Fuckin' Glue Sniffer! Pecker Snot! Cock Barf!
I love you mommy and daddy.
