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| OK. So I just got a marketing internship at a Chinese company. Marketing what, pray tell? The English language. Over the next few months, I will be learning how to convince concerned parents (China has many) that they need to pay $20 USD an hour for their child to receive one-on-one tutoring with a foreign teacher. Or else... their world will fall apart.
In order to do this, I must have the gift of gab... in Chinese. So I'm studying their employee training materials, and translating a lot of it in my head. But for the edification of all my friends who are curious about Chinese culture and cross-cultural communications, I thought I would write out a little paragraph in the "addressing parental concerns" section of the marketing manual. Keep in mind, actual Chinese people use these arguments matter-of-factly to sell the tutoring service. And if the first section seems a little dry, keep reading. Don't worry, it's worth it. And don't pay attention to parenthetical words, they're the ones I had to look up...
"what if my child mostly improves listening and speaking but can't improve academic aspects of English (will they study themselves into illiteracy with the foreign teachers?)
Our experience teaching high school and college students indicates: within a foreign language environment, reading ability is relatively good, listening and speaking are not necessarily good, and actually they can be deaf and dumb to English. (ya3ba0) (long2zi3) But conversely, if listening and speaking ability is comparatively better, reading ability can't be too bad; if listening and speaking ability is (chu1se4) outstanding, reading and writing is also comparatively outstanding. There's no way they (chu1xian4) will emerge as dreaded illiterate English speakers. In native speakers of English, listening and speaking ability is learned in the earliest days, reading and writing normally (ze2) are learned in later days, and so it's altogether possible for an illiterate speaker to emerge. For example, in America many black people are illiterate, unable to read or write, but they have no lack of ability when it comes to speaking or listening. This is why the American education world has always stressed improving students' literacy, but not their listening and speaking abilities."
Heh heh. Chinese word for the day: mao4fan4de. "offensive". | | |
| Did your mom ever make the comment, "I'm not your maid, clean up after yourself."? Mine sure did. All the time... and she would use these great "mom" intensifiers- like "garbage" and "trash" to describe clothes on the floor, or dishes on the table. Something like, "Pick up your rotting, maggot-filled clothes on the floor and put them in the hamper before we all die from the plague!" Or, "I see you've once again slovenly vomitted your dishes over every square inch of the house."
In all fairness, I can be pretty messy at times, and I probably drove my mom to use these dysphemisms to describe dirty clothes and used dishes. But now that I'm a bachelor living in Beijing, there's no one to tell me to pick up after myself. Only roommates to annoy if I'm a total slob. Roommates who are also all bachelors. So, what are 4 single guys in the city to do if they want to keep the roaches away and have room to walk in their bedrooms? Hire a maid?
Yes, precisely. For 10 yuan an hour (about $1.20 USD), a really nice middle-aged lady comes and mops the floors, makes our beds, washes our dishes, and EVEN organizes my desk (the most difficult area for me to keep tidy). Once a week. I can't describe the joy I feel after a long day gallivanting about the city and opening the door to a tidy, polished wonderland, where all the dishes are clean, all the toilets are sparkling, and I can once again see the top surface of my desk. I wonder if that's what marriage is like. | | |
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Bacon and pancakes, bacon and pancakes ah, a beautiful Monday morning at Lush. Its rainy and cool, and Im doing damage to a large stack of pancakes, slathered in syrup, with a bowl of fruit on the side. And coffee, of course.
Wasnt I just here less than 8 hours ago, playing guitar and singing for a large group of drunken Spaniards (¿Donde está la cerveza? And ¡Vive la España! were incredibly useful phrases last night)? And wasnt I more than ready to leave at 2 am? Perhaps. But the appeal of a free, hearty breakfast is a lure strong enough to force me to descend from my high tower, brave the wet bicycle seat with a plastic bag, charge through the morning traffic for 10 minutes, and climb the stairs once again to my home away from home. Its kind of like Cheers, where everybody knows your name.
Highlight of last night: Francisco, who reminded me a LOT of Andy Kaufmans foreign guy, sang Oasis Wonderwall while I played guitar. Todaaaay, eez gonna be dee day, dat deyll never trow it back to yoooou He was really nervous, and so serious the whole time. It was glorious. | | |
| Y'know how we're not supposed to be materialistic and lay up treasures in heaven? Well, call me an antichrist, but I've just bought myself a juicer. Nobody NEEDS a juicer; not like you NEED to eat or NEED to sleep or NEED a roof over your head. A juicer is one of those items you see on your way to buy some other necessity, in its white plastic glory, on sale, with shiny pictures of fresh fruits and vegetables, seducing you with the promise of nutritious and luscious blending enjoyment, quietly reminding your jaw of the superiority of liquids to solids in regards to energy conservation.
My mouth is now thanking me for acquiring this new piece of machinery... two bananas, a kiwi, and a base of apple juice later, I have precisely 1 juice glass of tropical goodness. Though not attractive in color, the foamy pale green froth beckons me with its promise of authenticity. You see, in China, "juice" drinks are... not juice. They're water with dye and sugar and in Minute Maid's latest caper, blobs of pulp-textured stuff to try to fool you into thinking it's real orange juice. I wasn't fooled. I don't understand- the cost of fruit here is dirt cheap- DIRT CHEAP. Kiwis are a bit pricier, I admit, but it was worth it. My stomach is thanking me, congratulating me on this new acquisition. Mmmmm.... that's good. | | |
| "First Jacket Day" is a glorious day for me. And today, September 4th, is precisely that day. The air is not quite crisp yet, but its intentions are obvious, like that guy who played trumpet in high school band asking a girl to go to the movies "just as friends" and then showing up at her door with flowers. Inescapable. Unless you move to the tropics. The oppressively sweaty bike rides will be replaced by aesthetically pleasing leaf-swirled outings. The haze of summer smog subsides, and I can see mountains out my window. The world, even Beijing, feels fresh this first jacket morning.
There will be no more stuffing ipods, cellphones, keys, wallets into my pants pockets. My jacket gladly accepts all the small, yet necessary, items that my jeans despise.
So what am I going to do with my FJD? Hm, that's the question. I just don't know what to do with myself. It's the first day of a new semester here in Beijing, so I've lost a number of students, and some are cutting back on their hours. And while my gigs have been a nice supplementary source of income, I need a more stable source of cash. So- two plans for today: 1) Figure out how to make money. 2) Go to the music store and buy a guitar tuner (after 10 years of using my ears, I've finally broken). It was inevitable.
So that's what's happening with me. What's happening with you? | | |
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