Ugh

I feel sick, headachy, inflated, and awful. Check me later.

Great and not so great

There's a certain point where you can buy a Hero Card stating you've climbed The Great Wall. (I carry mine in my wallet because, well, it's pretty cool.)



The Wall was truly a magnificent sight, and I feel so fortunate to have seen and climbed it. Though the fog blurred the neverending extensions of the structure in the distance, I have to admit it was a jaw-dropping experience when I thought of the time and labor devoted to build it. I know I would've been a cranky worker.

If you've the opportunity to travel to Beijing, don't give it a second thought; book that trip. And don't forget to prep your bargaining strategies.

Now for my bitch session. I will keep this complaint to a minimum because Beijing was good to me. ----- But will you tourists please stop trying to outdo each other when swapping stories on the bus? Or at least use your inside voice? Vomit.

Bitch session over. Boo's good now.

Good price for you

The rule of thumb for bargaining at a Chinese market is to bring the vendor's asking price down at least 75%. I reluctantly tried my hand at it while I searched for a special gift for unnamed family member. The seller told me the "special price" just for me "because I look Chinese" (?) would be $48. I responded I'd pay $5. Are you serious, she asked me. Next imagine her price getting lower and lower and me keeping stern at $5. After about three minutes of more negotiating and me dilly-dallying with other merchandise, I say $5 once more with the added gesture of I'm walking away right now. Okay, okay, $5, she concedes.

Yay! Win for me!

The video above is me going undercover to show you what the market looks like and their sales pitch. She was more lax than the other vendors whom I didn't videotape, but it gives you an idea, I hope. The massive crowd had already died down too.

If you have a chance to experience negotiating a price at a market in China, do it even if you're scared. I was hesitant at first, but it's an experience unique to the country, and it's harmless. They expect the haggling, and feelings are not hurt. Whether they call you names after you walk away, I suppose it happens. You leave with some very neat gifts spending less than you expected and extra cash for selfish hotel massages.

By the way, I had stopped my camera before the Coach knockoff lady finally exclaimed, "Okay! $15! $10!"

Chinese; gotta love 'em.

p.s. I'm home now. Stay tuned for my many thoughts, pictures, and videos about Beijing-jing-jing.

The Great Wall indeed

Not the best picture I have, but it'll do for now. Xie xie, StairMaster.

Ni hao

That means hello in Chinese. I'd write Happy Thanksgiving in Chinese too, but that's too advanced.

I'm keeping this handy post-it in my pocket for the next five days because I'll need it in Beijing, and it's really all I need to know.



Zai jian. See you later.

The crying game

When you were little, did you and your friends ever play that game to see who could cry on demand? And I'm talking about being able to shed tears without any physical harm inflicted. The kind where you have to think of something really, really sad that happened to you or someone you loved to generate tears within seconds.

Tonight as I was trying to fall asleep, I thought about this little game and played the solo version.

I thought of a part of my life from nine years ago, and I immediately started sobbing. No, it wasn't the type of cry sounding as if I was sucking in my bottom lip while gasping for air. Rather, it was an Oscar-worthy, salty cry followed by the sniffles and whispers of what I should've said to the person I was thinking of.

Sigh. I should've played this stinkin' game a long time ago; I feel so much better now.

Good night.

If I wore a whistle around my neck ...

I'd blow it and feel comfortable saying these to people.

[whistle]
Oh, um, hi. You have a phone call downstairs. (Then I could hop onto my favorite stairmaster.)

[whistle]
Hey, kid. Put that video back in its case.

[whistle]
It's 5 pm. Library's closed!

[whistle]
Sir, inside voice please.

[whistle]
Ma'am, only covered drinks are allowed inside the library.

[whistle]
Excuse me, before you go into your apartment, can you come over so I can smell your neck?

[whistle]
Would Pa Ingalls have approved of that?

A whistle. I think that's what I want for Christmas.

How would you use a whistle?

Test your might

I walked into the cardio room tonight and had the sudden urge to scream MORTAL KOMBAT!



Beats me too.

Project Read: Literacy and longing in L.A. by Jennifer Kaufman

Book-junkie, divorcee, freeway-terrified, unemployed; this is Dora. She deals with her problems by drowning herself in her personal library of books. Having to feed this addiction, she frequents the nearby bookstore where she meets Fred, the employee who not only attracts all female attention at the bookstore, but can hold his own about anything literary.

Fred and Dora develop a steamy romance, and soon after, Dora meets his mother Bea and six year old niece Harper with whom she immediately develops genuine, caring relationships--an almost mother-daughter kind. Ex-husband Palmer periodically enters the picture just to make sure that Dora is surviving and all the while sending her mixed signals of rekindling their ex-union.

While her job situation shows promise, Fred and Palmer baffle her. Rather than pour over a book to avoid the issue, Dora takes charge, calling the shots she was so not used to making. Soon enough, she is on her feet.

And whose standing next to her, you think?

Note: I LOVED the quotes preceding each chapter. That alone made it a hit with me. Author also lists citations Dora refers to throughout the book.

Turn up your speakers!

As I'm sure this video is linked by many, many others especially after being featured on Oprah, I post it here for those (my handful of readers) who may have missed it. Why be denied a good laugh?

The Librarians on ABC

I would love to be on the writing team of this show.

Watch each week's full episode here.

Sweating? Sweet.

My favorite machine at the gym is the StairMaster. Although it tortures my tree trunk legs and the other junk in my other trunk, it is the machine that makes me sweat like a mofo.

Compared to the other three popular machines in the cardio room, the treadmill, bike, and crosstrainer, the SM has never failed to produce sweat dripping from my forehead and a somewhat sweat-soaked t-shirt at the neckline and back. I mention this because the visual of sweating like a mofo motivates me. It helps me ignore the timer and focus on the healthiness that is becoming me.

Last night I climbed this punk for 55 minutes. I know I could've done 60, but the gym was closing. It was two months ago that 20 minutes on the SM killed me.

I never thought I'd say this, but. Sweating is sweet.