Quirky Stories in China

Face-kinis for protecting your face at the beach.



China can be weird sometimes. Every time for the last few months that I heard a quirky story about something in China, I saved the link. Amuse yourself with these:

Restaurants add addictive powder to food.

Rats on a Hong Kong—Xiamen plane.

Chinese couples wear matching clothes.

Beijing penis tower.

Man gets a 28-cm wooden handle stuck in anus.

Rich and shameless Chinese people.

How many of these bizarre x-rays are from China? Four? Five?

Virtual flag-raising ceremony to avoid pollution.

60 surveillance cameras on one pole receive ridicule.

Shanghai cinema used a funny fan-made Thor poster.

Weird stuff to buy on Taobao (it's like Amazon).

Crazy things that happen only in China, like a cute and talent little girl being replaced by a cuter little girl for the Olympics, and thousands of pigs showing up in a river without explanation.

Dead baby screams before cremation.

42 things that you can only see in China, including KFG, a magical drug store, and a dude taking a nap on a chain.

Chinese man commits suicide because he didn't want to shop with his girlfriend anymore.

CCTV says there are benefits to pollution.

Woman pregnant for 60 years (not that this doesn't happen elsewhere, it's the fact that nothing was done for 60 years).

 Severed hand kept alive on man's ankle.

Mother buys front-page to ask son to come home and promises not to pressure him to get married anymore.



Notice that they had to re-open the doors because there were some kids who were unable to get out earlier. How many other cars had that problem, I wonder? This is why I avoid going anywhere between 8 and 10 AM.




She's wearing an air purifier at a public store. Without a mask.




Top 10 weird stories from China in 2013.




Even the top 10 important stories from China are kind of weird.



Added later:

Man opens emergency exit for fresh air.

Women jump into river to see who man will save.

Man raises bears thinking they were puppies.

People react to escalator fatality.

And some dude at Barcamp Shanghai told me there's no gender problem in programming in China: "In China, Women Hired to Motivate Computer Programmers."

Plastic plant headwear fad.

A gray-bunned McDonald's burger.

A man tried to take a turtle on a plane disguised as a sandwich.

A woman bought a house by selling the iPhones she had her 20 boyfriends buy for her.

Man discovers his nutcracker is actually a hand grenade (December 2016).

Bad manners with bike-sharing.

Once You Get in the Habit . . .

I have a non-rechargeable electric toothbrush. So why, whenever it's time to get a new one because the motor/battery/whatever has died out, do I still push the on and off button when brushing?

Does anyone else do that?

Artfully Paranoid

I'm guessing my mother and a select few others may be the only ones who can recognize the one thing about this pattern (on my curtain) that drives me nuts.



Anyone?

Dreh Die Heizung An

Why did I show you a part of my e-ticket from 2 years ago? Because the night before February 19, 2008, I got home very late (I'd forgotten an important book at a friend's house and had to go back in the muddy night), turned off the heater, climbed into my bed, and slept for a couple of hours before heading off for an adventure in New York and then in Salt Lake--my first time back in the States since moving to Germany.

While I was in the U.S., I got an email from my roommate, saying we'd gotten a bill for a Nachzahlung, meaning what we had paid each month for heating hadn't been enough and we had to pay a whole bunch after-the-fact. The whole bunch was so much, in fact, that in the time since February 18th, 2008, I haven't ever turned my heat on again. Yesterday evening was two years since I've heated my apartment, and every friend of mine knows that we have had two freaking cold winters (I'm pretty sure I've pulled off below freezing temperatures in this room of mine) and I was always freezing even before I went anti-heat.

Well. You know I do weird things like that. I've learned not to complain as much about the cold and to put up with friends saying, "Dreh die Heizung an!" I've learned to put on several sweaters and use a rice bag on my feet and to hold glasses of hot tea. I've learned that I definitely want heated floors in my house some day.

You know I like to reach goals. And I think two years is a pretty darn good accomplished goal. And now I'm going to turn it back on.

Ergonomically Correct

My brother-in-law was right when he said that I can't buy a new pair of wrists in five years. He was generous in word and deed--he explained all the correct ergonomics of computer work to me and sent me back to Germany with a specialized keyboard which had previously been helping his wrists.

So, Paul, here's proof that I'm trying to do what you told me:



The books bring me to a height so that the keyboard is below my elbows. The footrest is made of my old artbox. The other books lift the computer screen so that I'm not looking down anymore. I'm using the special keyboard while wearing wrist braces and I'm only using the mouse (not the touchpad), and on the left-hand side (which is tricky).

And I have downloaded AntiRSI which reminds me to take constant breaks (here's the PC version).

Thanks Paul!

Chocolate Partay!

I recently set a huge goal for myself to accomplish something I've wanted to do for a long time. And because I reached my goal (more on that later), I had a chocolate party with some friends.

If you don't know about my relationship with chocolate, you may not realize what a huge deal that is. I quit eating chocolate in June 2008, for several reasons. First, I wanted to help a friend who wanted needed to quit smoking. I told her I'd quit chocolate and she laughed, "ha ha ha, like that's possible." The second reason needs a little more explanation. I have always been a huge chocolate lover; I've never had the feeling that chocolate is unhealthy the way candy is, because it doesn't leave your mouth with that sticky, unclean feeling. And thus I ate a lot of chocolate. It became my substitute for meals. And I became a Nutella junky. I would put it on my heater til it was nice and smooth and warm and then I'd eat it with a spoon, straight from the jar. When I ate Nutella from a jar that had fallen onto the cobblestones and shattered pieces of glass into the Nutella (the glass felt like sand when I chewed it, and no, I did not cut my tongue or anything else), it seemed like my extreme use of chocolate needed to end until I could learn to control myself a little better. For me, the Word of Wisdom included my chocolate addiction.

Thus, the last year and a half has seen me using a cold-turkey approach. It's definitely easier to say "no" than to say "a little bit." I always ended up saying " a little bit more" until the chocolate's all gone. But I knew the entire time that 1. I wasn't learning any kind of self-control and 2. I still loved chocolate (I smelled Nutella whenever I saw someone's jar). It seemed like the time would have to come when I would need to learn how to live with chocolate.

So, after reaching my goal (again, more on that later), I got together with a few friends. I brought along all the chocolate I've collected over the last 1.5 years. And they told me to dig in.





But I refused to start until they helped me establish some chocolate rules. Here they are. I think I'm pretty satisfied with them:

Schokolade Regeln
1. Darf nicht Schokolade essen statt normalem Essen. Nur nach dem normalen Essen.
2. Kein eigenes Geld für Schokolade ausgeben (als Geschenk oder Nachtisch schon).
3. Belohnungsregeln: wenn, dann Schokolade
3.1. Sport/Rad fahren (statt Straßenbahn)
3.2. Tagebuch upgedatet
3.3 Zimmer aufgeräumt
4. Kein Supersize me (keine zweite/weitere Portion annehmen)

A.K.A.:

Chocolate Rules
1. I'm not allowed to eat chocolate instead of normal food. I can only eat chocolate after having had normal food.
2. No spending my own money on chocolate (I have to receive it as a gift or as dessert somewhere).
3. Reward rules: if, then . . .
3.1 exercise/ride my bike instead of the tram
3.2 updated journal
3.3 clean room
4 No Supersizing. (I'm not allowed to accept second portions.)

Then Mike, who has tried to convince me to start eating chocolate again for a long, long time, interviewed me and filmed me eating Nutella. Yum!





I actually didn't eat as much as I thought I would and so far I've stuck to the rules. I'm not going to tell people that I eat chocolate again, though. It seems like everyone else is better at limiting my chocolate intake than I am, so them not knowing just helps me (so keep it on the down low, beloved blog readers). And you knowing about my rules helps too.



Are you proud of me?

Lessons Learned from a Blobfish

Take a good look at the following picture, people. That is a blobfish, arguably the ugliest fish out there. How awesome is that?











I think I would like to poke it with a finger just to see it jiggle. And its nose-like projection adds everything to its image. Sometimes I feel like what I imagine the blobfish feels like. I also have jiggly parts and a unique nose. I also get rather pasty because of my aversion to encouraging skin cancer. And I have some complexion problems that go beyond what appears on the blobfish's chin. I guess the blobfish is at least pretty clean since it floats around in water all day, or if the water's dirty, then at least I can say the blobfish's slimy skin/scales/whatver is/are impervious to it. I feel like I should work harder on my appearance, until I think about all the effort it takes. Then I'm satisfied to let my hair dry as I ride my bike over cobblestones, to wear my out-of-style clothes, and to continue donning sun screen, as long as I'm clean and [fairly] presentable.

Another similarity would be my tendency to do things on my own. But I'd like to think that the darkness of the deep waters where the blobfish is found is symbolic for the lack of social relationships in its life.

Unlike the blobfish, I go to the food (Vilja, you know that). However, sometimes I let things like decisions and deadlines come to me.

So, what have I learned from the blobfish?

-You don't have to be gorgeous.
-You don't have to be embarrassed about your looks if you're clean.
-Being alone is a dark way to live. (Even though my inner hermit rebels against this idea.)
-Don't let things get under your skin.
-Take initiative.

Missing Brain

Do you ever have days where you're not sure where your brain is? I do (but you already knew that). Today I:

-Got up an hour earlier than usual and still didn't get to my job next door until only 5 minutes before class started.
-Set up an appointment with another ENT (for a second opinion in hopes of improvement in the sore throat epic) but made it for the first day of the new quartal, meaning I have to pay another 10 Euros.
-Reached the front door of my apartment building after class, saw that I still had six minutes, and went back upstairs to get a bag for my laptop.
-Went down a flight of stairs and went back for cough drops.
-Realized I'd forgotten the latest Liahona (international Ensign) but left anyway.
-Arrived at the university and realized I'd forgotten the paper that would get me my laptop back.

Then I debated the whole way into the library to pick up a book what I should do since I had an impending work meeting in thirty minutes, decided to try to get the laptop anyway, and succeeded. Wahoo (and the repaired keyboard is lovely)! My brain had returned! Or so I thought! Then I:

-decided that my foot hurt enough that I would wait however long it took for the next train to come. Unfortunately, I saw the train and without thinking boarded the one in front of it, going in the wrong direction.

I made it on time, so it was okay, but I:

-didn't even think to ask if Sarah was back from vacation yet. When someone says three weeks and it's been four, you don't think about it. Okay, I guess this wasn't actually my fault.
-took about ten minutes to figure out who should have the key to the school and where for what day.

But, happily, I:

-enjoyed the sun shining brighter than it has in months (though the wind was still cold).
-went the extra (five) mile(s) to help a patron of the school who was standing outside wondering why no one was there. I took her to my apartment (five minutes after I'd hurriedly told the girl looking at the room that I had to hurry and leave--she was still there when I came back) to call the other school (which was nervously waiting for my late arrival because no, Sarah was not back from vacation), and the lady ended up going to my class--she drove us there.

Unfortunately, I made more time-wasting decisions and:

-ate pancakes at 9:45 instead of going to bed or working on my essay.

But, happily, again:

-the pancakes tasted good.
-I was friendly to my roommate and even shared my pancakes.
-I chatted with Melissa who not only gave me a motivating deadline for my essay, but a reward if I finish on time. (Thanks, Melissa, and everyone else: don't be surprised if I don't have much of an internet presence in upcoming weeks. Or maybe, if I have more of an internet presence. Whichever.)

Anyone else?

Yes I Post Random Things

I was wearing my Young Women's medallion a lot recently, but the chain broke. :(
I've had three buttons fall off recently (two were ones I don't think I've even ever buttoned), and I noticed on time to save the buttons!
I'm talking to myself more than ever, and every time, I say "And I'm talking to myself again" out loud. But I like it so I keep going.
The Dixons are almost done with their mission. :(
I found out that one of the sisters who is here right now went to Olympus High as well--Sister Ryser.

And now to more links since I don't have time for much else.

This Mormon girl swallowed her engagement ring. Oops.

I'm all for listening to classes from online sources on my own time, rather than showing up to class during times when I'm not really ready to listen. How about you?

Sister Dixon showed me this video. She says it gives her tingles and that she cries every time. I just liked it:



Did you know there's a grilled cheese sandwich contest? I went through a phase where no matter what kind of restaurant we went to, I ordered a grilled cheese sandwich. It drove my mom crazy. Then it got to where I'd just have them after church on Sunday. I still love grilled cheese sandwiches.

This book display is lovely and doesn't take up much space. Some day.

I've been getting more and more curious about the Kindle, so this article (and accompanying Christmas Story picture) and this article were of interest to me. I also liked the article's call out to Jim Dale (remember how I used to say I wanted to marry him? And I didn't even hear more than a few minutes of Harry Potter books--reading suits me better).

I wish there were a project like this in Leipzig, or every city, for that matter, so I could practice the piano whenever/wherever I wanted.

Dad, and other people interested in Abraham Lincoln (or modern art, or I guess anyone), click here for a nifty Lincoln art project.

Chinese rap? So weird.




I was so happy to read this article about Brigham Young's environmentalism. Come on, saints, we can do better in this area!

Sleep-walking doggy:

Cold Quirks

December's Write-Away Entry for Scribbit:

Germans have this idea that being cold leads to being sick, no matter what. I can't even tell you how many times people have commented that I wasn't wearing nylons, so I was going to get sick, or my hair was still wet and I wasn't inside, so I was going to get sick, or I'd forgotten to wear my scarf, so I was going to get sick. I've gone my whole life rejecting nylons (which I don't think keep legs any warmer anyway), rushing places with wet hair, and not even owning a scarf. I say, if you worry that much about it, you are the one going to get sick.

I know being warm is pleasanter. In fact, my family can attest to me always complaining about the lack of warmth, no matter how boiling hot everyone else was--my mom used to tell me that I should take up a winter sport so I would stop saying "I hate winter." But since I got an email in February informing me of an extraordinary amount of money to be paid for the last winter's heating, I have never once turned my heat on. What does this profit me? Nothing, probably. Am I crazy? Absolutely.

I used to check the temperature as soon as I opened my MacBook, convert it to Fahrenheit, and then compare it to Salt Lake's temperature. Although I haven't checked for months, there have been mornings when I thought I would much rather stay in pajamas all day than experience the cold that is clothes that have been in the closet all night. There have been days when I purposely didn't go home until I absolutely had to. There have been evenings when I sat at my computer with a scarf wrapped around my face in an attempt to keep my nose and ears warm. But you know what? I've learned a lot from this experience.

For example, I've learned to say my morning prayers and do my morning scripture reading under the covers. I sit on my clothes before I change into them to warm them up. I now know how to layer better than Shade Clothing Company itself--socks and pants included, meaning I've let go of all hopes of style. I've perfected the daily window slam to protest the bathroom window left open by the roomies, and I know not to even consider touching a bare or even a be-socked foot to the wood floor--feet must always be in shoes or resting on something thick, like the sleeping mat that acts as a footrest under my desk. My body's liquid level has gone up since I've discovered the wonders of a hot glass of . . . water. Or soup. I might even venture to say that the cold has at times been a good motivation for me to study in the library or in the halls at the university, or to be very (okay, ridiculously) punctual to institute or church, or to exercise often in order to stay warm.

More practically, I've gotten used to the cold, which comes in handy when I leave my apartment--I no longer stand at the train stop wishing I could just die and go to heaven. Instead, I re-direct that energy to ensuring I don't lose yet another pair of gloves. In short, I've become even more quirky (no small feat).

So what's the point of all these details? Who knows? But I think I'll go snuggle under my two down comforters and wait for them to warm up.

"And Don't Underestimate the Importance of BO-dy Language, Ha!" -Ursula the Sea Witch

I remember the day I sat in my creative writing class at the University of Utah listening to a guest speaker, a friend of our teacher's. The purpose of the guest's presence was rather unknown to us, as were the purposes of most things in that class. That is not to say that they were not enjoyable--they were enjoyably random, like the time we walked around the classroom for fifteen minutes, only allowed to say our favorite word (mine was "ausgezeichnet," which lost some of its curiosity after that day and was retired soon after moving to Germany because no one says it).

I'd had a particularly difficult appointment at the physical therapist or chiropractor's the day before. Consequently, my shoulder/neck area was giving me more pain than usual; it was difficult for me to pay attention as the guest speaker told of us of his interests in sociology and how he could easily read people. I struggled to find a comfortable position without disrupting the small class. Suddenly, his arm swung his finger around the room in a dramatic gesture until it was pointing at me. "YOU, for example!" he said, excitement sparkling in his eyes at the chance to diagnose someone and be praised by the class. I started and looked at him, wondering what judgment or curse he was going to lay upon me. "I can tell a lot about you by your body language. You're sitting like that with your arms folded. You are someone who doesn't listen to anyone." He said a few other things and the class laughed at my expense as I tried to explain that I was sitting that way because of pain. My explanations, they said, further proved his point that I listen to no one.

Why do I relate this story? I have many times since been criticized for crossing my arms, most recently when I was giving a presentation in class a couple of weeks ago. Many of the other students have difficulties not "having a conversation with the professor" when they present, or reading from their papers, or forgetting what they're going to say. Not I. The feedback I received was that I "worked the room very well," which pleased me since I had made a point to look each student in the eye as I spoke (no easy feat since these presentations are done sitting at our regular tables). However, I was advised not to cross my arms while speaking because it portrays that "you are closed to everyone." This feedback made me shake my head, since exactly at the moment that I had crossed my arms, I'd had a fleeting thought that I shouldn't do it, but figured the desk was there anyway, so it should be okay. At least I know what not to do when I present again in the upcoming week.

Since then, I've noticed myself sitting that way several times; in fact, just about everywhere. In church, during class, as I teach, sitting on the tram, at home alone reading. I've even noticed that I kind of sleep like that, although on my stomach with usually just one arm under me or on my side with a blanket enfolded in my crossed arms. I started wondering, what is at the bottom of this tendency of mine? I wondered if it had started with the shoulder/neck problems I had for years and still sometimes struggle with after a rough night of little sleep or during extremely stressful times. Perhaps it's my horrible ergonomics during my hours upon hours working at my computer?

Then I started trying to change the behavior. Each time I caught myself with my arms folded, I tried some other position but always came back to crossing my arms. My final contestation is that it is simply the most comfortable. What else are you supposed to do with your hands? I tried clasping my hands together, but the resulting knot has no where to rest unless you are sitting very relaxed with outstretched legs (which also has a bad image and makes you look pregnant), and it does not keep my hands or the rest of me as warm. Hands in the pockets--works, except your elbows get in everyone's way. I am simply perplexed by what to do with my arms and thus hands, which is only exacerbated when pictures are being taken. What do people do? I should start paying attention.

In the mean time, I don't see anything wrong with continuing to cross my arms (except during my presentations in class) and hoping that people know my intentions are good. Body language. Is it a social construct? I underestimate the importance of body language and knowingly continue to do so.

See? I don't listen to anyone.

Read This. Later.

I have this bad habit of opening a lot of tabs in Mozilla. I see something interesting I would like to read later, so I open it in a new tab. Or I see that flights are freaking expensive and I get scared to buy, so there are at least 10 tabs with differing flight options. The number of tabs I have open is reflective of the current amount of work I have to do, because I say, "I should read that later, now I should study this essay." I currently have 64 tabs open.

I find it amusing that this wonderful ability of Mozilla (CTRL+T) confuses old people. Where did that page go? The computer stopped working! Ahh!

One Cold Hand, Or One Hand With A Funny Thumb

Dude! There's this lady with a website that reunites lost gloves in Pittsburgh! www.onecoldhand.com

Someone in Leipzig needs to do this to help me out! They'd probably get sick of me. Not only did I leave my glove in my friend's car the other day (the same friend who has helped me look for my glove two other times), I wore mismatched gloves today (they were both for the same hand, so one thumb stuck out in a funny way as the material was stretched) and dropped one of them (I went back and found it). It's a constant struggle!

Reunited And It Feels So Good

Yay! My toothpaste ran out. Who knew that it took four months for toothpaste to run out when you brush at least twice a day? Back in September, I gave in and bought German toothpaste, which I figured was better than the cinnamon toothpaste I had mistaken for my trusty old Crest (I might have even given in to Colgate at the time, even though it makes my tongue go numb). While the German toothpaste was better, each time I brushed my teeth, I realized that I didn't enjoy brushing my teeth as much as I used to, and I longed for the day when the tube would run out so I could use my finally-arrived tube of Crest that came with my boxes.

The first brush was eagerly anticipated and I was not disappointed. Breathing deeply, I felt the Crest not only really clean my teeth, but also my nasal passages.

Recovered Addict

I read in the newspaper recently that the American Psychological Association wanted to add video games to the list of addictions. While I have been one of those addicts (one summer, I stayed up until 3 every night playing Tony Hawk, even though my thumb got a permanent red mark on it and the alien that said "No, no, no" in the Roswell, New Mexico level creeped me out), I don't think people understand that almost anything can be an addiction.

Probably ten years ago, I was introduced to the computer game of Solitaire in Mt. Pleasant, Utah. I thought it was so cool that I went home and played it every day. I even asked for and received a hand-held Solitaire game. Once I discovered Free Cell, it was all over. I was head-over-heels in love. I didn't think I had a problem compared to my mom, who, as an insomniac, worked through the Free Cell games in ascending numerical order every sleepless night. What finally got me to admit I had a problem was when I went to bed at night and saw cards in my mind that had to be stacked with opposite colors.

I gave up Solitaire and Free Cell, cold turkey, and have not gone back since I was fourteen or fifteen, as I'm afraid I would enjoy it just as much as I did then.

I did go through my Tetris stage during sophomore year of high school, but that was more of a stress-reliever when I was on the bench for a few minutes during volleyball, or when I had done way too much chemistry studying (which wasn't hard to do).

Maybe, instead of making a list of all possible addictions, the APA should make a list of all things that probably shouldn't take up as much of our time as they do, such as driving, and playing Mario Kart for more than a few hours a day, and trying to find chocolate in the house, and waiting for dial-up internet to open an email . . .

My Chapstick Endeavor

I am the first to admit that I am a chapstick addict, but not just to any chapstick. I am firmly attached to my belief that the best and only Michelle-approved kind of chapstick is the Natural Ice with the red cap (previously known as Cherry Ice, which has a better flow, I agree).

Unfortunately, I have come across several hundred (okay, maybe just 20 or so) unused chapsticks. As a cheapskate and an anti-waster, I can't bear to just throw them away. I have put my Natural Ice on sabbatical in order to use up these smelly waxes that just don't do the job the same way. Currently, I am toting a vanilla-scented type that hasn't been too bad, except for the smell and the number of times I have to put it on to convince my lips they're going to survive.

Here's to the makers of Natural Ice: may they live long and prosper and get Natural Ice to all stores in all parts of the world.

Here's to Santa: thanks for all the previous years and please keep up the habit of putting a few Natural Ices with the red caps into my stockings to last me through the year.

Ears

My youngest sister became the ripe old age of twelve this past week, thus she was allowed to get her ears pierced.

I held out until I was fifteen.

Sometimes I regret having pierced my ears. I used to love to play with my ear lobe (weird, I know), but now there's stiff scar tissue in the middle of it. In high school, I got to the point where I would only put earrings in for dances. A few hours before my date picked me up, I would find an earring with a straight post, pull down my ear, and jab it in until I heard the grown-in flesh tear. Nasty, I know, but effective. Girls are tough. (So was that guy in my health class who showed us how he pierced his ear using a staple.) Now I just wear the same earrings forever until one gets lost or I remember to find some other ones.

Three stories come to mind:

1. I had heard about this girl in high school who liked to play with other people's hair and ears while she talked to them. I thought that was insanely strange until she played with my ear one day in gym. Logically, it seems odd, but it didn't seem out of place that day.

2. My mom got a second pierce on one ear the day I got my first two. Within a few weeks, President Hinckley had encouraged only one modest pair. True to her faith, my mom took out the earring and suffered from a keyloid for some years before having it repaired.

3. I jump when someone touches my ear--almost as much as my friend Ronda does when someone touches her neck.