I was on poopie patrol again this week. Poor Marty. He had a tough couple of days with his bowels. This morning was the first time since Monday that he pinched out a semi-solid loaf. Oh come on, don’t get squeamish on me. Everyone shits. It’s not a big deal. It’s not like I’m talking about something totally disgusting, like a Cleveland steamer or whatever they’re called… we won’t even go there.

So back to Martin. Obviously, he must have ingested something bad. Actually, I think I consumed the same stuff he did. Meanwhile, Remy and John got off scott-free… lucky bastards. So weird though, because aren’t foods supposed to be less prone to rotting under these freezing cold temps? Plus, I didn’t even consume meat. What the hell? I guess my stomach is still a bit sensitive from the food poisoning two weekends ago.

Marty’s been a good sport though. Despite his discomfort, he works hard to maintain status quo. He still loiters around the dinner table like an overstarved animal. He still jockeys with Bembo for prime positioning on the futon (right in front of the heater). And he’s still a big wuss who allows Remy to harass and abuse him. I watched Remy for clues, thinking maybe Martin had communicated something to her, and she would at least show some empathy or try to help him out. Nope. She continued to fight him for every available scrap, and she showed no compassion or leniency when chasing after him outside and when nipping him under the front legs. Didn’t Marts tell her he was feeling sick? Didn’t he tell her to fuck off? I’m definitely turning into a dog nut. See how much time I spend observing and monitoring them? And they still sleep most of the day! This morning, I was wondering: Do dogs from different areas of the world communicate using different “dog languages.” Someone I know suggested there are cultural differences in dogs. She insisted that every dog raised in the US LOVES peanut butter. However, every dog she’s encountered in China shows very little interest in PB. Weird, huh? Yeah, I’m not sure about that either, but it’s something to think about (when you have no life)…

The ladies at the salon always comment that I have the biggest hands… Funny thing, my hands never gained much attention when I was living in the States. I remember in high school, I so envied my friend Tricia. She could palm a basketball (albeit a ladies’ ball) Michael Jordan style. Was so cool. Hmm, well I guess in biology, my partner did seem impressed by my steadiness in dissection. Back then, I had big plans for my hands: they were destined to be surgeon hands. At least that was the original plan. Sigh. Ah well, things change, what can you do.

I suppose now my hands are useful for assembling household furniture and repairing various things around the apartment. Speaking of which, I have this crazy love affair with superglue. That shit is da bomb, and frankly, I can’t stop buying it. I’ve used it to repair all kinds of things, from re-patching carpet to repairing a decorative teapot to constructing a makeshift medicine cabinet out of cardboard. Hehe, ok so the medicine cabinet didn’t go over well with John… Anyway, back to the hands… so yeah, the salon ladies lined up to match their Lilliputian palms against mine. I was like my own little freakshow booth. My fingers were about a joint longer. An Amazon, I tell you! ROAR! Well, I guess being an anomaly has its perks. They insisted my hands would look great with a manicure. Ah, the sales pitch right? Well, since I had already clipped my nails at home, all they had to do was file and color so they gave me the bargain price of 30 rmb ($3.6 USD). And boy was this a steal: I got the base coat, handpainted flowers on each finger (I actually didn’t want so many frills, but they were quite adamant that I not fuck this up with my non-existent fashion sense), plus the top coat. Not too shabby. So, here you go: a shot of the monster hand, or finger rather. I apologize in advance: John, the self-proclaimed, award-winning photographer, was apparently having an off day, i.e. blurry pictures.

It’s official: today marks the two-year anniversary of our China adventure. How did we celebrate? John and I slept in (only to awake to the sounds of jackhammering, again, in the apartment above) and then made mediocre black bean burritos for lunch. Boy, do I miss Chipotle. I suppose it’s a good thing, they haven’t made it to Shanghai yet. As the Dairy Queen peeps will tell you, we have no self-control when it comes to our favorite foods.

From the indoors staring out, today appears beautiful. Clear skies, bright sun. But don’t be fooled: it’s frickin’ FUREEZING outside. It’s early in the afternoon and I have a load of errands to run. But they’ll probably get pushed to another day. I’ve been skipping out on the gym the last few days also. Not good. The Shanghai winter is just too paralyzing. Plus, I had a terrible rest last night. Watched a Chinese gangster movie starring my sweetheart, Andy Lau. He rocks. Of course, the acting was all in Cantonese, so it’s not like my assessment means anything… Anyway, after the movie, I couldn’t sleep. And no, it wasn’t because I was drooling over Mr. Lau’s hotness; my thoughts were much more morbid than that, unfortunately. I just kept thinking about how complicated gangster life must be. Desperation and hopelessness drive one to join the “family.” Then, the family starts making demands to test loyalty and sense of duty. Throw in mind games, strategies, and too much damn violence… I’m telling you: the world’s going to shit and no one has the solution.

Having lived in Shanghai for two years, I totally get it when people complain about “the way things are” here. As you already now, I gripe plenty on this blog.

Still, I couldn’t help but get pissed off by Paul McCartney’s comments last week regarding dogs and cats being slaughtered (in China) for fur. Before I divulge, let me clarify. As an activist, I understand one has to pick and choose personal battles. The world’s a complicated place, yet that should never stop someone from acting for change. So, Sir Paul’s decision to boycott Chinese goods is his decision and his right. I respect his belief that individual actions can bring about positive change. What really ticked me off, however, was his choice of words criticizing China. “This is barbaric. Horrific. It’s like something out of the Dark Ages. And they seem to get a kick out of it. They’re just sick, sick people.” Forgive my sensitivity, but by “they,” is he referring to the animal abusers captured on film, or is he making a blanket statement on the Chinese? He goes on to warn, “If they want to consider themselves a civilized nation… they’re going to have to stop this.” Who the hell is he, the heathen nations police? And is it me, or does his statement paint China as the black sleep in need of serious reform from its angelic global fellows? There’s no denying the brutal treatment of these animals is inhumane and disturbing and shocking. But, does McCartney think the process by which humans consume beef, pork, chicken, or dairy is eco- and animal-friendly? Not only that, who the hell is buying the fur? And puhleez. His government is allied with the current asinine (Bush) administration in this fucked up Iraq war and occupation, supposedly in a fight against the Axes of Evil. Is war civilized? Is the use of chemical weapons like white phosphorus humane? Don’t act like YOUR shit don’t stink!