Fiending for a Philly

A Philly cheesesteak joint opened up near me a few months ago. Here is the classic Philly I ate on that fateful day:

It was so damn good and reminded me how much I miss sammiches. Finding a proper sandwich can be quite a labor in China. We have Subway, but Subway is mediocre shite. Don't get me wrong...I eat at Subway like once a week: 6 incher; Italian herb bread, spicy Italian (double meat), all veg, cheese, and mustard. With a side of cookies, preferably the chocolate, chocolate chip cookie. Hell, I'm thinking about ordering that tonight. On a side note, most places deliver. in China. There are delivery companies (I use e.le.me, pronounced "eh la ma") that will go to a restaurant for you and bring the food right to your door. Typically, it is cheaper to order delivery than go to the restaurant yourself, which seems rather odd to me.

So I'm not a huge fan of Subway, but living in China there are certain things you start to miss, things that you never really thought about before. I've always loved subs, but I never imagined living in a place where subs weren't common. Sinking my teeth into that Philly reminded me of being home. Of times going to Harris Teeter during my lunch break and grabbing a quick sub. Or going to Katz Deli and filling my belly with a Reuben. I remember first coming here and pizza being hard to come by, which luckily  has changed in present day Dalian. They had Pizza Hut when I first came here, but Pizza Hut is shit in China (besides the cheap breakfast with unlimited coffee, which is pretty amazing and now that I'm thinking about it has been ages and my calendar is being marked as I type). I remember the first time eating Papa Johns in China. It felt so wrong because I hate their CEO and everything he stands for, but their pizza in China is good and does in fact not taste like cardboard. Brooklyn, a nice local pub, has the best pizza in town and that's been open for well over a decade. Pizza has been here since I've been here, but the availability and choice has drastically increased. Western restaurants seem to be popping up everywhere these days, as evidenced by the Philly cheesesteak place.

I am ashamed to say that I shop at Walmart on a regular basis, mostly because it is a 5 minute walk from my flat and they have a good selection. Never in my wildest dream would I imagine saying I truly love Snickers and Doritos. Burger King has an immaculate burger called the Whopper, for those unfamiliar. KFC has buckets of chicken (delivered freshly to your door). You forget how much you love something, before it's taken away from you.

If I had to weigh out all the pros and cons between living here and back home, I would most likely choose China any given day. Life is more comfortable and convenient here, but there are just certain things you wish wouldn't be so difficult. I am glad to say I can easily choose between IPA's at my mates pub whereas a few years back it took hard work and determination to find just a single IPA, but it still isn't as convenient (or cheap for that matter) as going down to Total Wine in the Promenade and picking up a 12 pack of Torpedo. It's these consumable goods that draw some connection from my new life to my old life. There will always be a part of me that is American, and that piece of me will always have an attraction to junk food. I wonder what products I will miss when I leave this place...

Darkened View

The same spot as this morning, time passes, darker now

Happier this morning...it never lasts. Crawling, blind, but crawling. Fearing existence, seeking, sighing, crawling. Streets desolate. A cry for help. No responses. Forgotten. Worms crawling, blind beasts, under the ground, silent, crawling. No strength. Happier this morning, long forgotten. Smoke rises, disappears. Time passes. Light will come back soon. Soon enough, just wait. Light will come back and then darkness follows. Summer and then Winter; Winter and then Summer. Running, faster now and then backwards, and then in circles. Faster now. Walking, back and forth. Stopping, breathing in the air. Choking. Spitting phlegm. Silence. It always ends with silence. Then continues again. Sound, light. Silence, darkness. Darkened sound. Illuminated silence.

Running, faster
Time passes
Light again; dark again
Winter, there is no strength left
The body is used, apathy
Ennui
Choking, crawling, circling
Silence.

View from the Bathroom Window

My classes at the university are divided into two 50 minute blocks with a 10 minute break in-between. For evening classes, I typically skip the break and leave class early. For the 8 A.M.'s, I like to take the break and get a coffee from the machine and typically smoke a fag in the W.C. While puffing on my death stick, I like to look out the window and take in the wonderful events unfolding around me.

At the top of the photo there is a big chunk of white space and this is actually smog and not some kind of error with my phone's camera. Smog is common here in the winter, and it has covered  many buildings in the distance. The trees have begun to die as the impending winter comes (note:I guess it's still technically Autumn, but here in Dalian the only two seasons are Summer and Winter, with a small intermission between them). The building in the center is the graduate building, where I teach graduate-level literature on Monday mornings. You can also see two small figures off to the right, and these folks are African students at the university. I actually live next to the international students dorm and walk by them quite often, though seldom do I strike up conversation. My old room was right next to their dorm and I could hear the Russians coming home late at night, drunk as skunks and obnoxious as all hell. I do like the international community in the student body though, and have hung out with some of the Turks and Russians. Many of the students who come here don't have the same opportunities for higher education in their home countries, and I think it is swell they can come to China and get a collegiate education for a reasonable price (though I'm not sure about the price, I have heard from some it is free of charge but I don't know this for certain).

It is a relaxing time of day to look out on the scenery, as I huff and puff the sweet nicotine. Watching from high above as the ants busily march through the campus. Sometimes I get a glimpse of DUFE cat as she (it turns out he was a she, though as a liberal I need to ask her if this is the gender she identifies as or else other liberals will crucify me) scurries along the sidewalk and dives into the bushes. I wonder how many people have stood in the same place as myself and had similar thoughts. Wondering what the people down below are thinking about as they hurry along on their busy days. How many of these people struggle with internal demons and tiny hobgoblins in their minds? Are they, like me, trying to find their place in this vast world? Their movements from up above all look the same, and perhaps we are all the same, with tiny differences here and there.

I take the final drag of my fag and put it out. Today we are talking about the differences of Eastern and Western culture. My students are happy to talk with me and I can see joy emanating from their faces as we converse and participate in fun educational (most of the time) activities. For the time being, that's the only sense of purpose I need.

DUFE Cat

The tabby cat that roams my campus grounds is simply called DUFE cat, since DUFE is the acronym of my university (Dongbei University of Finance and Economics). I have come across this mysterious creature numerous times in my 2 years here. Even today, I ran across him on the steps of the building I work in, which is one of his common spots.

I wanted to ask him what he calls himself, if he calls himself anything. Or if I am correct in my assertion that he is a he and not a she. Instead, I simply called him kitty and he continued to doze in his spot. As apathetic as he is, DUFE cat is an immensely popular caricature at the university. When I make my students act out scenes for things like proverbs or idioms, there is typically a role play that in someway incorporates DUFE cat. He is greatly loved, but does nothing to garner that admiration.

I have tried following him around before. It reminds me of the protagonist from the Miyazaki film Whisper of the Heart. She comes across a cat, Moon, and follows him round one day. I followed him that one day, walking alongside him down the sidewalk during a stroll through the uni. In the end, he perched on a spot outside a building and stayed there until I was bored and carried on with my busy day. I think in some ways I am jealous of DUFE cat. I care not for his undeserved adoration since I don't give a damn what others think of me. Rather, I wish I had a home like DUFE cat's. He is free to go anywhere; he doesn't need a job. The students feed him, nothing asked in return. Why can't I be fed for free? If he so wishes, one day he can move to another university. Maybe even sneak on a train and go to another city. A new land; different universities; more caretakers. How I envy the simpleton.

I type this post trapped in my comfortable little box, wishing I could be out there glaring at the stars... though knowing I would be puffing on the toxic fume in the process. Outside in the moonlight without a care in the world; I would travel station to station exploring new worlds every step of the way. In this sublime moment, I would bask in the glory of freedom and hoping to jump from place to place. What a life to be freed from these shackles of slavery. No more fears of finances or finding my place in the world. A reality where I was the master. In charge of my own destiny and not a pawn in a game of cat and mouse. Would I be willing to live the life of the DUFE cat? Could I become a free spirit in a world that demands conformity and compliance?

There is a sad truth in my answer: I found my spot, and I am afraid of leaving.

Death of a Crab

A box came in the other day. From previous deliveries, I was expecting avocados and dragonfruit. I opened the box with great haste only to find a bag full of crabs. At first I had an expression of apathy until I noticed movement within the bag. By god, these crabs were still alive!

I immediately called my missus and asked her why she would have crabs shipped alive. She thought it queer of me to say something so ridiculous; crabs boiled alive were fresher than ones that had been dead for days, obviously. I explained to her this was animal cruelty, and she still couldn't understand where I was going with this. "It's ok to kill crabs because they don't have any feelings," I heard Kurt echoing in my ears.

My missus was right to think it strange for someone like myself to say something like this. I never showed the slightest inclination of caring for the lives of animals. I had been an avid meat eater since we had known each other. Even when I attempted veganism in my collegiate years, I did so for health reasons instead of ethical ones.

I had also noticed the Chinese view on animal life. I remember being terrified at the zoo and aquarium years prior. I can still see the faces of the animal as crowds passed by taking selfies and the staff showed little compassion. I have heard of people hear eating monkey brain straight from a live monkey and have seen the fresh blood of a slaughtered lamb at the outdoor market. Was I perhaps thinking too deeply on the lives of these crabs?

Two days went by and I could hear them attempting their escape. Claws scratching at the styrofoam top; legs clinging mongst one another; in my imagination, perhaps, a cry for help with foam gushing at the mouth.  I would be busily working and hear a noise coming from the kitchen. I would forget they were there, then remember, and go back to my day. I wondered what would happen if they were successful in their evacuation. I would plead not guilty to my crab overlords. They were already here, it wasn't like I wanted to toss money into the ocean. Did capital matter more than a life? Is what these things had a life? Is what I have considered a life? Why did I give a damn? Why did I all of a sudden gain a conscience for these damn crabs. The answers eluded me.

I took off the top on the day of their slaughter to look at them. They looked back with their beady little eyes and asked me for help. I knew there was nothing to be done: I had mates coming over that night and they had been promised crab. Their lives were put over the lives of these crabs, if we could be calling what these crabs had a life. They would be delicious. Warm and savory. Fresh as fresh can be.

The night arrived and preparations began. She had two pots, one on the bottom with water and the other on top with the crabs. I found this to be particularly cruel. It would be bad enough boiling them alive but steaming them alive seemed that  much worse. I didn't argue, I already accepted these crabs were going to die. Steamed or boiled, fried or barbecued, they were destined to die. They were placed in their iron maiden and a bowl was placed on the lid to ensure they couldn't escape. I got back to my work and soon after heard a thump coming from the kitchen. I went in to investigate and found the crabs had made their escape. There were some on the floor, some in the sink and a few hiding behind the oils and spices. They didn't move much, just trying to hide with the little camouflage they had. We put on gloves and picked up the crabs to return them to their end. They squirmed in my hands but didn't try to harm me. I threw them back in with great malice, as if they had been so rude to interrupt my studies. I counted them to make sure all 10 had been returned. In a way, I wished one would've gotten out and later I could return him to the ocean. At least in that way, it would be like I tried to atone for my sins.

I went in at one point to see how the process was going. They were still alive, barely. I said sorry and went back to work. I returned later and the deed was done. Orange crabs illuminated the pan. They looked delicious but I had no appetite for them.

Mates came and relished in the feast. I tried a piece of crab; I didn't like it. I ate the other dishes. I said nothing on the matter and enjoyed the night with great company.

I would be lying if I said I cared about the ethical treatment of animals when it comes to using them for food. I don't question the shady ethics of KFC when I gorge myself on a bucket of their fried chicken. Not once have I protested the cattle industry when my McDonald's hamburger crumbles between my lips. The only thing different in this situation is cutting out the middle man; I took on the atrocity myself instead of having someone else do it for me. I don't plan on ending my meat crusade anytime soon, so I suppose I will continue living my life as a sinner, and pray that the good lord above ain't a crab.