I wish people would stop sending me text messages in Chinese. I can't read them. To me, Chinese looks like the footprints of a chicken.
Speaking of which, in the Chinese grocery stores you can buy packages of chicken feet. I don't know what the Chinese use them for, but I ain't noshing on chicken feet.
And I'm not going to learn Chinese. For one thing I'm too old, and for another, I couldn't if I wanted to. Not only does printed Chinese looks like chicken footprints to me, but spoken Chinese sounds like somebody gargling. Forget it.
Which brings me to the subject of names. The Chinese have to deal with "foreigners"
all the time these days, and they've had to make accommodations. I suspect that other so-called "foreigners" here in China besides me have had problems with the language.
By the way, "foreigner" is a racist term if you ask me -- to the Chinese a "foreigner" is anybody who doesn't look Chinese, and where I come from, that's racism.
Also, discrimination based on age and sex are permitted here. I've been a victim of Chinese age discrimination: one school turned me down because I wanted to teach kindergarten and they decided I was "too old" for that. (Without even having met me.) Another teacher I know was a victim of sex discrimination. He applied to a school and was told that the school didn't want him: they wanted a woman instead. You pull that shit in the USA and you'll be in court.
But the Chinese, at least many of the ones I work with, often have two names. They have their Chinese name, and they have an English name. Their Chinese name is always the same: it's "Oogleaggleoohsookieoigledoo." At least that's what it sounds like to me. I can't remember a Chinese name for ten seconds. Like I said, to me Chinese sounds like somebody undergoing the Heimlich maneuver after choking on a burrito.
So they give themselves other names for dealing with dummies like me, who can't, or won't, learn Chinese. For example, the little gal in Beijing who recruited me last summer to come to China calls herself "Linda." That's not her Chinese name; that's her English name. She has a Chinese name, but I couldn't remember it to save my butt.
When I told her that "Linda" means "pretty" in Spanish, she liked that.
My Chinese colleagues down here in Guangdong Province, near the South China Sea, have mostly also adopted English monikers for dealing with the local American moron. My male coworkers here have given themselves names such as "Steve" and "Tracy." My female coworkers go by names such as "Amanda," "Sabrina," "Laura" and "Michelle."
"Michelle" is a little doll, by the way. She's only 24, maybe five feet two inches tall. She's very pretty and she's as sweet as the day is long. I told her just the other day, "I'm glad I'm not 25 anymore, because if I were I'd be in love with you." She laughed and smiled. She has a boyfriend. He goes by "Jason." He's good with computers, and recently tried to help me get mine to work, which it doesn't like to. (The Chinese are my friends. Computers, on the other hand, are my deadliest enemies. Don't you try to tell me computers don't have a will. They do, and their will is to do Evil.)
Not all of my Chinese friends and acquaintances give themselves names as conventional as "Laura" or "Michelle." I've heard some English names here in China that are fairly "off the wall," as we used to say. (Get it? "The Wall?" Never mind.)
When I was on the southbound train from Xingtai to Guangzhou a few weeks ago, I met a nice Chinese girl who called herself "Nature." That was her English name: Nature. (If you're my age, that sounds like something off of Haight-Ashbury, but nobody under 55 remembers Haight-Ashbury anymore.) Nature spoke good English, and she and I had a pleasant chat in the train's dining car. It was Nature who came back to my compartment, which I was sharing with three other adults and three children, and began chatting with one of my Chinese fellow-passengers, who in turn had her baby boy with her. The baby was eating sunflower seeds or some damn thing, (that kid was either crying or eating the whole trip), and he spilled them on the bunk where he and I were sitting. Nature was on the other bunk talking with his mom.
I started cleaning up the seeds, putting them back in their bag. The baby said something to me in Chinese, which of course I didn't understand because to me, Chinese sounds like recorded English played backwards.
But Nature understood him, and she turned to me. "He just called you 'Yeh-yeh," she said. "That means 'Grandpa.'"
They had to mop my melted body off the floor.
I have Chinese friends here in Zhongshan City with similarly weird "English" names.
There is one young woman here named "Beautiful." She is not. Well, she's not ugly, but she's not beautiful either. She has a small mole on one side of her nose. Beautiful doesn't speak one word of English, but she always has a smile for me. Even though we don't understand each other, she seems to find me amusing for some reason, maybe just because I'm big by Chinese standards, and usually look a little bewildered.
I have a Chinese teaching colleague who goes by the name "Small." Now, this time it fits: Small is Small. She's taller than Amanda, who only comes up to my chest, and taller than Michelle (my chin), but she is thin. I don't think Small would weigh 100 pounds soaking wet after eating 12 pizzas. She's darling, and actually quite pretty, but like many Chinese she has terrible taste in shoes. We had a teacher staff meeting a couple of days ago, and Small was wearing a pair of sneakers that would have looked good on Bozo the Clown. They had soles about four inches thick. Chinese women wear some of the most bizarre shoes I've ever seen. Perhaps they've been surfing the web and think Lady Gaga is the cutting edge of chic. Don't ask me.
Yesterday I was teaching at the school and was impressed with one of my middle-school girls. Some of my kids are never going to learn English. I ask them a question and they just stare at me: "Huh?" But this little girl was obviously sharp. I was asking questions about the weather. "What do you do on a rainy day?" Things like that. This kid was giving me answers in English, and they were good answers.
So I paused at one point and asked her name. And of course she replied,
"Aeoitndhsfdjgflkjgghftgfs!?@+#$%&*," like all Chinese do when I ask that question. Then she added that did not have an English name.
"Would you like one?" I asked. "I'll give you an English name."
Her classmates laughed, and she choked with embarassment, which is the standard Chinese reaction to being asked anything remotely resembling a personal question.
I was having fun with this -- embarrassing the Chinese is my hobby -- "I'll tell you what," I said. "I'll call you 'Robert.'"
"No!" she shouted. Then she grabbed her dictionary.
As she was thumbing through her Chinese-English dictionary, I explained softly that I understood why she did not want to be called "Robert." It's a boy's name, and she's a girl.
Well, she came up with her own English name: "Nikki," she said.
"Nikki's a nice name," I said. "I like 'Nikki.'"
And Nikki's a wonderful girl.
 |
| Okay, you tell me: does this say "No Smoking," "Keep Off The Grass," or "Will You Marry Me?" I have no clue. |
Speaking of which, in the Chinese grocery stores you can buy packages of chicken feet. I don't know what the Chinese use them for, but I ain't noshing on chicken feet.
And I'm not going to learn Chinese. For one thing I'm too old, and for another, I couldn't if I wanted to. Not only does printed Chinese looks like chicken footprints to me, but spoken Chinese sounds like somebody gargling. Forget it.
Which brings me to the subject of names. The Chinese have to deal with "foreigners"
all the time these days, and they've had to make accommodations. I suspect that other so-called "foreigners" here in China besides me have had problems with the language.
By the way, "foreigner" is a racist term if you ask me -- to the Chinese a "foreigner" is anybody who doesn't look Chinese, and where I come from, that's racism.
Also, discrimination based on age and sex are permitted here. I've been a victim of Chinese age discrimination: one school turned me down because I wanted to teach kindergarten and they decided I was "too old" for that. (Without even having met me.) Another teacher I know was a victim of sex discrimination. He applied to a school and was told that the school didn't want him: they wanted a woman instead. You pull that shit in the USA and you'll be in court.
But the Chinese, at least many of the ones I work with, often have two names. They have their Chinese name, and they have an English name. Their Chinese name is always the same: it's "Oogleaggleoohsookieoigledoo." At least that's what it sounds like to me. I can't remember a Chinese name for ten seconds. Like I said, to me Chinese sounds like somebody undergoing the Heimlich maneuver after choking on a burrito.
So they give themselves other names for dealing with dummies like me, who can't, or won't, learn Chinese. For example, the little gal in Beijing who recruited me last summer to come to China calls herself "Linda." That's not her Chinese name; that's her English name. She has a Chinese name, but I couldn't remember it to save my butt.
When I told her that "Linda" means "pretty" in Spanish, she liked that.
My Chinese colleagues down here in Guangdong Province, near the South China Sea, have mostly also adopted English monikers for dealing with the local American moron. My male coworkers here have given themselves names such as "Steve" and "Tracy." My female coworkers go by names such as "Amanda," "Sabrina," "Laura" and "Michelle."
"Michelle" is a little doll, by the way. She's only 24, maybe five feet two inches tall. She's very pretty and she's as sweet as the day is long. I told her just the other day, "I'm glad I'm not 25 anymore, because if I were I'd be in love with you." She laughed and smiled. She has a boyfriend. He goes by "Jason." He's good with computers, and recently tried to help me get mine to work, which it doesn't like to. (The Chinese are my friends. Computers, on the other hand, are my deadliest enemies. Don't you try to tell me computers don't have a will. They do, and their will is to do Evil.)
Not all of my Chinese friends and acquaintances give themselves names as conventional as "Laura" or "Michelle." I've heard some English names here in China that are fairly "off the wall," as we used to say. (Get it? "The Wall?" Never mind.)
When I was on the southbound train from Xingtai to Guangzhou a few weeks ago, I met a nice Chinese girl who called herself "Nature." That was her English name: Nature. (If you're my age, that sounds like something off of Haight-Ashbury, but nobody under 55 remembers Haight-Ashbury anymore.) Nature spoke good English, and she and I had a pleasant chat in the train's dining car. It was Nature who came back to my compartment, which I was sharing with three other adults and three children, and began chatting with one of my Chinese fellow-passengers, who in turn had her baby boy with her. The baby was eating sunflower seeds or some damn thing, (that kid was either crying or eating the whole trip), and he spilled them on the bunk where he and I were sitting. Nature was on the other bunk talking with his mom.
I started cleaning up the seeds, putting them back in their bag. The baby said something to me in Chinese, which of course I didn't understand because to me, Chinese sounds like recorded English played backwards.
But Nature understood him, and she turned to me. "He just called you 'Yeh-yeh," she said. "That means 'Grandpa.'"
They had to mop my melted body off the floor.
I have Chinese friends here in Zhongshan City with similarly weird "English" names.
There is one young woman here named "Beautiful." She is not. Well, she's not ugly, but she's not beautiful either. She has a small mole on one side of her nose. Beautiful doesn't speak one word of English, but she always has a smile for me. Even though we don't understand each other, she seems to find me amusing for some reason, maybe just because I'm big by Chinese standards, and usually look a little bewildered.
I have a Chinese teaching colleague who goes by the name "Small." Now, this time it fits: Small is Small. She's taller than Amanda, who only comes up to my chest, and taller than Michelle (my chin), but she is thin. I don't think Small would weigh 100 pounds soaking wet after eating 12 pizzas. She's darling, and actually quite pretty, but like many Chinese she has terrible taste in shoes. We had a teacher staff meeting a couple of days ago, and Small was wearing a pair of sneakers that would have looked good on Bozo the Clown. They had soles about four inches thick. Chinese women wear some of the most bizarre shoes I've ever seen. Perhaps they've been surfing the web and think Lady Gaga is the cutting edge of chic. Don't ask me.
Yesterday I was teaching at the school and was impressed with one of my middle-school girls. Some of my kids are never going to learn English. I ask them a question and they just stare at me: "Huh?" But this little girl was obviously sharp. I was asking questions about the weather. "What do you do on a rainy day?" Things like that. This kid was giving me answers in English, and they were good answers.
So I paused at one point and asked her name. And of course she replied,
"Aeoitndhsfdjgflkjgghftgfs!?@+#$%&*," like all Chinese do when I ask that question. Then she added that did not have an English name.
"Would you like one?" I asked. "I'll give you an English name."
Her classmates laughed, and she choked with embarassment, which is the standard Chinese reaction to being asked anything remotely resembling a personal question.
I was having fun with this -- embarrassing the Chinese is my hobby -- "I'll tell you what," I said. "I'll call you 'Robert.'"
"No!" she shouted. Then she grabbed her dictionary.
As she was thumbing through her Chinese-English dictionary, I explained softly that I understood why she did not want to be called "Robert." It's a boy's name, and she's a girl.
Well, she came up with her own English name: "Nikki," she said.
"Nikki's a nice name," I said. "I like 'Nikki.'"
And Nikki's a wonderful girl.
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