MADE in CHINA

Part 2

My husband’s hair does not grow out, it grows up.

Last week, I noticed that he had begun to sport a ‘fro. Not really a good look for him despite his hero worship of Jimi Hendrix.

Before I tell you the rest of the story, we have to go back a dozen years, to our first international assignment with P & G in Brussels.

First of all, Belgium is bilingual. In the North, they speak Flemish (which is really pretty much Dutch), and in the South, they speak French. We lived in the middle, and woe is Brad, we had to study both languages to communicate comfortably.

At the time, the French/Dutch language combo seemed fairly strenuous. If only we could have lived in France and learned French. Or Holland and learned Dutch. But no, P & G was in Brussels and we had to study both…

Now living in China, the idea of learning and living in any country where you can read the signs and use a dictionary would be a piece of gateau!

An aside…

Before I poke fun at Brad, I have to acknowledge that he is actually NOT a language retard. He learns quickly (I just learn a little more quickly), and he is brave enough to use what he knows. This does not mean, however, that he understands everything. He just rolls with it and keeps his sense of humor.

Shortly after arriving in Belgium, Brad needed a hair cut. I offered to go with him to…ummm…help...uhhh....navigate….the language barrier. Setting out on his own, he firmly and confidently told me he had it control.

Yes, indeed!

If shaving your head is the way to control your hair, Brad did have it completely under control!

When my husband returned home from his excursion, I was speechless. (Obviously so was Brad! He must not have known a singl word!) Somehow, my American executive had been transformed into an American soldier. He looked exactly like my brother’s 1978 GI Joe doll.\

The kind with the fuzzy head.

I never quite figured out how this happened—nor did Brad. The end result, though, was Brad buying a pair of hair clippers and occasionally shaving his own head. Hell, why pay for it when he could do it himself?

In this way, Brad has managed to avoid any more language snafus or afros. The clippers have been his style of choice now for a dozen years.

In Beijing, Brad has been shaving his head as well. Recently the clippers have sounded unwell: like a cat with a hairball. Twice Brad has had to disassemble and reassemble the clippers mid-shave. This is scary unless he is going for the Mohawk look, which P and G loves. His solution?

TAO BAO. Yes, China’s version of Ebay, in Chinese of course.

On Saturday he bravely purchased clippers using Google Translate.

On Sunday he bravely paid the bill at the non-ATM atm in our compound’s clubhouse.

On Monday, I bravely answered the door and signed for the package.

(Actually any day I answer the door is a brave day. You never know who is on the other side!)

Monday night, Brad bravely and enthusiastically opened the box.

Looks good!

The box reads:

CHAOBA

THE NEW KING OF CLIPPER SET FOR PROFESSIONAL
Ok, maybe not so good!

He plugs the clippers in.

Does not sound good.

Sounds like a lawn mower—an industrial lawn mower.

Brad examines his purchase.

Suddenly the razor blade disengages from the device and shoots across the room.

Really.

What the hell?

Like flies across the room!

Nearly takes out his eye.

Brad shrugs and unplugs the clippers.

He reattaches the very sharp blade.

He plugs them in again.

Still not sounding good.

Again with the lawn mower imitation

Again the razor blade disengages and shoots across the room.

Repeat several times.

It’s the Hair Clipper Massacre.

Finally silence.

I do not have the heart to actually follow up on the saga.

China gets the best of you sometime.

On Tuesday, I saw the clippers sitting on the staircase leading to the basement, where Brad has his Maker Desk. You know: where Brad MAKES things.

I can only imagine what Brad will produce using the CHAOBA KING OF CLIPPER SET.

It’s sure to be professional.

The culprit: made in China, of course!

Solder On, Brave Soldier

Part 2 of the Birthday Bash….

Brad is a maker.

You know: he MAKES things.

And for Lucas’s birthday, he and the boy decided to make wands with 15 other 8-year-olds.

Magic wands.

Wands with lights.

And switches.

And wires.

TECHNICAL WANDS.

Being Makers, Brad and Lucas found a cool pattern for wands on the internet that use LED lights, switches, wires, and soldering.

The good news is that Brad and Lucas know how to solder. Lucas was actually featured in Make Magazine’s “Teach Your Family to Solder” on-line edition. http://blog.makezine.com/archive/2009/07/lucas-learns-to-solder.html

He was five at the time.

Weirdos.

Have I mentioned that we live in China?

Did you know the electricity current is 220 here vs 110 in the US?

That means none of our electrical appliances work.

None.

Not even the soldering gun.

Ah.

Shopping.

Have I mentioned that we live in China?

And are you familiar with the expression “Made in China?”

This phrase is synonymous with the word crap.

As in: dollar-store crap.

As in: worth less than a dollar.

Living in China also means that Ebay does not exist.

(Ebay is where Makers buy things like soldering guns.)

We do have Tao-Bao. It’s China’s version of Ebay, and being in China, it’s in Chinese.

All Chinese.

You can sometimes run Google Translate and sorta kinda maybe figure out what the page might be saying. That’s what Brad did. And to give credit where credit is due, he ordered what he thought might be a soldering gun weeks in advance. He even paid for it at that weird “not-a-cash-machine” cash machine.

(See previous Blog Entry Update #1: a compilation of emails telling the whole story.)

Alas the soldering gun never arrived.

Lucas’s birthday is the 16^th of January. On the 15^th, I knew that at least 8 children were coming to the party and were very excited about making light-up wands—wands, I remind you, that required soldering.

Did I mention that we live in China?

And we are pretty much idiots here?

Where on God’s Red Earth do you buy a soldering gun?

And more importantly, who is going to tell Mr. Duan Shifu (the driver) where and what we need?

Why, me, of course. Lucas has taken to calling me the Living Translator. And just like Google Translate, I can “sorta kinda maybe figure out what the page [person] might be saying.”

So here we go… Saturday morning while running errands for the birthday party:

Lucas and Brad run into a store, leaving me alone in the minivan to wrangle with my mangled Mandarin. It’s gonna be ugly. (I use my Chinese app on my iPhone for little reconnaissance.)

To solder in Chinese: han xi

Machine in Chinese: ji

Soldering gun: han xi ji?

Maybe!

I would like to buy a soldering machine: Wo xihuan mai han xi ji.

Ready or not, here I come….

So that is what I say to the driver in a singsong voice, “Oh, Duan Shifu…. Wo xihuan mai han xi ji.”

And if you excuse my mandarin, the driver replies with a “What the Fuck?” expression on his normally smiling face.

Repeat. “Wo xihuan mai han xi ji”

WTF?

Repeat (alternating tones and emphasis).

Repeat (alternating tones and emphasis).

Third time’s the charm: “Wo xihuan mai han xi ji”

Another blank stare, but this time followed by the miming of soldering small imaginary wires on Mr. Duan’s eyeglasses (which by the way, he desperately needs and rarely wears. That’s another blog in itself!).

Charades! As a comic, I’m good at this!

“Yes, yes, yes! Mr. Duan! That’s what I want to buy!”

Now can you possibly imagine what poor Mr. Duan is thinking? Whatever it is, it is not good. Oh, he is grimacing and breathing air through his teeth. It is not reassuring.

The children are coming tomorrow!!!

Now he is looking into the distance, twirling the eyeglasses (which he should be wearing).

Ahh… finally he hesitates yet admits, “Keneng Keyi.”

Translate: maybe can.

This is promising! Trust me: very promising!

Lucas and Brad return to the minivan and off we go. To the local—and I mean seriously local—market.

Think New York China Town but bigger, stronger, more powerful than ever before (i.e crazy chaotic)! Mr. Duan does not like bringing his foreigners here. We don’t belong.

(As result, Brad and Lucas have never been to this market, which is actually pretty cool to see. I have snuck here with my friend, Julie, twice now when Mr. Duan was not looking!)

There is a parking lot which Duan Shifu ignores. No walking for us! He drives right up to the whole-in-the-wall shop and leaves the car parked in the middle of the street. We all stomp in. The store is the size of a powder room filled to the brim with things made in china. There is a lot of Mandarin exchanged loudly. Sounds like yelling to me. I wonder if Mr. Duan is going deaf as well as blind? No luck with the han xi ji. We tromp out.

Repeat driving, parking, stomping, yelling.

The second store, though, is larger. I even see spy some things made in Germany. (Ok, probably things made in China but shipped to Germany with a German name.)

Happy yelling now!

The store actually has three soldering guns: a $4 model, a $5 model, and a $6 model. None are made in Germany/have a German label, though. All are made in China. Hmm.

Brad decides the $4 model is fine. After all, he has purchased a professional quality soldering gun on Tao Bao which is due to arrive last week.

I gently urge him to buy all three; he is having none of it. He’ll never go for 3. I know when to draw the line.

I strongly encourage him to buy at least 2, and not the 2 cheapest.

Still, Brad is reluctant.

For God’s sake!

This from the man who owns $10,000 worth of guitars!

It’s 15 freaking dollars!

BUY BOTH!

(Perhaps at this point I sound like I am yelling in English… You know—the tones and all!)

“No,” Brad says. The quality han xi ji is coming soon.

The birthday guests are coming sooner!

I remind him that we live in China.

Made in China = CRAP.

He caves and buys 2.

Mr. Duan feels like the shop is ripping us off and bargains for a lower price.

We get a discount and pay.

I triumphantly and ecstatically proclaim “Hao ji le”

SUPER!

The shop keepers love this and are smiling and laughing with me.

Victory!

(But in my heart, I know he should have bought all 3)

Fast forward to Saturday evening…

Brad retreats to his Maker’s Desk in the basement to begin the soldering process.

He decides that 10 assembled lights should be enough.

At this point, though, my friends have told me that Asians do not rsvp ,and I realize I could have more kids than expected. (See Last Emperor Blog Entry.)

Brad better prepare 17—the maximum number of possible attendees.

Ok.

I stay upstairs, making the birthday cake, bemoaning the fact that Janice Braverman, friend, artist and adopted-aunt-extraordinaire, is not here to help with the creation. She has helped make every birthday cake for Lucas so far…

It’s a sad night.

The cake, which was supposed to look like a wand, looks like a large turd, whose end was dipped in glitter.

Talk about made-in-China Crap!

Little do I realize, but Brad’s night is sadder.

Not being present, I cannot fully describe the events in the basement. But I can tell you, I smelled a lot of burning in the kitchen, and it was not the turd. (I mean the cake.)

Turns out it was the following:

#1: Brad

The more expensive ($6) han xi ji shocked Brad so badly that his hand was basically smoking. I don’t know the details but it seems that when he touched the floor and/or metal (?) the soldering gun shocked him.

Made in China.

#2: The cheaper soldering gun

In an attempt to avoid shock therapy, Brad moved to the $5 model. After successfully soldering several LEDs and switches, the soldering gun caught on fire and the wires melted together.

Made in China.

#3a: This should have been the third soldering gun I encouraged him to buy, but no, he didn’t need three.

#3b: Brad again

Knowing the smiling, excited children were arriving in 12 hours, Brad was forced to return to the Shocking Model. His solution? He wore his rubber gardening shoes*. Great! His feet were protected! Yet his hand still, one month later, seems slightly discolored and shaky.

Living in China.

With love and laughter,

Kimbeijingerly

*You may wonder why didn’t Brad wear the housekeeper’s rubber gloves. Good question. Answer: as a result of having a house slave, we forgot that dishwashing gloves existed….

Living in China!

The Last Emperor...

...the Little Emperor!

Lucas turned 8 on January 16^th.

Lucas is NOT the emperor, FYI

On Sunday, January 9^th (2 days after returning from Thailand), I had a mini-nervous breakdown regarding his party (with a wand-making theme) and the invitations I never sent.

A January birthday is difficult to plan no matter what the country. In December, Christmas eats all your time! Schools are then closed early in the new year, making it nearly impossible to get out invitations in a timely manner. The problem is compounded here in Beijing where children go back to the international school only 6 days before Lucas’s Big Day.

In an invitation frenzy, I stripped Lucas down, threw him on the wood floor with his Thai henna tattoo, handed him his cool wand and and did some funky photo editing. I had driver Duan Shifu dash me to the one-hour Kodak (“Keh-Dah” in Mandarin) and voila, invites were prepared.

The stress, however, had only just begun.

I quickly learned that many Asians do not RSVP. H0w do you plan a party without responses?! By Friday, I had 8 Westerns “yeses” and no Asian answers. On the day of the party, we had 15 attendees! One of the attendees is blog worthy!

Background Info

In China, a common topic of conversation among Westerners is the “Little Emperor Syndrome.” Due to the fact that for many years the Chinese could only have one child per family and families chose to have boys, this is a country of—you guessed it—Little Emperors, a.k.a. Spoiled Brats.

The stress begins:

Little Emperor Fat Boy, “I’m hungry!”

Stressed Kimbeijingerly, “Did you have cake?”

Fat Boy, “No. I don’t wait in line.”

Little Emperor Fat Boy during wand making session, “I’m bored! There’s nothing to do.”

Stressed Kimberijingerly, “Did you make a wand?”

Fat Boy, “No. I don’t wait in line.”

Super Dad demonstrating wand-making procedure

Little Emperor Fat Boy during the Pin-the-Wand-on-the-Wizard game, ““I’m bored! There’s nothing to do.”

Stressed Kimberijingerly, “Did you pin a wand on the wizard?”

Fat Boy, “No. I don’t wait in line.”

Cute girls pinning the wand on the wizard

L.E. Fat Boy, bored and stuck between the wall and staircase banister, “Help me! I cannot get out. I’m stuck! Help me now.”

Stressed Kimberijingerly, “You jammed your body in there. You can get it out yourself.”

L.E.F.B., “I’m bored.”

Stressed Kimbeijingerly, “Only boring people are bored.”

L.E.F.B., “I’m bored. I’m calling my driver to come pick me up.”

Stressed Kimberijingerly, “Do you need to borrow my phone? The address is 1226 Dragon Bay.”

And then I am tempted to add, “Write that address down and never come back.”

But then I realize that Fat Boy did give Lucas his favorite birthday present—a super-expensive, luxury toy that I would never have purchased. It was a gift for a king.

Or a Little Emperor!

With Love,

Kimbeijingerly

P.S. The birthday saga is not yet complete. Watch for additional blog installments!