Never Have You Ever (Imagined Hair Cuts or Bus Rides Like This): A Ballad By AmyBridgit, feat. 1.4 Billion Others

Sunday night, on a whim, I decided that the time had come to get my highlights touched up. I got some translations from a few Chinese teachers, a recommendation on a good salon, ignored several warnings about the haphazard results of previous attempts, and headed to test my luck. Flying by the seat of my pants, I hoped that I would still be mildly attractive after this experience. Or, have any hair at all. 

At approximately 5:30pm, I sat down in front of a man in a bright purple vest . We went over what I had written down, and I pointed repeatedly to the color I wanted. I informed him, via symbols in my notebook, that I wanted lots of small highlights. For the next hour and a half, a woman picked tiny pieces of hair from my head to be colored. She counted each strand as

 she did it, quite lovingly folding miniscule sections into foil; though systematic in manner, it took much longer than it should have. Much, much longer.

Already slightly impatient, I decided to have my hair cut while I was there. I only wanted a trim, and spent about 15 minutes doodling and dictating to Purple-Vest what I wanted. My mediocre drawing skills and  limited Chinese vocabulary seemed to get through to him, surprisingly, and he soon began snipping away. 

The cut was relatively quick, and, upon finishing, he proceeded to dry my hair. He blew dry the entire head, and then pinned my hair up into different sections. From his drawer, he pulled out the tiniest roller brush imaginable, and began to meticulously dry tiny section of hair by tiny section of hair. I sat there with slightly raised eyebrows for and hour, the build of energy caused by boredom accumulating quickly in my toosh. 

He reached the last section of hair, and I had all but breathed a sigh of relief when he called over Giant-Cross-Left-Ear-Earring, who's sole job, I presume, is to straighten hair. He grabbed a hot straightener, and immediately put my hair back up into sections. Tiny section of hair by tiny section of hair, he straightened; running the hot iron several times over each bit to ensure maximum straightness. After a chunk of tiny sections had been satisfactorily completed, He progressed to straightening larger sections of the pre-straightened tiny ones. When it was 9 o'clock, they had finally finished the straightening. 'Thank GOODNESS', I thought to myself, 'I don't think I can take anymore!' And that was when Purple-Vest reached back into his drawer and pulled out the blow dryer again. 

I escaped half an hour later into the freezing streets of Jinan. The highlights are nearly unrecognizable, but the cut is not bad. The price was so cheap that I discarded any hostilities my hairs might feel towards the over-frying session. 

The next morning, our poorly heated apartment brought more spontaneous entertainment into my life.  It's always chilly in the main room, but the kitchen and laundry room, which border the outside world, are literally the same temperature as outside. This morning, upon retrieving our washed laundry from the night before, Anna and I realized, with a mixture of shock and amusement, that they had frozen to the washing machine. Another shirt that had been soaking in a separate bucket now sat in a block of ice. Slipping and sliding on the home-made snow and ice covering the floor, we made it too the kitchen to discover this room also affected; all the liquid items were frozen, from water to olive oil.

To top it all off, our water was shut off this morning. We get no warning, but will randomly awake to find that we have no water. So, with no water, frozen food, iced up clothes, and a large mug of instant coffee, I began my morning. 

Throughout the day, I found myself annoyed by many things in China. The insane bikers, always honking even when there is no one around, the never-ending stream of people that are in no way courteous when it comes to lines or public transportation, taxi drivers that try repeatedly to ask you complicated questions about your life while you repeatedly respond " TING BU DONG!" (I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU ARE SAYING SO JUST STOP!!)

However, later in the afternoon, I realized that the frustration is simply not worth it. These are things that you can't change. It's much better to laugh at them, perhaps creating some sort of online journal to chronicle your escapades for the entertainment of a third party. Otherwise, events such as this one might be lost in the scuffle.

 I found a great opportunity to practice this philosophy that evening, while looking for a taxi home. It was freezing outside, and, after 15 minutes in the cold, the last thing that Andy and I wanted to do was wait any longer for a taxi. There is a special bus that runs in the middle of the road, called the BRT, which would take us to the intersection where we catch the bus home. We paid, and stood in a mass of people waiting to board the bus. The first bus came by, and we watched in shock as an already impossibly stuffed bus, against all odds, expanded magically to accommodate even more people. We made it onto the second bus, jammed in the center section. Everyone was pressed so tightly together that no one had to hold on to the supports as the bus dodged through traffic; no one could move an inch. People rested their heads on strangers' shoulders.  They breathed in eachother's body odor with gusto.

When our stop came, we realized that, to exit, we had to, somehow, cross the width of the bus, which was jam packed with immobile people. Not only were these people unable to move, but they point-blank refused to move to keep their coveted spot on this popular transportation choice. Like a Survivor Challenge, we braced ourselves for the coming battle. The doors opened, and in slow motion, a new crowd of potential bus riders thrust in like their lives depended on it, and Andy and I pushed out. 

After initially struggling to even face the doorway, I shoved harder than I ever have in my life. Competitive sports were nothing compared to this experience. I was literally using all of my strength to plunge myself out. With his height, Andy made it out first, leaving me floundering helplessly in a Chinese sea of people. "I CAN'T GET OUT! ANDY! HELP ME!" I screamed, laughing hysterically at the absurdity of the situation. I ducked low, and, with over ounce of strength I had left, managed to spill over out of the crowd onto the pavement. 

We took a taxi the rest of the way home.

Monday night marked the birthday of on of Aston's finest, Gary. Gary has been in China for quite awhile now, and had handpicked some pretty cool places to celebrate his 27th. A huge group of around 40 dined together at a Da Pan Ji restaurant, which served numerous family-style dishes of equal culinary quality, appealing greatly to my love for things spicy. In one dish we did discover chicken heads and feet mixed in with the meat. I nibbled a chicken foot, which is not as disgusting as my American friends might imagine. 

After that, we headed to a bar then a club, during which time I once again assumed responsibility of photographer. It was a great night!

Qufu: A Picture Book Adventure

This Tuesday, simply itching to get out of Jinan , Stephanie, Chloe, Emma, Andy, Rob and I took a mini-holiday to the nearby town of Qufu: hometown of the late, great Confucious.

A short two hour bus ride from Jinan, Qufu had held a coveted spot on my lengthy list of 'Things I Really, Really, Really Wanna See REALLY BADLY In China'. I must say, however, we were all a bit disappointed with what this small town had to offer. Nearly deserted, Qufu seemed devoid of all that ancient magic I had expected to be shooting out of the tips of the grass. For an overpriced fee, we toured Confucious' Mansion, Gardens, Temple, and the graveyard in which he was buried. It was certainly a pretty place, as well as a pleasant break from slightly monotonous life in Jinan; nonetheless, it was a bummer.

Luckily, disappointment in no way hindered our playful posse from making the most of the day. Coming away with more than 400 photographs combined, we had ourselves a pictorial field day. With little to contribute verbally, I have decided to present this 6 hour adventure as visual hodgepodge. This is a brief synopsis of our unexpectedly sensational day out of town.

Qufu: A Picture Book

Photography By: Amy Baker, Andy Wright, and Stephanie Colley

Copyright: 2008, AmyBridgit Publications, All Rights Reserved.

Donations Excepted (Please Send Candy Canes!)

Physical Assault and My Bid For Presidency

(Forward: I realize that putting "Physical Assault" in the title might alarm some people into reading this entry. To ease your concern, I was not actually physically assaulted by anyone, but am poorly attempting use of a literary device some call a 'metaphor'. 

If this makes you lose interest in reading this post, I withdrawl my former statement, and currently sit alone, licking my gaping wounds from a recent near-death beating.)

Though I have currently been in China for about 2 months, it doesn't seem to stop the strange and new from occasionally slapping me across the face with surprise: just a friendly reminder that, yes, I'm still here. Because it's so easy to settle into a routine and forget why exactly I'm doing this, I find it refreshingly nice that China is constantly, and rather agressively, pushing the envelope.

A couple of days ago, I took cab home, during which ride I recited the normal conversation with the cab driver (where I was from, whether I liked China, asking the driver if he has any American friends, and whether he likes America). As we arrived at our destination, I handed him the correct fare through the grate. The driver turned around to take the money, smirking through the bars with penetrating eyes as he did so, and blew me a kiss with a little too much insinuation. 

SMACK! What could he possibly be thinking?!

In other news, I've been seeing numerous Asians exercising outside of the gym. If you're wondering how they stay so thin, this is the answer. When they jog, they don't have to change into running clothes, charge up their iPods with upbeat 90s pop hits, or allow for clean-up time afterwards. When Asians decide to go jogging, it's in the spur of the moment; it's spontaneous; it's beautiful. In the university complex where I live, I walked out the other day to witness a small group of college students jogging in unison. They were dressed in trendy clothes, hair superfluously done, costume jewelry clanking to the beat of their common tread. Two girls even wore heels, though, to be fair, they were less than two inches. 

Another afternoon, I was walking briskly down the street to work when I was surpassed by a rather long line of men jogging in perfect time. They too were dressed smartly; the leather jackets seemed a bit uncomfortable with the movement, but their stylish shoes tapped musically on the side walk, while their full blown, highlighted hair-dos bounced rather gracefully along with the cadence. As I watched in undisguised awe, the stylish troop made an abrupt turn into a hair salon. A Drill-Seargent-type, who must have been their manager, filed them through the door one by one with a sharp pat on the back, at which point they reported militantly to their stations, scissors in hand, alert and ready for customers.

BASH! This is the secret to fighting America's obesity problem! 

This weekend, I was told for, not the first, nor the second, but third time in China that I bore an uncanny resemblance to Hilary Clinton. 

WHAM! I know I'm ambitious, and have all the makings of the first female president of the United States, but in no way, shape, or form would I stay with a man after such an ordeal. 

(If it was Justin Timberlake, it would be a different story. Or Ben Bailey, charismatic host of Cash Cab. Either or.)

In another stinging instance, one male Chinese teacher invited an unsuspecting Andy to sit next to him by saying "Sit here, puppy!". 

ZING! Apparently, he thought that this was something that friends just call each other. After inquiring further into matters, we discovered that he had learned the phrase from the ever educational Prison Break character, Fernando Sucre. I'm not sure which is more amusing: the fact that he willingly called another man Puppy, or that a Chinese man was enthusiastically incorporating Hispanic slang (Puppy =  Papi) into his everyday vocabulary. 

You gotta love China... but in no way do I support Communism. God Bless Voting Rights, Gay Marriage, and The End of The War!

Vote AmyBridgit, 2012.

The Life and Death of 'The Hammer': Adorable Puppy and Random Act of Kindness

Life in China has continued on just unlike always. 

This past week, my impulsive nature coupled with my compassionate weakness for things dejected, lonely, and helpless, and together birthed a series of events, both completely unexpected and emotionally surprising.

Tuesday, Stephanie and I were walking by the main Square in Jinan, deep in our quest to find the perfect New Years’ party dress. Thus far unsuccessful, we were enthusiastically pondering our next attempt when we noticed a short line of roadside vendors selling puppies. There were about five vendors in total, each with boxes wiggling with the excitement of the cutest puppies you have ever seen (puppies which, in my eyes, were even cuter given the fact that they were forced to huddle in the freezing cold, away from their mothers, handled carelessly by their ungrateful masters). “Aw, I want a puppy so bad!” I said to Stephanie off-handedly, undisguised yearning dripping copiously from my words . “I’ve wanted one for so long!” she replied pointedly. We looked at each other, and neither of us could summon up the courage to say the words we knew had to be said ("No, we can't get a puppy!"). So we just didn’t say them, and went to have a closer look.

There were several adorable and equally qualified candidates, each as fluffy and friendly as the rest, fitting naturally into the crest of our arms like there were made to be there. When the vendors told us that the last price (we had been haggling, like always) was 200 Yuan, we turned out backs. We hadn’t really planned on buying one anyway, we told ourselves, as our hearts secretly sank in our chests. Out of the blue, another vendor sprinted toward us, practically throwing a sick-looking puppy in our hands. It was puny, haggard, and shaking from fear. She snatched it back almost violently, threw it on the floor, and made it follow her hand by teasing it with food. We were absolutely appalled by the way that she was treating this poor animal; a wave of pity swept over me as I watched it scramble after it’s sneering master, shaking from fear, pausing only to look up at me with those irresistibly sad eyes, which simply screamed ‘Help me’!

So, for 30 Yuan, Stephanie and I decided to give this puppy a better life, for what remained of it. It shook and whimpered as we held it close to our chests through traffic. We bought a food and water bowl, a cardboard box, some food, and some towels. We then took it back to my apartment, and began promptly to show it some love.

Andy came over soon after, bringing with him his spectacular new camera, which works magic on even the most ordinary of occasions. This included our new furry friend publicly cleaning his bowels on my jeans.

We snapped photo after photo of our now peaceful, sleeping puppy, which now and again awoke to look at us, not with fear, but pure adoration.

We tried to decide on a name, preferably something Chinese. Shou Xi Wang (Little Hope) was settled on temporarily, but was still not that perfect name we wanted. During a string of contenders, Andy suggested ‘Hiro,’ to which I chuckled incredulously and asked, “Did you just say ‘Hammer'?" And thus, 'The Hammer' it was.

Thursday morning, after sleeping the second consecutive night on my chest, in the crest of my arm, and occasionally stretched across my neck like a scarf (which is actually quite nice), 'The Hammer' began to act odd. As I placed it down on the bed, it had a violent seizure, which caused Stephanie and I to freak out. It was horrifying to see such a tiny, helpless creature in so much pain.

We rushed him to the vet, who informed us (via a friend telephone translator) that it did not look good. We left him there overnight, returning the next day to find a much perkier puppy. The vet informed us that he was not eating anymore, and had worms in its stool, casting a grim predication for the future. He had warmed up a bit, though, which was good. With a few last injections (and an insanely low vet bill), we left for home, knowing that the end was near.

Andy had the weekend off, so was in charge of caring for the puppy while Stephanie and I had class. Saturday, when I arrived home, The Hammer, who had been sleeping all day, woke up immediately and began prancing happily around the room. He crawled right into my hand, and began eagerly licking my face. He hadn’t drunk a lot of water that day, so I put some water on my lips as he continued licking. Anything for the puppy, right? We got him to eat a bit, using a technique I had observed at the vet. I said goodnight to a suddenly very sleepy and unusually weak Hammer.

Sunday, I arrived home to face my greatest fear: Andy and Rob walking silently into my apartment, that look of 'We have bad news' written all over their faces. All that night, the puppy had been whimpering on and off. That morning, The Hammer began whimpering again. When Andy took it into his arms, it became quiet and still, and died.

It was a feeling of shock for me. I had been so upset and worried about it over the week; it was as if I had exhausted all my emotional supply already. Later that night, I cried a bit more. How sad, I thought. This poor puppy, dead because it was taken away from its mother too early and not properly cared for or loved by those vendors. What else can one do than give it a happy ending? And I think we gave it just that.

Monday, nearly everyone left for Beijing. Due to dwindling funds and the overwhelming burden of stress in several different areas of my life, I decided the best decision was to say behind and a have few days to myself. However, this meant that I was solely in charge of burying the fluffy creature formerly known as ‘The Hammer’. Not helped by the fact that the ground was nearly frozen, or that I lacked a shovel anyhow, I set off to find somewhere to put this dejected puppy to rest.

Much to my dismay, there is literally nowhere to bury a puppy in Jinan. It is all metropolis, and what parks we do have would certainly reject a shoebox containing a dead dog as it rolled through the scanner machine.  No, I said to myself. I’m going to have to be creative. Luckily (or unluckily?) for 'Hammer' here, this was one of my strong suits. I decided to take a walk and explore my options.

There are a number of construction sites around my home, many sporting gaping holes in the ground and nearly deserted premises during the day. Seeing the city in a new light, these normally ordinary locations became full of possibilities. I imagined myself nonchalantly entering the site, walking straight up to the nearest hole, and placing the shoe box discreetly inside. Continuing along in my morbid state of daydreaming, I realized that they would keep working, most defiantly spotting the large black Vans box contrasting with the neutral dirt , and toss it in with the garbage. I imagined his body rolling around over piles of rubbish, next to rotting food and old, smelly shoes. And that is not something I wanted for the puppy.

Continuing on my walk, I spotted a deserted cement truck. I looked quickly around to see if anyone was looking (they weren't) and I climbed up onto the truck. Fantasies again consumed me, and I saw myself drop the puppy into the cement mixer. This way,  he would be infinitely buried in the ground, never to be disturbed. But, again, my fantasy continued, and I saw his clumpy body swirling around for ages inside this big truck, finally pooped out one end, and noticed (with faces that plainly indicated nothing short of disgust) by the workers. They would scoop him out, throw him to the side, where he would become a lone scrap of rubbish. And that is certainly not something I wanted for the puppy.

On the rest of my walk, I failed to locate anywhere that would successfully contain, undisturbed, this poor creature. Walking back through the gates of Lixia Dasha with a heavy heart (not to mention a dead dog in a shoe box), I headed over to the rubbish house. I did not want to do this, but I had no other options. 

Then, like a gift from above, I noticed a nook on the side of the building, hidden from passersby, protected from the weather, a filled with scrap metal, old blocks of concrete, and broken branches. Glancing quickly over my shoulder to be sure I was alone, I tossed my purse up onto the tower of rubbish and began to climb. Almost dying several times I finally succeeded in crossing over into said nook. I cleaned a small area and placed the box neatly on the ground. As tears fell from my eyes, I covered the box with as much rubbish as I could lift. Surrounded by the never-ending presence of students, laughing and loving each other, I could not imagine a better place for The Hammer to rest. 

And that was our latest random act of kindness.