Illness, Disease, Despair, Death

OK, death maybe is a bit of a stretch.

Following The Night of the Slamming Doors (described last time), I went out and got myself an electric heater -- one of the best models offered by the store, an oil-filled radiator type. I used it Thursday -- another frigid night. I got up a couple of times to raise the thermostat setting -- I ended up having it near the maximum. But what was this? A heavy oil smell filled the room -- it must have been thick for me to notice, since I'd been in the room as it was building up. In my groggy state I didn't dwell on it overmuch, but I turned it back down, or off, I forget. Friday morning I awoke with a bad headache, stomach ache, nausea, no appetite -- symptoms, I understand from a call to a doctor at a Western medical service here, of carbon monoxide poisoning. The type of ailment likely to result from using a goddamn made-in-China oil heater that burns oil and whose manufacturing process probably violates every safety reg in the book.

I spent Friday more or less in bed; then today too. The thought of eating out anywhere here disgusts me at the moment. Friday night I did go with a student for a small dinner -- rice and vegetables was all I wanted. I thought I was fairly explicit -- I did not want the vegetables served in the usual puddle; I did not want spices or sauces. Why this perennial compulsion to pervert nature?

And why do I persist in my foolish fantasies of communicating? We got vegetables in a puddle, liberally sprinkled with chunks of garlic, other taste modifiers also in evidence.

I pointed out to the waitress that the cup she was about to pour my tea into was a bit dirty. They're so unself-conscious here. She unabashedly exchanged it with a cup from another seat -- the next patron wouldn't mind.

Today about all I ate was a piece of grilled chicken bought from the store (it too, of course, had unwanted spices). Eaten with my hands, standing over my little bathroom sink, with my sympathetic mirror reflection for company. Washed down with a carton of strawberry yogurt.

Yes, this is the life, all right. Even before my poisoning, I was shooting the breeze with some students. There's really only one hangout of sorts on campus, an outdoor patio next to the dining hall where a man fans masses of smoke from a grill with skewers of unspeakably repugnant meat-like things. The students sit there going through these inedibles, piling up dozens of the skewer sticks on the table. I participate by having beer and a cigarette or two.

It was an evening about a week ago that I put it to a few students there: "The students aren't really here to learn anything, right? They're here to get abroad."

Yes, that pretty well sized it up.

It was funny, I told them. I'd been dissatisfied with the computer industry in the West -- I was serious about writing great software, but had consistently found that (despite all the hype) practically no one cares about real quality and doing the job right. Now I was finding the same thing in China, of all places, as a teacher. I was ready to teach them good things, insights into the big issues of the West, thorough comprehension of English-language news and commentary. But here too -- the folks just don't care.

Sure, the students have been quite affirmative about wanting to continue with the kinds of big-idea readings we've been doing. They have clearly re-asserted this more than once in class since I last mentioned it to this list, and I've no doubt of their sincerity. But this is merely a matter of good resolutions -- so far, I have to say, there's been little evidence of serious intellectual engagement on the part of anyone.

So, I have been reassessing all of this. Someone was supposed to help me go get that heater exchanged today. As of now that's been postponed til Monday. Things invariably fail to happen as they should. Multiple delivery date commitments have been breached for some elementary items of furniture I'm awaiting so I no longer have to live out of suitcases. Then of course there is the enduring visa issue. And now, this goddamn made-in-China heater.

I mean, discomfort is one thing. But carbon monoxide poisoning? This shit is getting serious.

I had a good squash outing Wednesday night. I played three pleasant, friendly guys -- two Chinese who don't speak English, one German who does, all united by the language of squash. Two and a half hours of good, hard competition.

I took a look at Beijing's "cinema scene" at http://www.beijingscene.com/zhaole/cinema.html . There's a movie called "Shower," described as "the latest hit by Imar Productions about bath house culture and family tradition in modern China." (One wonders how many bath house hits Imar has to its credit.)

Sound missable? Too bad. It's kind of like the early days of the automobile. You can have any color you want as long as it's black. Four theatres are listed, all showing "Shower." Can these listings possibly be complete for a city of 12 million?