Book of Failures Read online

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  If you cannot read Chinese symbols, it’s difficult.

  Everybody has servants.

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  It is customary for ex-pats to employ multiple Chinese people in their homes, such as a chef, groundskeeper and housekeepers.

  You could be thrown in jail at any minute.

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  China is a Communist country.

  There’s a lot of crime.

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  The punishments for any crimes are severe.

  They have a drug problem.

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  Drugs are everywhere in the world but China’s punishment for drug-trafficking is execution by firing squad.

  Only one child per family is allowed.

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  The law has been overturned.

  China smells.

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  People apply Tiger Balm ointment under their noses to mask the smells.

  China’s dirty.

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  It depends on where you are; tourist areas are kept clean.

  You may die if you get sick in China.

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  Quality healthcare is very difficult to find.

  You potty in a hole.

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  The toilet bowl is flush with the ground. You squat. Higher-end places offer both sitting and squatting toilets.

  You must travel with wipes.

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  Most facilities in China do not offer soap, toilet paper or paper towels.

  You should visit China.

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  Hire a guide and you will have an amazing trip.

  Kristin lives in Beijing, “The Buckhead of China,” I tell her. (Buckhead is a swanky area of Atlanta.) She lives in a gated community with neighbors that are industry executives for Volkswagen and BMW and embassy people from around the world. While I was visiting, she invited me to her book club, which club was held at a six-hundred-year-old converted temple located in the Dongcheng District. The restaurant logo is below:

  I thought it was a translation error: “They are really dumbing this down for the Americans, calling it the 123,” but those are the initials “TRB” for Temple Restaurant Beijing. The lovely lunch included outstanding service, appetizers, main courses, several desserts and many bottles of wine. My bill was $28, including the tip.

  There is such a dichotomy of income in China. Just outside Kristin’s neighborhood one can see peasant men sitting on buckets selling live snapping turtles (suspended from fishing poles) while men wearing Armani suits are driving along in Ferraris. Although China is officially Communist, they have a somewhat capitalistic economy.

  Kristin is an outstanding shopping guide, as she SPEAKS MANDARIN FLUENTLY and has exquisite taste (more on that later). My favorite part of the trip was checking out the local markets, filled with artists and their handmade wares, like boxes made of tiles from 1,000-year-old temples, and Chinese molds used to make mooncakes, the traditional cookies baked for special occasions like the Mid-Autumn Festival, when the full moon and moon gazing are celebrated. To make the cakes, wooden paddles are hand-carved into different mold designs of fish, symbolizing surplus or good fortune; ducks, for a happy marriage; and flowers, for wealth.

  Fish design mold and cookies

  While we were at the market, Kristin bought a fantastic hand- carved Buddha. Her driver, Mr. Chan, respectfully secured him in the passenger seat.

  In addition to the handmade boxes and mooncake molds, there were beautiful hand-crafted, painted umbrellas;

  hand-carved buddhas; and handmade paper painted with plum blossoms, the national flower of the Republic of China. The flower blooms in the midst of winter, providing a beautiful reminder that spring is coming, and symbolizes resilience and perseverance in the face of adversity. If you’ve studied Chinese history, you recognize that they have had their fair share of adversity.

  AMY AND ANNA ARE STILL IN CHINA

  We also visited the Great Wall. Normally, the pollution is so bad you cannot see from one tower to the next, but we were fortunate enough to be there on one of the clearest days they’d had in months, and it was magnificent. As I was enjoying a moment of complete majestic-ness, David (Kristin’s husband) informed me that the Great Wall is also called “The Longest Cemetery on Earth” because the remains of a million soldiers, peasants and criminals who were worked to death are “buried” in the wall.

  Photographs portray the wall as winding and gentle, but climbing it you realize there are also very steep areas. We climbed portions of the wild wall—sections that had not been repaired. As all the children and some in our group headed back down on a lift, I stayed and slowly scaled a segment that was practically straight up with very narrow, razor-sharp rocks. As I struggled to the top—hot, exhausted, and with knees bloodied—I could see the tower was only a few more yards. I willed myself to keep going. Holding back tears, I finally slapped my arm up on the tower floor and pulled myself up.

  I was greeted by what sounded like “Cock for you? Cock?” In the tower was a 100-year-old toothless Chinese man sitting crisscross-applesauce style wearing a RUN DMC shirt selling ice- cold Cokes from his cooler. Of course, I didn’t have any cash, so he hustled me out like I was a yard chicken.

  Entertaining guests for eighteen days allows time for a weekend trip. For five hundred dollars, we hopped on a plane and booked a hotel and an English-speaking tour guide to show us around Xi’an for two days. Xi’an (pronounced shee-an) is one of the four Ancient City great capitals and one of the oldest cities in China. The first day we enjoyed a ten-mile bike tour on the original city wall (built in 194 BC), visited an art museum, and had dinner in town. I fell about seven times. Everything is very slippery in China, as if they are trying to reduce the population with slip and falls.

  I never got used to people being allowed to smoke in restaurants. We sat next to a group of four Chinese gentlemen that were intermittently smoking and eating. For a country where the average weekly income is less than $100, It’s surprising to see Chinese people spending their resources on cigarettes.

  We spent the night in a nice, modern hotel and were picked up by a driver and guide first thing in the morning to explore Emperor Qinshihuang’s Mausoleum Site Museum, home to the incomparable terracotta warriors.

  At the site are four buildings, each with a pit that displays eight thousand uniquely designed terracotta warriors with their weapons, horses and chariots, plus acrobats, strongmen and musicians. The buried grounds cover thirty-eight square miles and were originally covered with elaborately carved roofs and then covered with soil.

  Why are thousands of handmade terracotta sculptures buried with the emperor? The net of the story is as follows: The first emperor of China wanted the warriors to protect him in the afterlife. His still very-much-alive concubines were also buried with him (at his request) in his tomb. The emperor’s actual tomb has NOT been excavated as archaeologists have said they do not have the proper technology to explore it. The grounds of the tomb are also immersed with poisonous mercury, believed to “promote immortality.” A farmer in the 1970s found a piece of one of the warriors when he was digging a well and the rest is history—really, really old history.

  In every tourist-rich area we visited, my daughter, Anna, was an attraction. She’s pale, tall and has bright, white-blond hair—a combination not often seen in China. Up to six people at a time, especially teenage girls and old ladies, would ask if they could photograph her. “Photo? Photo?” they would ask. Anna was thrilled. Parents would make their kids stand by her, which Chinese boys did not find thrilling.

  Anna’s other favorite part of our trip was when Kristin’s hubby, David, would drive Anna and their two girls around in the Tut- tut. David’s company does not allow anyone in his household to drive, hence they have Mr. Chan. When Mr. Chan is off, they take the Tut-tut.

  Tut-tut

  When you have over a billion-people living in the country, there is a lot of traffic, noise and pollution. One advantage to having a billion
people is the affordability of services. Kristin, her best friend Kimberly, Anna and I enjoyed going to a salon and getting a luxurious Chinese shampoo. The attendant washed and massaged our heads with minty conditioner for over forty minutes followed by a neck massage and blow dry. Our bill was

  $20.

  Anna getting a neck massage and blow dry.

  Kristin, Anna and I enjoying foot massages and green tea.

  An hour-long foot massage served with snacks and tea also cost around $20. No wonder Kristin looks so amazing.

  AMY AND ANNA ARE WEARING OUT THEIR WELCOME IN CHINA

  My final adventure in China was the shopping mall. Getting there was an undertaking in itself. Although Mr. Chan is an outstanding driver, Chinese drivers are very aggressive and have no regard for lines on the roads, stop signs or, frankly, human life. Kristin’s advice, as I mentioned in the chart earlier, is to “close your eyes.”

  After about an hour, we arrived at what looked like an American shopping mall, complete with clothing stores; a food court with Pizza Hut and Starbucks; a wholesale section with Chinese fans, electronics, and T-shirts; and a Pear Market, where famous people such as Barbara Bush had shopped. Other floors offered cashmere sweaters and traditional Chinese kimonos.

  As you walk in the market the Chinese sales girls say, “Lady, lady, lady,” trying to get you to stop and shop at their booths. Prices are negotiable, and just like a yard sale, the more you act like you want it, the higher the price. The instant the sales girls heard Kristin speaking Mandarin, the sales girls dropped the prices and said, “Best sale.”

  I picked up several packs of chopsticks for the kids ($1/ten-pack) and bought thirty adorable nightshirts printed with Chinese symbols ($3/piece). Next, we hit the “knock-knock” stores. To my delight, I was introduced to the black market within the walls of the shopping mall.

  It went down like this: Kristin would text a vendor on her phone and wait for a reply of a location. Once the location came in, we’d head to whatever floor the group was on. The black- market vendors moved around a lot because the police often raided them. We would wait by a door, in a random hallway, and knock—hence the nickname “knock-knock.” A Chinese lady would peek out and hustle us into what looked like a broom closet, complete with buckets and mops. We would step over the mops and follow the woman down a winding hall to another door. She’d open the door and voila! You were now standing in a room of counterfeit Prada bags.

  It was like Rodeo Drive except you had to step over the mops, negotiate with aggressive Chinese people and risk being arrested at any minute. Other than that, it was MAGICAL. I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman after the saleswoman refused to wait on her and Richard Gere took her to the nicest shops in LA and told the shop manager he was going to be spending “really obscene” amounts of money and all the salespeople fell all over her—ordering her pizza and giving her their neckties right off their necks.

  Imagine Burberry, Hermes, Lululemon, Cartier, Prada, Gucci and Tiffany’s—all 90 percent off. Most of the salespeople knew Kristin and her friends by name and could speak a little English. I walked into a scarf store by myself and asked about a few items when Kristin’s friend Cheryl, from Dallas, walked in and said to the salesperson, “No, no, no—show her the good stuff.” The saleslady greeted her and walked me to what looked like a makeup bag display, cleared off the makeup bags and opened the display up, like a Transformer figure, revealing beautifully organized “Chanel” scarves.

  Returning to America with my stolen or counterfeit goods was so exciting. I gifted all my girlfriend’s bags and scarves. Within weeks one mentioned that their Louis Vuitton(ish) wallet was falling apart. All I could muster was, “No shit, it’s made in China.

  CALL FROM SHARON THE SHE’S A WHORE CALL

  Sharon: Oh my god, he married that whore! Me: Who?

  Sharon: Mike,{23} the hottest guy in Buffalo. Me: Who?

  Sharon: Mike Parnell! I saw him at the reunion. He had lost his wife—brain aneurysm. Cooking a grilled cheese one minute and then dead on the floor the next. It makes me so mad. She’s a gold-digging whore.

  Me: That’s terrible.

  Sharon: Yes. She was a lovely woman, but this new one is a skank. She came on to Scott in the elevator! She totally insinuated that she enjoys anal sex. And Mike MARRIED her. The salami looks dry.

  Me: Sorry?

  Sharon: I’m at the grocery store—the deli’s picked over. The man had just lost his wife for hell’s sake. She started delivering casseroles and pastries—you know her mother was Greek—she thinks her melomakarona{24}is all that. The woman has never worked a day in her life. She seduced him with baked goods. She’s a tramp and wants her hands on his pension from the post office!

  Me: Men replace, women rebuild.

  Sharon: They are slicing new salami. Anyway, make sure that your girls go to a solid college and get good jobs. You don’t want them winding up divorced, with no skills and having to be sexual deviants to land a husband. Click.

  ANTI-SOCIAL MEDIA

  A few months ago, it was the clown hoax. All four of our children were reporting that their schools were on Code Red due to the “clown situation.” The clown hysteria started on Instagram with posts: Reports of clowns luring children into the woods and murdering them. It escalated to major news outlets: Clown Phobia, Scary and Menacing Clowns, and Terrorizing Clown Sightings. Police issued warnings about the Killer Clown Attacks.

  In Ohio, schools were closed for the safety of the students. In Georgia, parents were getting notifications stating that No clowns would be admitted to the schools, for ANY reason.

  An armed-clown hoax temporarily put a Massachusetts college on lockdown.

  Hundreds of students in Pennsylvania State University swarmed surrounding campus streets to carry out a mass clown hunt. A Connecticut school district said it is banning clown costumes and any symbols of terror.

  The hoax was rumored to be a marketing ploy by a fiction writer for an upcoming horror film. However, some clowns were spotted armed with appropriately terrifying weapons: In New York, a knife-wielding jerk in clown makeup chased a teen out of a subway. And a clown recently sighted at a London university was said to have been toting a chainsaw.{25}

  The clown hoax did take a toll on the professional clown community. Jordan Jones, who works part-time portraying Snuggles the Clown in a haunted house, said, “I fear for my life.”{26} A clown from Naperville reported to the Chicago Tribune, “They say there’s a shortage of clowns. I hope this doesn’t scare people away.”{27}

  Times are tough all over.

  JOHN D. BINEGAR

  My dad is almost eighty and still works forty hours a week for a telecommunications company. He says he doesn’t have the temperament for golf so he may as well work. He’s like the mayor of my hometown.

  Dad comes and visits us in Atlanta, from Ohio, twice a year. He promises to stay a week, but he never lasts more than two nights. The first day he outlines what happened on his 500-mile route to Atlanta. “I hate that I-85. It always gets backed up with road work going through Charlotte. Added an hour to the trip.”

  The second day we drag him to the kids’ tennis matches and horse shows—the kids arguing with us and each other—so by dinner he’s planning his escape. “I really need to get back to work. I’ll just head up I-75 north, then to 64 and cut over toward Huntington, everything except the West Virginia Turnpike has really good roads.”

  My dad holding me.

  He also likes to tell stories completely mispronouncing words and people’s names.{28} “It is so awful about that Bill ‘Crosby’ fellow who played the doctor on TV. He seemed like a real stand-up guy. He’s had sex with so many women he probably has the ‘herbes.’”

  The road signs in Georgia infuriate my father because frankly, they don’t make sense. Georgia 20 is also called Buford Highway. Jimmy Carter Boulevard suddenly turns into Holcomb Bridge Road, with no warning. Going downtown is a disaster because there are seventy-one roa
ds with variants of Peachtree. “What kind of deranged bureaucrat names these damn roads?” At first I tried to defend Georgia’s roads, but things go better if I join the outrage. I throw out a “That is ridiculous! Why would they do such a thing?”

  When I call my dad, he tells me about the weather, particularly rain, because that dictates how many times he has to mow his grass. He calls me to ask why Ohio State is losing football or basketball, depending on the season, as if, because OSU is my alma mater, I have some sort of influence on the Big Ten.