The Black Country that photographer Brian Griffin knew as a boy was the industrial powerhouse of the nation. He returns to find out how it has changed

View a gallery of his images here

Chalked on the side of a forging machine at one of the few surviving chainmakers in Cradley Heath are five words that speak volumes: "Black Country spoken, English understood." The towns to the north and west of Birmingham, such as Sandwell and Dudley, have a dialect that can be incomprehensible even to visitors from other parts of the West Midlands. That way of speaking was part of a way of life – an insular, distinctive culture forged in the white heat that produced the black soot, which bestowed those towns with their collective name.

Once dubbed "the workshop of the world", they were still regarded as the industrial powerhouse of the nation when the photographer Brian Griffin, 63, was brought up amid fiery skylines and smoky aromas at Lye, a couple of miles away from the forge where we are watching through safety goggles as huge weights crash down on to molten metal. He now lives with his wife, Brynja Sverrisdóttir, a former model from Iceland, in London's docklands surrounded by those who earn their substantial living in the new powerhouse of the British economy, the City.

Griffin spent seven months researching his latest exhibition, The Black Country, currently showing at the New Art Gallery in Walsall after opening at the Collège des Bernardins in Paris, which part-funded the exhibition. "Having seen my pictures of the high-speed rail link to St Pancras, they wanted me to do something on work," Griffin explains. "Where better to do it than the place where I grew up, surrounded by the sights and sounds of heavy industry?" The exhibition is a reminder of how local history can be imaginatively celebrated at a time when library and museum services are being slashed.

Next year the exhibition is bound for a photographic festival in Beijing. "It'll be nice to send something back to China after everything they've sent us," he says, wryly reflecting on the new realities of Britain's industrial landscape. The Black Country has never recovered from the massive loss of jobs that followed decisions taken in the 1980s to refocus the economy on the financial, commercial and retail sectors while importing goods from countries with low labour costs. The exhibition includes a black and white photograph that Griffin set up in 1985 entitled The Death of Manufacturing. A derelict factory is surrounded by rubble, at the centre of which is a skeletal sculpture holding a piece of stone in the manner of Hamlet addressing Yorick's skull.

More than 138,000 manufacturing jobs were lost in the region between 1998 and 2010. By September last year, the percentage of those claiming jobseeker's allowance in Sandwell was more than twice the national average. Unemployment among 16- to 24-year-olds was running at 33.7% compared with the national average of 19.2%.

The consequences for wellbeing and social cohesion of more than 25 years of industrial decline are not difficult to imagine. Take obesity levels, for instance. A few months ago, figures released by the Association of Public Health Observatories showed that 29% of adults in the West Midlands are obese, nearly double the UK average. According to Dr John Middleton, director for public health in Sandwell: "There is a direct link between economic recession and health." Middleton adds: "In the era of heavy industry a high-calorie diet was necessary. The jobs went but the diet didn't."

Certainly, you would need a fair amount of sustenance to cope with the sort of work that Griffin and I are observing at the forge run by Solid Swivel, one of the companies to survive by niche manufacturing. It was founded in 1910 and employs about 60 people. Men are making chains and anchors for the Royal Navy in conditions that their fathers and grandfathers would recognise. The heat is intense. Sparks fly. The clamour of hammers and heavy weights falling is loud enough for artist Luke Perry, whose father is Solid Swivel's managing director, to hand us earplugs and goggles. "That's something they never had in my dad's day," says Griffin, whose father bored holes in steel at a foundry a mile or so from here. He died at 66, 18 months after retirement, his lungs lined with the metal dust that he had inhaled all his working life – a reminder that life could be short and brutish in the "good old days" of full employment.

Perry, 27, is as aware of that as Griffin. He runs Industrial Heritage Stronghold, which raises money to fund public art honouring the unsung heroes of the Black Country. He is currently planning a statue dedicated to the memory of Mary Macarthur, who led the women chainmakers' strike in Cradley Heath in 1910. Griffin, meanwhile, has dedicated his exhibition to women, such as his mother, who not only ran homes but also took menial jobs to help balance the family budget. His take on the women chainmakers is an evocative photograph of Perry's fiancee, Natalie Gore, posed at this forge while holding a white-hot link of chain in a pair of tongs. Gore is also an artist who designs and makes ornamental chains on a much smaller scale at a studio nearby. The reality is that very few women would be able to handle the heavy ships' chains made here for any length of time.

There is a certain macho pride in being able to do it, Perry points out. "They like to be able to say that they do a man's job." Most are in their 40s and 50s, however. Young men are notable by their absence.Perry has taken to approaching groups of youths on street corners to interest them in their industrial heritage, engaging them with quick-fire drawings of his sculptures and statues. "It takes them off guard and it is possible to get them interested in their heritage," he says. "Certainly, we've never had any graffiti problems." No inquiries about jobs at Solid Swivel either? "Well, there's a huge void round here where the work ethic used to be. There's so little hope in these small towns. The youths can't see where anything is going. Even graduates are taking jobs in call centres and shopping malls."

It was rather different in 1972 when Griffin emerged from Manchester College of Art, aged 24, having become a mature student after a few years as a trainee draftsman in Birmingham. He had been the only one in Stocking Street, Lye, to pass his 11-plus; the only one to escape the prospect of a lifetime in factory, furnace or forge, much to his parents' pride and relief. But before heading for London, he worked for a few months at the Round Oak steelworks in Brierley Hill to earn some money.

"Just before they pulled it down, I used it as the backdrop for the cover of Depeche Mode's [1984] album Some Great Reward because I wanted to give it a bit of status," he says. "When I opened my bedroom curtains as a boy, the night sky would be glowing red from its furnaces."

He pulls a face when I ask him what he thinks of the post-industrial surroundings. "There were brickworks and rolling mills along here," he reflects. "Fires were flaring and men were stripped to the waist. It was noisy and dusty but at least it was alive. It seems more of a soulless mess now." Griffin believes that the region has lost the reason for its existence: heavy industry and the way of life that went with it – the dry sense of humour, the "beer boys" bringing jugs of mild ale to thirsty foundry workers, the allotments and smallholdings that made men like his father almost self-sufficient.

We trudge on past half-empty trading estates, boarded-up pubs and scrubby patches of wasteland. At one point we narrowly avoid being run down by a bus heading to Merry Hill, the vast shopping mall built on the site of Round Oak. Again, he pulls a face at the very mention of it. "Bloody awful place," he mutters. "It's drained the life out of the shops in Dudley."

Eventually we arrive at his old home. Or rather what is left of it. A few bricks from the frontage are dominated by a spreading alder tree rooted in the spot where the Griffins used to climb into a tin bath once a week. Only two of the original 16 Victorian two-up, two-downs remain. "And they've been DIY-ed up," says Griffin, eyeing the uPVC doors and windows with distaste. Next door is a modern semi with a sporty looking car on the driveway. A tree in full blossom stands at the bottom of the street where once there was a wall carrying an advert for an enamelling factory. We can hear birdsong instead of hammers, and the current residents have the material possessions and sanitary conditions that Griffin's parents could only dream about. When I point this out, he shrugs: "It's ugly, though. There's no aesthetic any more. There was a wholeness and completeness about it when there was a pub or a chapel on every corner. There were 16 houses in this street and I knew the name of every family. Not that everyone got on," he adds with a grin, suggesting that what we like to look back on as "tight-knit" communities harboured disputes as well as supportiveness and solidarity. Black Country was spoken, but not always acknowledged.

• The Black Country is at the New Walsall Art Gallery until 18 June. Brian Griffin will lead a tour of the exhibition on 4 June at 2pm.

Xiangsheng , sometimes translated as crosstalk, is one of China's foremost and most popular performing arts, and is typically performed in Beijing dialect.

The Beijing-Shanghai rivalry fascinates me. Not because it is so unusual, but because it is so pronounced and because it matters.

Beijing is the seat of government, yet it is also China's art, media and tech city. Shanghai is the city of business and finance, yet it is both historically, and today, generally the most open to foreigners. Food-wise, most would give Beijing the nod, but I love Shanghai food and consider it a very sophisticated, subtle, and underrated cuisine. One of the biggest differences between Beijing and Shanghai is language. "Shanghai people" have their own dialect that is pretty much incomprehensible to outsiders and they do seem to love using it for that very reason. Shanghai is considered snobbier. 

The Los Angeles Times has a fun and interesting story on this long-time rivalry. The article is entitled, A tale of China's two great cities: The rivalry between Beijing, the national capital, and Shanghai, the financial capital, has been going on for decades. The dynamic is a powerful undercurrent in Chinese politics and culture. It deems Shanghai more fashionable, more for women and more cosmopolitan than Beijing. But Beijing holds the power. These paragraphs sum up the stereotypes I must often hear from the Chinese themselves:  

Shanghai men are reputed to be vicious in business — hence the term shanghaied — but wimps at home. "At home, they do the dishes, take out the trash and give their wife/mistress a neck rub after the hard day she put in shopping," wrote one blogger on a site called China Forum.

To the Shanghainese, the Beijingers — and all northerners, for that matter — are peasants.

"They smell like garlic," said restaurateur Xu, voicing a popular refrain. "We Shanghai people keep ourselves and our homes very clean. We are more refined. We drink coffee. They only drink tea."

In the legal arena, Shanghai stands somewhat alone in that Shanghai lawyers generally do not play well outside Shanghai, and vice-versa. This is less true of Beijing.

Shanghai versus Beijing. What do you think? Which city is best for which sort of foreign business? Why did you establish your business in Shanghai, as opposed to Beijing, and vice-versa? Let us know

From the breathtaking descent into Santos Dumont to Jeddah's tent-like structure, Rowan Moore selects his favourite 10 airports

El Prat de Llobregat, Barcelona

Most airports are in denial, or at least their architects are. They think they're works of transport engineering, when really they're shopping malls with a transport function attached – BAA is said to make more money out of retail than flights. Barcelona's Terminal 2, completed in 1991, makes a virtue of this fact. It treats the airport as an unusual kind of city, with broad urbane avenues, highly polished purplish marble, big glass walls, dignified concrete and ample proportions. As a result it is much more relaxing than airports where you feel like a piece of baggage on its way to the carousel. Its architect, Ricardo Bofill, has recently also completed the rebuilt Terminal 1.

Santos Dumont, Rio de Janeiro

Since the 1998 closure of Kai Tak, Hong Kong, with its thrilling descent past mountains and above apartment blocks, the approach to Santos Dumont Rio de Janeiro, is unrivalled as the best in the world. Planes wheel past the Sugarloaf mountain and down to a short waterside landing strip that requires special training for pilots. Then a stroll through the terminal takes you almost into the heart of a great city – which is air travel as it should be but almost never is. The airport, which now serves only domestic flights, is named after a great Brazilian aviator and dandy, and its original terminal is a refined work of 1930s modernism.

Dulles Washington DC

Before his death at the age of 51, Finnish-American architect Eero Saarinen designed two celebrations of the jet age that reinvented the design of airports. One, the freeform TWA terminal at JFK, has been compromised by later additions, and is currently closed for refurbishment. The other is Washington Dulles, built in 1962, whose concrete roof, concave side down, hangs like a canvas between rows of angled pillars. It pioneered the idea of the sweeping roof as a metaphor for flight that has since become a well-worn theme of airport design, while its white, temple-like form also has some of the gravitas ofWashington's political monuments.

Kansai Osaka

After Norman Foster's Stansted of 1991 gave new impetus to Saarinen's big-roof concept, Renzo Piano's Kansai airport gave it its most impressive realisation in 1994. The roof rises and falls like a big wave, before neatly morphing into the long, tapering tubes that get you to the departure gates. Built on an artificial island, it looks beautiful from above, with all the complexity of an airport resolved into a single silvery object. It also deals with the inevitable retail better than most, by stowing it into deep canyons under the roof. The fact that the island used to sink at an alarming rate need not worry you too much.

Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong

Norman Foster's practice Foster and Partners has designed three impressive airports – Stansted, Chek Lap Kok in Hong Kong, and the enormous new Terminal 3 in Beijing. Of these Hong Kong gets my vote, Stansted being too compromised by later changes, while Beijing has slightly queasy-making Chinese references: it is allegedly dragon-like, and takes its red-gold colours from the Forbidden City. Hong Kong has a calm, rhythmic series of vaults with views through big glass walls to planes and mountains. As at Stansted and Beijing the design still gets embarrassed by the presence of shops, as if it were hoping they would go away. They won't, and airport architects should get used to it.

Barajas, Madrid

Barajas, Madrid, by Rogers Stirk Harbour and Partners, is yet another swoopy roof, but the simple idea of lining the ceiling with bamboo gives it a different feeling. It is soothing, rather than mechanical. Steel struts are painted in all colours of the rainbow, grading from red to violet along the length of the building – a potentially cheesy idea that comes off. The joyfulness of Barajas compared with the clunkier Terminal 5 at Heathrow (which was designed by the same architects) says much about the way this country goes about getting big buildings built.

Charles de Gaulle, Paris

The original terminal building of Charles de Gaulle airport, completed in 1974, is the sort of futuristic fantasy for which the French have a special talent. A great concrete cylinder, its central void is criss-crossed by glass tubes, enclosing smooth-moving travelators as if in a Dalek city. On the outside, roads sweep up high on its flanks on vertiginous bridges. Designed by Paul Andreu, a French architect whose most famous work it is, it is playful and inspiring at the same time. Pleasure in its design is limited, however, by knowing about the fatal collapse of part of the later Terminal 2E, in 2004.

Banjul Gambia

Banjul Airport, Gambia, wins a prize for its sheer indifference to all the usual clichés and conventions of airport design. True, it goes like many others for something a bit wing-like, but the gratuitous projections at its sides are nothing like the swoops of Saarinen or Piano. It also goes, for no particular reason, for an arch in its centre with a bigger inverted arch above. A tongue-like canopy then sticks out from the mouth-like arch. The work of the Senegalese Pierre Goudiaby Atepa, its main design principle would appear to be to do stuff for the sheer hell of it.

Changi, Singapore

I don't know why so many airports are designed as metaphors for flight. Why do you need a metaphor when you've got the real thing? Why not have a metaphor for the ground on which you're landing? In any case Singapore Changi Airport has always opted instead for symbols – not metaphors exactly – of opulence. They like fish tanks, fountains and verdant planting, and school parties are taken round in obedient crocodiles to admire it all. Since 2008 it has also included its Terminal 3, by American architects SOM. The roof is as flat as the many football pitches it equals in area, but is fitted with an intricate system of shutters and louvres that filter the light in intriguing pixellated patterns. It's a bit bling, but in a nice way.

King Abdulaziz Jeddah

SOM also designed Jeddah airport, which, as the place of arrival for Mecca, handles a huge increase in passenger numbers during the annual hajj. SOM created a 120-acre canopy composed as a series of tents. It could have been patronising, and I confess I haven't seen it in person, but the effect looks impressive in photographs. It was completed in 1981, and it's hard to imagine an American practice being given a commission of such sensitivity to Muslims now. Indeed, at the time of writing, someone has described SOM on Wikipedia as "futki", which in the Bangladeshi dialect of Sylheti means "arsehole".

BEIJING (Reuters) - Hundreds in China's southern export hub of Guangdong scuffled with police at a weekend protest to support the local Cantonese dialect, a witness said, with a small group of reporters and protesters briefly detained by police.

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Explore : Asia, China, World

Cantonese speakers rallied yesterday in Guangzhou, China protesting for the preservation of their native dialect in southern China. Supporters gathered primarily at a Guangzhou metro area dressed white shirts some reading " I Love Canton" or bearing other slogans. Hong Kong and Guangzhou are incensed that Beijing's party cadre want to change the local broadcast language for the 2010 Asian Games from Cantonese to Mandarin.

The poster above reads: “To eliminate a language, start in their schools”. An allusion to a quote attributed to Hitler: “To eliminate a people, first eliminate their language.”

Twitter and Facebook, despite being blocked in mainland China were alive with comments on pages, groups and online conversations using the hashtags #Yue ( the old name for Guangzhou), #cantonese #81action ( refers to the date of the first protest)  and others. Organizershope to preserve  their mother tongue despite government orders calling for a halt to the protests.

Yesterday's Bangkok Times reported: "China has long been a patchwork of often mutually unintelligible dialects, but Mandarin -- which is based on the traditional dialect of Beijing -- became the lingua franca of the nation beginning with the Qing dynasty (1644-1911).

Beijing made Mandarin the country's official language in 1982, leading to bans on other dialects at many radio and television stations.

Mandarin's strength has increased since the 1949 Communist takeover as authorities sought to promote its use as a unifying force for the nation.

It has been further promoted in recent years as migrant workers who speak their own dialects moved to China's coastal areas to find jobs.

That has caused disquiet in areas with their own strong language traditions, such as Tibet, Xinjiang, Inner Mongolia and Guangdong."

The peaceful protests brought out a hundreds of unifromed and plainclothes police and soldiers who monitored metro entrances and gathering spots around the city.

Guangzhou is hypervigilant ahead of the 2010 games and taking extreme steps to ostensibly ensure the safety and security of visitors though locals and long term expatriates have complained of harassment and abuses by local police. See: Harmonious Games

BEIJING (Reuters) - Authorities in China's southern city of Guangzhou will punish people who try and organize any more protests in support of the Cantonese dialect, a state-run newspaper said on Friday.

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Explore : Asia, China, Guangzhou, World

Protesters in Guangzhou demonstrated in support of the local language on Sunday, the Global Times reports:

Occasionally, some youngsters took turns giving passionate speeches in Cantonese to cheering crowds.

"I stand for multiculturalism, and I strongly oppose the government's plan to promote Putonghua with administrative means," an editor at a local publishing house, surnamed Yan, told the Global Times.

As a dialect, Cantonese has its own unique charms and Guangzhou should keep its distinctive style and character, Yan continued.

Additional reporting at The Guardian. And a view from the north: a Beijing Evening News op-ed from last week cast the whole controversy as the work of a few news broadcasters worried about losing their jobs.

Link picked by Danwei.org

BEIJING — Every year during the height of the rainy season, villagers of all ages in a corner of southwestern China would suddenly die of cardiac arrest.

No one knew what caused Yunnan Sudden Death Syndrome, blamed for an estimated 400 deaths in the past three decades.

After a five-year study, an elite investigative unit from China's Center for Disease Control and Prevention believes it has pinpointed the cause: an innocuous-looking mushroom known as Little White.

The search for the culprit took investigators to remote villages spread over the rural highlands of Yunnan province, said Robert Fontaine, an epidemiologist with the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

There was "this very obvious clustering of deaths in villages in very short periods of time in the summer," said Fontaine, who helped in the investigation. "It appears that there was something a little different going on."

Local health officials had noted the deaths for years. In 2004, they appealed to Beijing for assistance. The government gave the task to the China Field Epidemiology Training Program, a unit of medical investigators at China's CDC assigned some of the country's toughest health mysteries.

The medical teams encountered obstacles. Many villagers communicated in their own dialect. Villages were scattered in often remote areas. Rapid burials made it difficult to conduct autopsies. Torrential rain and mudslides hampered travel.

But that first year, investigators were able to narrow the list of possibilities: most victims had drunk surface water, they had emotional stress and they ate mushrooms.

The investigators zeroed in on mushrooms, because the deaths were closely aligned with the harvesting season. More than 90 percent of the deaths occurred in July or August. By the end of 2005, investigators began issuing warnings to some villages to avoid eating unfamiliar mushrooms.

That was a difficult order to follow. Yunnan province is legendary for its wide variety of wild mushrooms, many of which are exported at high prices. Entire families go out to hunt for them during the summer months.

By 2008, investigators had discovered a relatively unknown mushroom in a number of homes where people had died. The mushroom is not usually sold in the markets, because it's too small.

"We repeatedly found it at all these sites," Fontaine said.

A public information campaign to warn against eating the mushrooms has dramatically reduced the number of deaths. Only a handful have been reported in the last couple of years, and none so far this year.

However, the mystery has not yet been definitively solved.

Testing found the mushroom contained some toxins, though not enough to be deadly. Chinese scientists need to isolate the toxin and test whether it triggers cardiac arrests.

Researchers have hypothesized that there is a second agent. Many of the victims showed high levels of barium, a heavy metal in the soil that seeps into mushrooms.

"There is a lot of work left to do," Fontaine said. "We really need additional lab investigations."

Problems with poisonous mushrooms are common throughout Asia, said Diderik De Vleeschauwer, a spokesman for the U.N. Food and Agriculture Organization regional office in Thailand.

"Normally we expect people to have knowledge of what they can and can't eat. One would think there is indigenous knowledge available about what they can forage," he said. "But these are accidents that can happen."

'Throw away your dictionaries!' is the battle cry as a simplified global hybrid of English conquers cultures and continents. In this extract from his new book, Globish, Robert McCrum tells the story of a linguistic phenomenon – and its links to big money

Globalisation is a word that first slipped into its current usage during the 1960s; and the globalisation of English, and English literature, law, money and values, is the cultural revolution of my generation. Combined with the biggest IT innovations since Gutenberg, it continues to inspire the most comprehensive transformation of our society in 500, even 1,000, years. This is a story I have followed, and contributed to, in a modest way, ever since I wrote the BBC and PBS television series The Story of English, with William Cran and Robert MacNeil, in the early 1980s. When Bill Gates was still an obscure Seattle software nerd, and the latest cool invention to transform international telephone lines was the fax, we believed we were providing a snapshot of the English language at the peak of its power and influence, a reflection of the Anglo-American hegemony. Naturally, we saw our efforts as ephemeral. Language and culture, we knew, are in flux. Any attempts to pin them down would be antiquarianism at best, doomed at worst. Besides, some of the experts we talked to believed that English, like Latin before it, was already showing signs of breaking up into mutually unintelligible variants. The Story of English might turn out to be a last hurrah.

We were, of course, dead wrong. The global power and influence of Anglo-American language and culture in the broadest sense were about to hit another new high. When the cold war ended, after the Berlin Wall came down, and once the internet took off in the 1990s, there was an astonishing new landscape to explore and describe. Sometimes during these years the spread of Anglo-American culture seemed like the fulfilment of the ambition expressed by America's founding fathers to play a role "among the Powers of the Earth" derived, as they put it, from "the Laws of Nature". The world had become a planet composed of some 193 countries, all enjoying a greater or lesser familiarity with English and Englishness. Was this the end of Babel?

A hundred years ago, one description of this phenomenon might have been "Anglo- or America-philia", but that will not wash today. Anglo-American culture has so many contemporary faces. It can conjure up elderly gentlemen of Germanic demeanour in brogues and tweed jackets, or a certain kind of American Wasp taking tea and crumpets in Fortnum & Mason. Or it can be found in the angry banlieues of Paris where, echoing the universal tongues of rap music and football, many of the kids are called "Steeve", "Marky", "Britney" or even "Kevin". Again, it can convey the enthusiasm for English of, for example, DJ Static (aka Mike Lai), a Montreal rapper who came to Canada from Hong Kong as a boy of 11 and learned English by repeating the lyrics of hip-hop songs. Or it can describe the excitement of English-language students in Japan who, in the spring of 2009, were filmed by the BBC solemnly repeating extracts from the speeches of Barack Obama as part of their training.

There is also the demotic energy of English in, for instance, contemporary Los Angeles, which is both the multicultural capital of Hispanic California and simultaneously the headquarters of a global movie business, the American dream factory. Cross the Pacific and the perspective changes again. There, you will find Nury Vittachi, aka "Mister Jam", a journalist and novelist of Australian descent now based in Hong Kong, who describes the lingua franca of the Far East as "Englasian" – a m ostly English vocabulary set into Chinese and Hindi syntax. "Throw away your dictionaries," writes Vittachi. "The unwritten language Englasian really is threatening to supplant English as the business language of Asia." Still others speak of "Panglish", the global tongue.

At the dawn of a new millennium the phenomenon of English seems more vivid and universal than ever before. Like a Jackson Pollock of language, countless new variants are adding to the amazing Technicolor texture of the overall picture: urban patois like "Jafaikan"; or local Asian hybrids like Konglish (English in South Korea) and Manglish (Malay and English); or contemporary slang like "cheddar", "phat" and "noob", for "money", "wonderful/great" and 'somebody new/ignorant". Yet, even at its zenith, this has been a fleeting moment, with a tragic reckoning: the 9/11 attack on the twin towers, the Iraq war and the polarisation of the global community in the "war on terror". Overnight, the benign sensations of the 1990s were replaced by something much more chill, and menacing. Since 2001 the achievements of what might be seen as the American century have been swiftly obliterated.

During the presidency of George W Bush American language and culture became associated with unilateral and often irrational policies of a wounded superpower, acts of aggression, masquerading as self-defence and motivated by rage, insecurity and fear. In former times this phase might have resulted in a retreat from the dominant language and culture of the moment. But this did not happen – for two main reasons. First, in 2008, after almost a decade of angry chauvinism, American democracy seemed to rediscover its purpose and elected Barack Obama. Secondly, so-called "soft power" has its own trajectory; there was always an important distinction to be drawn between culture and foreign policy. Young Iranians could hate George W Bush but idolise American pop stars, burn the stars and stripes but splash out on American-style jeans and computers.

Moreover, English had developed a supranational momentum that gave it a life independent of its British, and more especially its American, roots. Already multinational in expression, English was becoming a global phenomenon with a fierce, inner multinational dynamic, an emerging lingua franca described by the historian Benedict Anderson as "a kind of global-hegemonic post-clerical Latin".

Today there is almost no limit to the scope of this subject. The world's varieties of English range from the "crazy English" taught to the Chinese-speaking officials of the Beijing Olympics, to the "voice and accent" manuals issued by Infosys and Microsoft at their Bangalore headquarters. Thus, English today embodies a paradox. To some, it seems to carry the seeds of its own decay. In the heartlands of the mother tongue, there are numerous anxieties about its future: in the United States, language conservatives agonise about the Hispanic threat to American English. But simultaneously, and more stealthily – almost unnoticed, in fact – the real challenge to the English of Shakespeare and the King James Bible comes less from alien speech than from the ceaseless amendments made to English in a myriad daily transactions across the known world. Here, global English, floating free from its troubled British and American past, has begun to take on a life of its own. My prediction is that the 21st-century expression of British and American English – the world's English – is about to make its own declaration of independence from the linguistic past, in both syntax and vocabulary.

In The Prodigal Tongue, "dispatches from the future of English", Mark Abley has a telling passage about the "Latvians and Macedonians, Indonesians and Peruvians, Israelis and Egyptians" who sign up for the official online forum of the rock group Coldplay. To these fans, writes Abley, it doesn't matter that the band consists of three Englishmen and a Scot singing in a tongue that was once confined to part of an island off Europe's coast. Now, wherever on the planet these fans happen to live, music connects them. So does language. As long as they're willing to grope for words in the accelerating global language that Coldplay speaks, the forum gives all its members a chance to speak.

This is the interactive, ever-changing world of global English. At the beginning of the 21st century, rarely has a language and its culture enjoyed such an opportunity to represent the world. In crude numbers alone, English is used, in some form, by approximately 4 billion people, one-third of the planet, and outnumbered only by the speakers of Chinese, approximately 350 million of whom also speak some kind of English.

This has many expressions. In an offshoot of "crazy English", Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was pirated in several Chinese versions, blending storylines lifted from Tolkien and kung-fu epics, with titles like Harry Potter and the Chinese Empire, and Harry Potter and Leopard Walk up to Dragon. At the same time, JK Rowling's triumphant coda to her series would also be launched, in English, from Reykjavik to Quito. This is what happened on the night of 21 July 2007 when a global fraternity of juvenile wizards mobbed bookstore checkouts across the world, with an immediate sale (3.5 million copies in the first week) of the English-language edition. In Germany, the Guardian reported, "muggle", "quidditch" and "house elf" were becoming "part of German schoolchildren's vocabulary".

The world's appetite for English language and culture means that the Royal Shakespeare Company will tour its "Complete Shakespeare" productions worldwide, Manchester United will plan its matches to suit Japanese television schedules and the House of Lords will rule on the use of torture in the "war on terror" using arguments whose roots lie in the debates surrounding Magna Carta. The same pressures mean that, in 2006–07, about 80% of the world's home pages on the world wide web were "in some kind of English", compared to German (4.5%) and Japanese (3.1%), while Microsoft publishes no fewer than 18 versions of its "English language" spellcheckers.

The India of Hobson-Jobson has also found a new global audience. A film such as Mira Nair's Monsoon Wedding is typical of the world's new English culture. The Indian bridegroom has a job in Houston. The wedding guests jet in from Melbourne and Dubai and speak in a mishmash of English and Hindi. Writing in the Sunday Times, Dominic Rushe noted that Bollywood English is "hard to reproduce in print, but feels something like this: "Yudhamanyus ca vikranta uttanaujas ca viryanavan: he lives life in the fast lane." Every English-speaking visitor to India watches with fascination the facility with which contemporary Indians switch from Hindi or Gujarati into English, and then back into a mother tongue. In 2009, the film Slumdog Millionaire took this a stage further. Simon Beaufoy's script, a potpourri of languages, adapted from an Indian novel, was shot in Mumbai, with a British and Indian cast, by Scottish director Danny Boyle, but launched worldwide with an eye on Hollywood's Oscars, where it eventually cleaned up.

India illustrates the interplay of British colonialism and a booming multinational economy. Take, for instance, the 2006 Man Booker prize. First, the result was broadcast on the BBC World Service from Delhi to Vancouver. The winner was The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai, an Indian-born writer who had attended writing classes in New York. So far removed from any English experience, though steeped in its literary tradition, was The Inheritance of Loss that, finally, the British critic John Sutherland was moved to describe Desai's work as "a globalised novel for a globalised world". The writer herself is emblematic of the world's new culture: educated in Britain and America, she wrote her novel in her mother Anita Desai's house in the foothills of the Himalayas, and boasts on her website of feeling "no alienation or dislocation" in her transmigration between three continents.

The Inheritance of Loss is the literary representation of a contemporary experience. Desai says that her book "tries to capture what it means to live between east and west, and what it means to be an immigrant"; it also explores "what happens when a western element is introduced to a country that is not of the west". She also asks: "How does the imbalance between these two worlds change a person's thinking and feeling? How do these changes manifest themselves in a personal sphere over time?" Or, she might have added, in a linguistic and cultural sphere.

By 2010 Britain's role in the world, no longer colonial, is to participate in the international rendering of English and its culture. Like an elderly relative at a teenage rave, the UK sponsors the consumption of English as a highly desirable social and cultural force, "the worldwide dialect of the third millennium".

Those are the words of Jean-Paul Nerrière, a French-speaking former IBM executive and amateur linguistic scholar. In 1995, Nerrière, who had noticed that non-native English-speakers in the Far East communicated more successfully in English with their Korean and Japanese clients than competing British or American executives, formulated the idea of "decaffeinated English" and, in a moment of inspiration, christened it "Globish". His idea quickly caught on. In The Last Word, his dispatches from the frontline of language change, journalist Ben Macintyre writes: "I was recently waiting for a flight in Delhi, when I overheard a conversation between a Spanish UN peacekeeper and an Indian soldier. The Indian spoke no Spanish; the Spaniard spoke no Punjabi. Yet they understood one another easily. The language they spoke was a highly simplified form of English, without grammar or structure, but perfectly comprehensible, to them and to me. Only now do I realise that they were speaking "Globish", the newest and most widely spoken language in the world."

For Nerrière, Globish starts from a utilitarian vocabulary of some 1,500 words, is designed for use by non-native speakers, and is currently popularised in two (French-language) handbooks, Découvrez le Globish and Parlez Globish. As a concept, "Globish" is now quite widely recognised across the European Union, and is often referred to by Europeans who use English in their everyday interactions.

In 2007, having read about Jean-Paul Nerrière in the International Herald Tribune , I interviewed him in Paris. He turned out to be a delightful Frenchman, with quixotic ambitions not only for global fraternity but also for the preservation of the French language. "Globish", he told me over a steak frites in a little restaurant opposite the Gare du Nord, "will limit the influence of the English language dramatically." As I returned to London, I reflected that "Globish" was more than just a new word for a dialect or an international communication tool. It was a description of a lingua franca, but with a difference. On further consideration, it was also a metaphor for the novelty of global English culture today.

As we enter the second decade of the new century, we are witnessing, in Globish, a contemporary phenomenon of extraordinary range and complexity, expressing a new world of global interconnections. When I was completing the first draft of my book in October 2008, I would break off from the day's work to watch the television news. These were momentous hours, as the "credit crunch" swiftly became the "global financial crisis". Hour after hour, there were reports of falling markets in Japan, Hong Kong, Singapore, Frankfurt, Paris, Milan, London and New York. Across a dozen different time zones, financial journalists in each of these cities filed reports for their national desks, but the language of the crisis was unvaryingly Globish. European finance ministers held urgent press conferences, addressing the world's media in Globish. The doomed prime minister of Iceland, Geir Haarde, watching his country slide into bankruptcy, stoically maintained an even flow of Globish sentiment to calm the nerves of his people while appealing to an international television audience.

The crisis of Meltdown Monday (and its successive aftershocks) emphasised that Globish is a cultural and media phenomenon, one whose infrastructure is economic as much as cultural. Boom or bust, it is a story of "follow the money". Globish remains based on trade, advertising and the global market. Traders in Singapore inevitably communicate in local languages at home; internationally they default to Globish. Now the global equation ran as follows: Microsoft plus Dow Jones = Globish. So viral is its ceaseless expression round the world that to separate cause and effect is virtually impossible. With its supranational momentum, above and beyond American and British influence, Globish sustains itself as both chicken and egg. To a world community in economic turmoil, at least it offers a means of sharing remedies and counter-measures.

To be realistic: Globish has become an extraordinary phenomenon, but it has not replaced Babel. Language evolves like the species, slowly. The world, flatter and smaller than ever before, is still distinctive as much for its approximately 5,000 different languages as for its emerging Globish. The big picture is infinitely complex, with native speakers clinging fiercely to their ancient languages. Jacques Chirac,

former president of France, once said that nothing would be more

damaging for humanity than for several thousand languages to be

reduced to one. The Sunday Times

commented that 'to be born an English-speaker is

to win one of the top prizes in life's lottery. And this can be said

without a hint of triumphalism, sexism, or racism, without annoying

anybody much except the French.'

Is this anglophone future really secure? And, if so, wWhat might Globish achieve in such an arena? When it comes to the future of any language, the cultural commentator is advised to proceed with caution. The highway of English is littered with the debris of burned-out predictions. I recall, with affection, the former chief editor of the Oxford English Dictionary, Robert Burchfield, a distinguished lexicographer who was always a sparkling refutation of Dr Johnson's celebrated definition. Burchfield was never "a harmless drudge". In fact, he made the language news. More accurately, he recognised that what was happening to the mother tongue in the late 20th century was unprecedented, and he used his position at Oxford to publicise the fact.

According to Burchfield, English was like Latin. Just as Latin broke up into mutually unintelligible languages like French, Spanish and Italian, so would global English similarly disintegrate into separate, mutually distinctive tongues. To the delight of leader-writers from Sydney to Saskatchewan, he pointed out that, historically speaking, languages have always had a tendency to break up, or to evolve. There were, he argued, some "powerful models of the severance of a language into two or more constituent parts, especially the emergence of the great Germanic languages of western Europe – English, German, Dutch, Norwegian, Swedish, and so on – from the mutually intelligible dialects of the 5th century. The obvious objection to this model, which his critics were swift to deploy, was the contemporary vigour and interconnectedness of global English. In the age of mass media, the future of world English, said Burchfield's opponents, would never follow the Latin model. To which he replied that such objections overlooked one vital fact: "English, as the second language of many speakers in countries throughout the world, is no more likely to survive the inevitable political changes of the future than did Latin, once the second language of the governing classes or regions within the Roman Empire." At the moment when Burchfield made this pronouncement the global reach of English was inextricably bound up with American power, on the Roman model. These were the Reagan years. In this new imperium, the local varieties, for example Asian, Indian and Caribbean English, did seem to illustrate the argument for centrifugal change.

Once the cold war ended, the nature of American power became transformed. Today, with the emergence of Globish, the evolution of the "new Englishes" into separate languages seems increasingly unlikely. The broad river of Globish becomes the beneficiary of these sparkling tributaries. Moreover, the colossal financial underpinning of Globish (many trillions of dollars) must ensure its viability, at least for now.

Culture is about identity. For as long as the peoples of the world wish to express themselves in terms of ideas like "freedom", "individuality" and "originality", and for as long as there are generations of the world's schoolchildren versed in Shakespeare, The Simpsons, the Declaration of Independence and the Bible, Globish will remain the means by which an educated minority of the planet communicates in the quest for a better world.

A typical work day for Li the soy sauce man

During the Spring Festival, I took a trip across a large part of China, with short stays in three prefecture-level cities: Xingtai in Hebei, Mianyang in Sichuan, and
Rizhao in Shandong. This article is the first of a series depicting my firsthand observations of these lesser known Chinese cities.

Li, the central character, is a former-classmate of mine who has been a traveling salesman for a Guangdong-based soy sauce brand. His life is in many ways representative of the post-80s generation who now starting to move to the center stage of society.

Nanchang, the capital city of Jiangxi is known for being the cradle of the Chinese communist revolution. During my stay there from 2004 to 2008, I often heard locals proudly referring to their city as the "city of heroes". Though I had reservations about such a cliché, nothing prevented me from exploiting this soft spot to gain local favors. It seems to me, flattery is always the first strategy to find friends.

But my friendship with Li the soy sauce man did not start with flattery.

Our first encounter was on a scorching September day, typical in Nanchang, a city that is called one of China's "four ovens" (四大火炉). We were inside a small branch of the Construction Bank, crammed in with hundreds of freshmen who needed to deposit their tuition fees. In the midst of a cacophony of hundreds of dialect-tinged human sounds, I was attracted by an overpowering voice with a distinct Sichuan flavor.

"What are you talking about? You should know that the comfort of home does you no good. For a real man, home is wherever he is... Explore the big world, that is exactly why I am here! ..." A bespectacled student, rather tall, passionately admonished his sad-looking and much shorter friend. His speech went on and on, and I decided that he was either a self-righteous hypocrite, or a bully who derived great pleasure from making other people feel miserable.

So that night, after a disorienting day of lining-up for various registrations, university-issued items and what must be the most pompous of speeches, we were allowed to retire to our designated dormitories. Exhausted as I was, I didn't even notice that there was another person on the opposite bed busily setting up a mosquito net. When he first spoke out, I recognized him instantly: Oh no, not the preacher boy!

Our graduation photo: Li is second from left in the second row

As if my first impression towards Li wasn't negative enough, a string of incidents in the following days deepened the chasm between us. The reasons, like most things that make people dislike each other, were not important: To me, Li had too little self-control over food: he ate too much and the noises he made when eating made me hard to concentrate on my reading. When he spilled some grease from one of his snacks on a book I lent him, what started as a small row spiraled into a full-scale cold war.

But time did the magic. I guess at the end of the day we both had became mature enough to put things into perspective and to certain degree got used to each other's different approaches. But it was one day last year when I received a unexpected phone call from Li that I realized we were after all friends. I was excited to be in touch again. Last year when he asked if I could accommodate him for the October holiday, I said it wouldn't be a problem; when I learned later that he couldn't make it, I told him I might be able to visit him soon.

At that time I had little idea about his whereabouts and what he did except a vague idea that he worked for a soy sauce company and traveled a lot. Through our few brief phone conversation, it seemed he always called from a different city: Foshan, Taiyuan, Tangshan, Shijiazhuang. This even lead me to adopt a new way of greeting him: Where are you this time?

The last time, he told me that he was in Xingtai, Hebei Province, a city that I had difficulty to pinpoint from a map despite once learning the name in my geography text book as a middle school student.

On January 28 this year, I got up early and took subway to Military Museum, which is north of the West Station. A motor tricycle driver took me to the station for five yuan; that was less than half the fair of a taxi ride. While I was waiting for the train, a shocking scene unfolded in front of me: a man was held against the wall by another. At moments the man seemed trying to break himself from the aggressor's grip, but all his effort didn't amount to much. While I was there he never cried out for help. It was like watching a terrible violent movie with sound turned off. My high spirits about traveling to a new place were dampened a little.

It took five hours to get to Xingtai. I received a message at the platform from Li telling me to wait for him to pick me up. Out of the exit gate, taxi drivers were touting services to the arriving travelers; it reminded me of tv programs showing North American grizzlies catching salmons during the breeding season. It was obvious that these drivers had it tougher than their colleagues in Beijing, who never have to bargain for 10 minutes about five yuan.

Li looked a little fatter; other than that, nothing changed. He appeared as cheerful as he used to be and he was laughing as always. After measuring me up, he told me "You haven't changed at all". I told him that I had been commissioned to write a story about his life as a traveling salesman and make a short documentary about it.

Li was cool with the idea. After all, he had been one of my two avid cheerleaders for my endeavor in making short videos. The other one insisted that we should make a porno together with him being the leading male role. Li never went that far, but did volunteer for my experimental efforts. This time, he agreed to let me follow him on his daily routine and document everything I see － a big favor given how often I meet people who shun a video camera.

We did not have long to make the video: after I arrived, Li told me he was about to quit the job. I asked him if it was because of money, but he denied it. "It wasn't about money", he said, "I am just tired of this way of life". He longed to return home. A flashback took me back to the very first day we met and his speech at the Nanchang bank about the high adventures that he dreamed. Even during the last days at university when we didn't see each other around that often, he once told me how excited he was about the prospect offered by his job to see a bigger part of the country. So what happened during his one and half years of working experience?

Li was hired in the winter of 2007 by a Guangdong soy sauce company. The news that a soy sauce company went to the university for hiring didn't inspire much enthusiasm among the students. Soy sauce, a condiment made mainly from fermented beans, is such a common item that in Chinese language, the reference "油盐酱醋茶" (oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar and tea) usually carries an undertone of exasperation regarding the mundanity of daily life.

Like the other necessities, the virtue of soy sauce is often under-valued for the same reason King Lear was enraged by his daughter's parallel of him to salt. How much angrier he would be had his daughter told him: "Daddy, I love you as much as soy sauce"!

So for a while after Li got hired by the soy sauce company, within our small living quarters where such information travels fast through gossips, people joked about the "soy sauce seller". Innocent as the joke appears to be, there is a well-concealed sense of contempt: traditionally soy sauce was sold by street peddlers, not well-educated university graduates. What a waste!

I have to say most would-be graduates' have similar self-images when it comes to career choices. Most want to land white-collar office jobs, ideally in one of the big cities, for one of the top 500 multinationals. They would look as posh as those in any Korea soap. If that is unobtainable, stable employment within the state "system" is also welcome. For many students, teaching at a school or passing the test to be a public servant means guarantee of a permanent contract as well as considerable protection from the uncertainties of the market economy.

A university job fair at my university in 2008

Students waiting outside of the job fair to submit their resumes

But Li had his own mind. In the summer of 2007 when the bullish stock market seemed on steroids and continued to surprise people hitting new highs, everywhere you go, people were talking about stocks. Even in our class, professors gave their insight. With no independent means, Li gambled his total tuition fee on stocks. He got lucky: by the time the university angrily called his unwitting parents and threatened to demerit him, Li had made a handsome return enough to buy himself a brand new mobile phone.

In September 2008, Li went from Nanchang to Foshan with the work contract he had signed nine months previously. But he didn't start working right away.

In the first days of his employment, Li practiced goose-stepping and standing erect in the scorching sun under the instruction of PLA soldiers. Such practices were supposedly ordered by the past leader Deng Xiaoping, who was aghast by the liberal bent of the university students expressed in the famous June and believed that military trainning would instill discipline into them to correct what must be personality flaws. Now, this type of military training has become so popular that even corporations have adopted it to train their new employees.

Right after the "military training", Li and the other new employees started to toil in the production lines, no different from the less educated "ordinary workers": brushing bottles, loading trucks, sealing cartons. This was supposed to serve two ends: to shed the university graduates' sense of entitlement associated with their better education, and to eliminate the feeble ones who were not ready for hard work. After a month of intense labor, classes were set up where corporate values and marketing were the two major subjects. "They want to implant into you the faith that the company is the greatest and that you should feel privileged to be part of it and should do everything to glorify it"

Two months later, with a mind deemed proper for work, Li was sent to the company's Tangshan office with another three newbies, they were put under the charge of the senior people already there and were supposed to put what they learned in books into practice as well as acquire skills from their more experienced colleagues.

－ to be continued

This article is from Danwei.org.

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A typical work day for Li the soy sauce man

During the Spring Festival, I took a trip across a large part of China, with short stays in three prefecture-level cities: Xingtai in Hebei, Mianyang in Sichuan, and
Rizhao in Shandong. This article is the first of a series depicting my firsthand observations of these lesser known Chinese cities.

Li, the central character, is a former-classmate of mine who has been a traveling salesman for a Guangdong-based soy sauce brand. His life is in many ways representative of the post-80s generation who now starting to move to the center stage of society.

Nanchang, the capital city of Jiangxi is known for being the cradle of the Chinese communist revolution. When I went to university there from 2004 to 2008, I often heard locals proudly referring to their city as the "city of heroes". Though I had reservations about such a cliché, nothing prevented me from exploiting this soft spot to gain local favors. It seems to me, flattery is always the first strategy to find friends.

But my friendship with Li the soy sauce man did not start with flattery.

Our first encounter was on a scorching September day, typical in Nanchang, a city that is called one of China's "four ovens" (四大火炉). We were inside a small branch of the Construction Bank, crammed in with hundreds of freshmen who needed to deposit their tuition fees. In the midst of a cacophony of hundreds of dialect-tinged human sounds, I was attracted by an overpowering voice with a distinct Sichuan flavor.

"What are you talking about? You should know that the comfort of home does you no good. For a real man, home is wherever he is... Explore the big world, that is exactly why I am here! ..." A bespectacled student, rather tall, passionately admonished his sad-looking and much shorter friend. His speech went on and on, and I decided that he was either a self-righteous hypocrite, or a bully who derived great pleasure from making other people feel miserable.

So that night, after a disorienting day of lining-up for various registrations, receiving a various university-issued items and being forced to listen to the most pompous of speeches, we were allowed to retire to our designated dormitories. Exhausted as I was, I didn't notice that there was another person on the opposite bed busily setting up a mosquito net. When he first spoke out, I recognized him instantly: Oh no, not the preacher boy!

Our graduation photo: Li is second from left in the second row

As if my first impression towards Li wasn't negative enough, a string of incidents in the following days deepened the chasm between us. The reasons, like most things that make people dislike each other, were not important: To me, Li had too little self-control over food: he ate too much and made noises when eating. When he spilled some grease from one of his snacks on a book I lent him, what started as a small row spiraled into a full-scale cold war.

But time did the magic. I guess at the end of the day we both had became mature enough to put things into perspective and to certain degree got used to each other's different approaches. But it was one day last year when I received a unexpected phone call from Li that I realized we were after all real friends. I was excited to be in touch again. Earlier this year when he asked if I could accommodate him for the October holiday.,I said it wouldn't be a problem; when I learned later that he couldn't make it, I told him I would visit him soon.

At that time I was not sure about his whereabouts and what he did except a vague idea that he worked for a soy sauce company and traveled a lot. Through our few contacts, it seemed he always called me from a different city: Foshan, Taiyuan, Tangshan, Shijiazhuang. This even lead me to adopt a new way of greeting him: Where are you this time?

The last time, he told me that he was in Xingtai, Hebei Province, a city I that I had difficult to pinpoint from a map despite once learning the name in my geography text book as a middle school student.

On January 28 this year, I got up early and took subway to Military Museum, which is north of the West Station. A motor tricycle driver took me to the station for five yuan; that was less than half the fair of a taxi ride. While I was waiting for the train, a shocking scene unfolded in front of me: a man was held against the wall by another. At moments the man seemed trying to break himself from the aggressor's grip, but all his effort didn't amount to much. While I was there he never cried out for help. It was like watching a terrible violent movie with sound turned off. My high spirits about traveling to a new place were dampened a little.

It took five hours to get to Xingtai. I received a message at the platform from Li telling me to wait for him to pick me up. Out of the exit gate, taxi drivers were touting services to the arriving travelers; it reminded me of tv programs showing North American grizzlies catching salmons during the breeding season. It was obvious that these drivers had it tougher than their colleagues in Beijing, who never have to bargain for 10 minutes about five yuan.

Li looked a little fatter; other than that, nothing changed. He appeared as cheerful as he used to be and he was laughing as always. After measuring me up, he told me "You haven't changed at all". I told him that I had been commissioned to write a story about his life as a traveling salesman and make a short documentary about it.

Li was cool with the idea. After all, he had been one of my two avid supporters for my endeavor in making short videos back at university. The other supporter insisted that we should make a porno together with him being the leading male role. Li never went that far, but did volunteer for my experimental efforts. This time, he agreed to let me follow him on his daily routine and document everything I wanted to － a big favor given how often I meet people who shun a video camera.

We did not have long to make the video: after I arrived, Li told me he was about to quit the job. I asked him if it was because of money, but he denied it. "It wasn't about money", he said, "I am just tired of this way of life". He wanted to return home. A flashback took me back to the very first day we met and his speech at the Nanchang bank about the high adventures that he dreamed. Even during the last days at university when we didn't see each other around that often, he once told me how excited he was about the prospect offered by his job to see a bigger part of the country. So what happened during his one and half years of working experience?

Li was hired in the winter of 2007. The news that a Guangdong soy sauce company went to our university for hiring wasn't well-received among the students. Soy sauce, a condiment made mainly from fermented beans, is such a common item that in Chinese language, the reference "油盐酱醋茶" (oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar and tea) usually carries an undertone of exasperation regarding the mundanity of daily life.

Like the other necessities, the virtue of soy sauce is often under-valued for the same reason King Lear was enraged by his daughter's parallel of him to salt. How much angrier he would be had his daughter told him: "Daddy, I love you as much as soy sauce"!

So for a while after Li got hired by the soy sauce company, within our small living quarters, people joked about the "soy sauce seller". Innocent as the joke appears to be, there is a well-concealed sense of contempt: traditionally soy sauce was sold by street peddlers, not well-educated university graduates. What a waste!

I have to say most would-be graduates' have similar self-images when it comes to career choices. Most want to land white-collar office jobs, ideally in one of the big cities, for one of the top 500 multinationals. Stable employment within the state "system" is also welcome. For many students, teaching at a school or passing the exam to be a public servant means guarantee of a permanent contract as well as considerable protection from the uncertainties of the market economy.

A university job fair at my university in 2008

Students waiting outside of the job fair to submit their resumes

But Li was not the type of person to let people decide what is the right thing to do for him. In the summer of 2007 when the bullish stock market continued to surprise people hitting new highs, Li gambled his total tuition fee and savings on stocks. He got lucky: by the time the teacher angrily called his unwitting parents and threatened to demerit him, Li had made a handsome return from the boom and bought himself a brand new mobile phone.

In September 2008, Li went from Nanchang to Foshan with the work contract he had signed nine previously. In the initial days of his employment, Li practiced goose-stepping and standing erect in the scorching sun under the instruction of PLA soldiers. Such practices were supposedly ordered by the past leader Deng Xiaoping, who was aghast by the liberal bent of the university students expressed in the famous June and believed that military discipline might serve to correct this flaw. Now, this type of military training has become so popular that even corporations have adopted it to train their new employees.

Right after the "military training", Li and the other new employees started to toil in the production lines, no different from the less educated "ordinary workers": brushing bottles, loading trucks, sealing cartons. This was supposed to serve two ends: to shed the university graduates' sense of entitlement associated with their better education, and to eliminate the feeble ones who were not ready for hard work. After a month of intense labor, classes were set up where corporate values and marketing were the two major subjects. "They want to implant into you the faith that the company is the greatest and that you should feel privileged to be part of it and should do everything to glorify it"

Two months later, with a mind deemed proper for work, Li was sent to the company's Tangshan office with another three newbies, they were put under the charge of the senior people already there. They were supposed to put what they learned in books into practice and to acquire skills from their more experienced colleagues.

－ to be continued

This article is from Danwei.org.

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Mainland accessible mirror on Danwei.TV

Jobs in China: danweijobs.com

What is happening in Iran cannot be reduced to a story of politics or power, nor understood only in terms of words and actions. The change that is underway is also taking place at a deeper level of sensibility and emotion - felt by many millions but only rarely expressed in ways that easily translate into the public arena.

There are valuable ways of acquiring a surface feel for this change. One is to access some of the wealth of visual images and other communication networks that are a central feature of the Iranian protest-movement that has grown since the contested presidential election of June 2009.   

On 16 February 2010, for example - the week of the anniversary of the revolution of 1979, marked by a huge official demonstration in Tehran - an anonymous video of the death of Neda Agha-Soltan on 20 June 2009 was given the prestigious Polk award. John Darnton, curator of the Polk awards described this record of the shooting of an innocent young student passer-by as the “iconic image of the Iranian resistance”. He added: “This award celebrates the fact that, in today’s world, a brave bystander with a cellphone camera can use video-sharing and social-networking sites to deliver news.”  

A few days earlier, the award for the World Press Photo of 2009 was given to an intimate photograph taken (by Pietro Masturzo) on one of the boiling nights that following the election, when residents of Tehran would climb to their rooftops and voice their dissent in cries of Allah-o-Akbar.

Ayperi Karabuda Ecer, the chair of the jury that chose the photo, said that the photo had touched her “both visually and emotionally". Indeed, Iran’s prodemocracy movement has been the source of many such poignant images. Another such, unforgettable for many people inside Iran is one of a young man called Sohrab Arabi. It was taken on the day that he was to disappear.   

The photo shows the 19-year-old Sohrab sitting beside his mother, wearing the sort of comfortably safe demeanour that boys from the ages of 4 to 40  adopt when around their mothers. She is holding a poster of Mir-Hossein Moussavi, the reformist candidate who millions of Iranians believe was the true winner of the presidential elections. Her expression mixes a furrowed brow with a gleam of hope; the overall impression is of is determination. Parvin Fahimi was later to write: “I lost my son on Monday 15 June during a peaceful rally held to protest the election results. The crowds were estimated at a minimum of 3 million. We wanted nothing but peace, tranquility and a freedom of thought”. 

The power of fear

Sohrab, like Neda, has become a symbol of something larger than himself: of Iran’s young people, of the resistance to oppression and deception, even of Iran itself. In his case it is very name that reinforces this almost mystic sense of potency and goodness. It would be hard to find an Iranian over the age of 5 who doesn’t know the story of Rostam and Sohrab, from Ferdowsi’s renowned 10th-century work the Shahnameh (Epic of Kings). The ruler Rostam kills the valiant challenger Sohrab only to find out that the latter is his long-lost son; what makes the event more bitter is that Rostam himself narrowly escaped death thanks to Sohrab’s virtue. The “laws of honour” must prevail, says the Shahnameh, such that “he who brings down a valiant man for the first time should not destroy him, but preserve him for a second battle ".  

Many Sohrabs have been slain in the history of patriarchal Iran. Yet to this day Iranians are reared to treasure the honourable rules of combat that the ancient Sohrab adhered to, and to despise those who flout them. Near Beijing’s Tiananmen Square in 1989 a column of tanks ceded to a lone protester; in Iran in 2009 footage taken on a videophone shows a police-truck trample back and forth over a young protester. China today is one of Iran’s best “friends”, though Tehran has neither the ideological unity among the elite nor the growth economy for the masses that could offer equivalent protection - it has only brute power.  

Since Sohrab was lost to his mother on 15 June 2009 eight, many Iranians have been killed, attacked and imprisoned; many homes similar to the one in Pietro Masturzo’s photo have been invaded and its inhabitants detained for committing the sin of chanting Allah-o-Akbar in the Islamic Republic of Iran. Yet, astonishingly, many persist in using all available means to defend their Iran and show it to the world. Even during the 11 February 2010 events, the drenching official censorship was unable to prevent films of the protests being circulated on Youtube within minutes.

What comes across most forcibly is the enormous security at this “celebration”, with endless rows of military personnel, anti-riot police, and their vehicles. Another videophone film highlights the scale of the military presence, in menacing scenes that were never replicated even during eight years of war against an invading enemy. If the rulers of revolutionary Iran thus reveal fear of their own people, it is in part because they are aware of how far they have breached the “laws of honour”; how many Sohrabs there are.   

The films, images, tweets and blogs that are cast out like messages-in-bottles across the cyber-waves are a central part of people’s struggle to narrate their own stories and present its case for justice. Much of the western media views the issue at stake in terms of a test of strength, and sees the “successful” security clampdown of 11 February 2010 as a decisive thwarting of the opposition. But this struggle is not about street-combat and the toppling of dictators. It is about the coming of age of a generation whose rightful non-violent fight for civil rights is both as ancient and as new as Sohrab.

by Mike Krumboltz

Few things inspire Web searches quite like cute or mysterious animals. This week we had both. Off the coast of California, hundreds of giant squids stormed the beaches, much to the delight of fisherman. And on the East Coast, a couple of adorable pandas boarded a flight bound for their native China. Check out those stories, as well as a clip from the weirdest campaign ad in history. It's the Buzz Week in Review.

The invasion of the giant squids
Our headline may sound like a bad horror movie, but believe it or not, it's also largely accurate. Off the coast of Southern California, hundreds of giant squids have been spotted swimming toward the shore. Some can weigh up to 60 pounds, but the majority are anywhere between 20 and 40 pounds. We ran a popular Buzz Log on the invasion, and immediately searches roared on "giant squids in california" and "Humboldt squids" (their scientific name). While the squids look intimidating, they aren't scaring off the fishing community. In fact, many locals are taking twilight fishing trips in an effort to nab a squid for themselves. You can check out a photo collection from MyFoxLA.
Why do squids squirt ink?

The panda express
Tai Shin, the giant panda bear who left the U.S. to return to his native China, scored a lot of headlines this week. But the popular panda had a fellow passenger on the long flight to Beijing: the lesser-known but equally adorable Mei Lan. According to a buzzy article from Yahoo! News, there are plans for Mei Lan to learn Chinese once she gets settled in her new home. Well, kind of. The article explains that "Chinese zookeepers are advertising for a tutor to teach Chinese" to the American-born panda. A staff member from a Chinese panda facility explained that "she will be taught Chinese with a Sichuan dialect, because people here all speak Sichuan dialect." The goal is for Mei Lan to understand, if not speak, a few simple phrases. If you didn't already feel dumb for knowing only one language, this may put you over the top.
Why do pandas love bamboo?

Sheep may NOT safely graze
Carly Fiorina, former CEO of Hewlett-Packard, is running for senator in California. This past week, her supporters released one of the absolute strangest campaign commercials to ever see the light of day. The ad, an attack against her rival Tom Campbell, features a group of sheep grazing on a hill. But the sheep...are not alone! After an ominous voice warns voters about a wolf in sheep's clothing, we see a bizarre-looking robot sheep (really) with red eyes. The entire thing really has to be seen to be believed, and many folks did exactly that. Web searches on "carly fiorina sheep" and "carly fiorina sheep commercial" both surged into breakout status. Still, while the ad is unintentionally hilarious, it did get people talking. That's gotta be good for at least a few votes.

Also buzzing this week...
• Tiger Woods is cured!
• Toyota's PR meltdown continued.
• The video-game gods predict the Saints will top the Colts.

Follow Buzz Log on Twitter.

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Obama certainly looks down his nose in a condescending manner.  Why do I hear "KNEEELLLLLLLLL  BEFORE ZOD!!!" from Superman II in my ear?

In opening the State of Union, Obama mentioned the Speaker of the House, the Vice President and the American people. What, no acknowledgement of illegal aliens? Obama apparently is not as tolerant as made to appear.

Isn't Chris Matthews forgetting that Obama is Black more offensive then Harry Reid saying "negro dialect"?

By invoking Bull Run & the Bloody Sunday of the civil rights movement in the State of the Union, Obama implies disagreement with him is racist.

Obama claimed he took office amidst growing government debt.  It's getting even worse under him.

Biden certainly seemed gleeful about hosing the banks.  Biden looked like a bobblehead the way he couldn't keep his neck still.

Guess we’ll see at tax time if Obama is blowing smoke up our rears about not raising taxes.

If Obama is supposedly one of the greatest orators of world history surpassing Bush’s limited elocutionary abilities, why did he use the word “cops” rather than “police”?

President plans to toss $30 billion here; $30 billion there.  Reminds me of the Simpsons bit about Internet stock.

And what if the job bill Obama demands “without delay” is delayed?

I guess all that clean energy technology China is inventing was the cause of all that smog at the Beijing Olympics.

Will Obama really allow offshore drilling or is this a phantom promise like clean-coal technology?

Pelosi’s grin is scarier than the Joker’s.

Homeland Security Secretary Janet Naplotano applauds like a lethargic Walrus.

Why does Obama pronounce “Colooombia” with an Hispanic accent?

If everyone needs a college education since Obama decrees that high school is no longer enough for career success, won’t college become as worthless when the government “gives” it to everyone?

Why should future government workers have their student loans forgiven sooner than those in other occupations?

Obama promised to make mortgages more affordable.  Didn’t steps like this cause the housing and banking crisis to begin with?

Frau Obama is to lead a purge against childhood obesity.  May start out as pleas to exercise more, but will likely end with the government monitoring what youngsters eat, threatening to remove from parental custody those not within established guidelines, and eventually the program will be expanded to include adults.  As a former porker now out to change the world, Huckabee will likely endorse this as he also thinks your weight is the government’s business.

If Bush’s prescription drug program was expensive, wouldn’t Obamacare be even more so?

If we are freezing government spending with the exception of outlays related to national security, Medicare, Medicaid, and Social Security, is that really freezing any government spending at all?

Why is $250,000 considered ostentatiously rich?

Obama's said "The more that TV pundits reduce serious debates to silly arguments, big issues into sound bites, our citizens turn away."   This really means that to disagree with Obama is subversive.  Look for more attempts at resurrecting the Fairness Doctrine in the name of diversity, national security, and assorted communitarian drivel.

Are Obama's comments about pundits spreading cynicism "respectful".  Why don't these "turn people away from the process"?

It is claimed that the military will be out of Iraq by the end of August.  Expect the next Iraqi uprising to begin the first of September.

When Obama's claims the Civil Rights Division of the Justice Department is once again prosecuting civil rights violations and employment discrimination, does this include cases on behalf of White people whose rights in the workplace are trod asunder?  If the case of where the charges of voter intimidation were dropped against Black Panthers threatening White folks on election day 2008, it is highly doubtful.

While our values "allowed us to forge a nation made up of immigrants from every corner of the globe", those values did not originate from every corner of the globe.  Like it or not, those are largely Western in that they are predominately Judoe-Christian and Greco-Roman.

Obama should be ashamed if he accepts the donation to Haiti from the 8 year old boy.  Notice how Obama did not recommend people send their charitable donations through a private organization instead.

America still faces a potential Obama dictatorship.  His attitude towards the Supreme court is quite chilling.  Now leftists are condemning Justice Alito for not taking his rump kicking with a "Please sir, may I have another."

Congress needs to get a handle on this presidential executive order thing irrespective of the administration issuing these decrees or our Republic is through.

In the Republican response, Virginia Governor Bob McDonnell used "her" as a universal pronoun.  If one is not using designations for both genders, "him" is the grammatically correct one to use.

Fox News counted 86 rounds of applause.  I tabulated 93 instances of clapping.  Some of it seemed more subdued than in previous years.

Karl Rove claimed Obama said "I" 96 times.  Reminds me of that scene in the series finale of the original Prisoner.  In my college days, one usually got points deducted for overuse of the first person personal pronoun. At least Bob Dole had the decency to begin his sentences with "Bob Dole".

by Frederick Meekins

Corporations, nonprofits and government alike are throwing down major yuan to prevent the imminent extinction of 4,000-year old Nushu, a Hunan dialect that may have inadvertently started its own feminist movement. [Guardian] So, it seems the Chinese...

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Explore : Google, Technology

Corporations, nonprofits and government alike are throwing down major yuan to prevent the imminent extinction of 4,000-year old Nushu, a Hunan dialect that may have inadvertently started its own feminist movement. [ Guardian ] So, it seems the Chinese criminals behind that whole Google hacking business found their way into the system through a loophole Google deliberately wrote into the Gmail...

Source : Shanghaiist (subscribe)

Explore : Canada, Google, Technology

• Corporations, nonprofits and government alike are throwing down major yuan to prevent the imminent extinction of 4,000-year old Nushu, a Hunan dialect that may have inadvertently started its own feminist movement. [Guardian]
• So, it seems the Chinese criminals behind that whole Google hacking business found their way into the system through a loophole Google deliberately wrote into the Gmail code in order to facilitate the US spying on its own citizens. [CNN]
• Six of eleven mainland Chinese companies listed on Singapore's stock exchange have defaulted on their bonds. The most notable offender? A Heilongjiang operation that produces bull semen and cow embryos. [Business Insider]
• But there's some good economic news, too! New Horizon Capital, pet project of Hu Jintao's son, has set a goal of reaching $1 billion in funds for investment in "domestic industry leaders". [Reuters]
• The unlikely belle of the ball: Myanmar courts U.S., plays China, India off of one another--and, somehow, keeps everyone wanting more. [Reuters Canada]
• The Chinese milk scandal has now spilled into products manufactured using Sanlu powder as raw material. [People's Daily Online]
• Xie Zenhua, Chinese Development official, insists there is "some uncertainty" on cause of global warming, stresses Beijing's "open attitude"--in spite of the smog obscuring its view. [China Economic Review]
• Shanghai Art Museum, "one of the most acclaimed art museums in [China]," is "not qualified to be a top-priority art museum," receives annual funding insufficient to cover the cost of even one new piece of art. [Global Times]

It is with a heavy heart that we must end the most important sociological experiment of our time. For all that we have learned we are, there is still so much left unanswered about these mystical creatures.

We have all become experts on the looks, loves, and language of the seven guidos that have shared a scant month in the over-sized aquarium of Seaside Heights, but there are still some behaviors that even we can't figure out. Another round of investigation must be launched post haste (and supposedly it is). Though our subject may be tarnished by this initial observation, having to start anew with a whole different generation of the animals might prove disastrous. We'd much rather stick with the patterns that we have already established rather than having to relearn the strange dances and intricate ignorances of a whole new tribe.

What is our biggest question of all? Where the hell does ShamWOWW disappear to? She is like of like that salamander with huge titties and yellow spots on her head that always hides behind the little piece of drift wood in the corner of your tank whenever the light is on. But when you sneak up on her, you catch her fighting with all the other salamanders and being a total wasted mess. Where exactly does she do when everyone else is having fun and why aren't we invited? We want to see more of ShamWOWW, especially if she's out getting obliterated and probably hitting on inappropriate men and most likely snorting Vicodin off the toilet paper holder in the ladies' room at the Beachcomber.

Our other biggest question is whether or not Vinny actually thinks he's funny. Initially timid and shy, as our well-manicured monkey grew more and more familiar with the cameras he began to emerge and we learned that he was cute, sweet, earnest, and a little bit of a lush, but, no, he is not funny. However, he cackled at his own joke—the very unfunny revenge against The Situation where he hung a stuffed bulldog from the ceiling with a Sharpee-made T-shirt that said "The Situation's #1 Girl." Didn't these kids work in a T-Shirt shop? Didn't he have access to professional materials to make this sartorial satire? Wouldn't a touch of class made the joke funnier? And why did he feel the need to explain it? Was the reaction of forced hilarity not enough for him? Did he want everyone to praise his non-existent comedic skills? We already know that he is not a disciple of the ancient rigorous exercise of GTL (that is "gym, tanning, and laundry" to the novitiate). Would he be wittier and more at ease in The Situation's situation if he were buffer, darker, and cleaner? This is why we must have more time to study! A grant is needed!

But before we launch another round of testing, let us first fully understand the jargon that is associated with our subjects.

• Sleeping on the Ground: To be knocked out by a punch and lying on the floor. This is bad news for the sleeper, but to leave someone in this state is a high compliment for a guido. In fact, if a fight does not end this way, it is not a victory and the thrower of the punch will not be afforded the admiration of his peers of sexual congress with his intended mate.
• Gorillas: Large, muscle-bound men, particularly ones of Italian heritage with deep tans and tattoos. Contrary to the connotation of their name, they are more often than not hairless throughout the torso.
• Juice Heads: A man whose musculature is so large and over-emphasized that it is obvious from even the most cursory of observations that he is on steroids or "multiple growth hormone." This is something that attracts the female of the species, even though the enormous muscles usually mean a minuscule penis. These are actually the preferred dimensions for a man, because it makes them adept at "smooshing," their tantamount Tantric sexual activity.
• Brawly: To be so pumped full of steroids that one looks like he is ready to fight at any moment. The look is usually accompanied by rapid mood changes and near psychosis of men on juice, so it is not just a look, but a state of mind.

Now that we are all speaking the same language, let us explore the final mysteries of our tribe.

Why Can't Snooki Get Laid?: Though much maligned by the men and women outside of her small clan, Snooki is always the life of the party. She's cute, funny, outfitted, tanned, poofed, and everything a good guidette needs to be. So, why does she find it nearly impossible to get laid?

As the episode begins we find her searching for a date for some reason. Does she have a prom to go to? Is she really from the old country and needs an American to marry her so she can stay in the country? Why is she so furious for a date when the entire summer she was happy just to suck the juice out of a pickle?

She calls Keith, the gorgeous and gracious guy who she met just a few days previously. The problem is that he is Irish and speaks a foreign dialect of English known as "cowboy." ShamWOWW refers to him as "monotone Keith," not because he has no inflection, but because she doesn't understand a word that he is saying. It's like when a person from Beijing tries to talk to someone from Shanghai—they are both Chinese but their languages are so far apart, they can't make sense of one another. Because of the communication differences, gorgeous Keith refuses to return to the playground of Seaside, leaving our Snickerdoodle alone on her own.

Adding insult to romantic injury, she also runs into her ex boyfriend. He is partying at a hotel pool that is on the rooftop of the boardwalk stores. When Snooki first walks by, a man demands she come up and join him. She says no and demands he comes down. He declines her offer. This shows that for a sexual relationship to begin one of the parties must acquiesce to the will of the other by doing his or her bidding. Once it is determined who is the active partner and who is the passive partner, the roles are set for the entirety of their interaction through all time from Prehistoric Kindergarten to Future Graduation. If neither will be the passive partner, then the relationship must end.

Next, Snooki sees her ex. She yells for him to come down, and he refuses. However, he does not invite her up. This shows that he doesn't want to be active partner or passive partner with Snooki. He doesn't want her at all. This breaks her little heart, which leads us to our next conundrum.

Why Did Snooki and The Situation Hook Up?: Snooki was so upset by the treatment at the hands of men, that she was crying on the deck when The Situation came to comfort her. It was the sweetest thing he's ever done. Next thing you know, they are in the hot tub together.

Is this because on the cast's final night The Situation didn't try to pick up a girl so he needed to prey on one in the house? Does he not know what to do with himself if he is not pursuing sex? Does he need a hobby? Is he an addict? Should he share a room with Tiger? We don't know.

What we do know is why the deal wasn't sealed. When cavorting in the toxic brew of the tub Snooki motioned to The Situation and he moved forward to kiss her. She gave the order and he responded. That means he is the passive partner. Yet, after a bit of hanky panky, he decided that he did not enjoy the passive role, because he had seen the pink strap-on that matches Snooki's cor-sette and he did not think that he was ready for that Situation. In retaliation, he pulls her hair to reassert dominance. Snooki just giggles. She has him in her French-manicured talons, and is not letting go. His only option is to leave—which he does.

Did Sammi and Ronnie Really Break Up?: After a charming dinner alone together and professing their love for one another, Sammi Quinzos and Ron Ron Juiced seemed in the prefect position when leaving the shore house. However, this experiment would not be complete if they didn't engage in one more senseless fight during the reunion show (witness the return of Trash Bags!).

There was some unearthed footage of Sammi and The Situation lying in bed talking. Yes, they were fully clothed. No, nothing happened. Sammi did disclose that she flirted with "The Cop," who is the only straight member of the Pillage Veeple, central New Jersey's premiere "Y.M.C.A." cover band. Ronnie already knew this, so why he is so upset about the new footage is still unclear.

Well, not totally unclear. Their relationship is based on strife, and they will continue to have petty battles well after Sammi pops out two kids and loses her figure and Ronnie stops doing juice and his muscles fade to flab. Then Sammi, working as a dental hygenist in Elizabeth, New Jersey, will start banging the doctor she works for. Then she will leave Ronnie and Elizabeth and move next door to one of the Real Housewives of New Jersey and will join the cast in its 12th season. This will happen in 2022, the year of the beast.

So does it matter if they're still together? Not really.

What the Hell Happened to the Duck Phone?: Everyone left the house but it seems that no one took their household god, the Duck Phone. It was explained on the reunion show that the phone had "morphed."

It appears that this phone was so mistreated by the residents that it went from protecting them and offering them a line of communication to the outside world to hating the very beings that worshiped it. The final slight seemed to be the morning Ronnie was getting bailed out of jail and the phone's flurry of quacks went unanswered for a long time while everyone was asleep with visions of Jaegger shots dancing in their heads. This angered the god, and his eyes burned red with ire.

That is why The Situation couldn't get any girls on the phone and why Snooki was spurned by her would-be future husband Gorgeous Keith over a land line. This was their punishment. He turned into an evil, angry god.

What will he do now that he has been abandoned? He will squawk aimlessly into the deep, dark night waiting for another group of suitable followers who will make sacrifices in his name. He will have his revenge, and call waiting will never be the same again!

Where Is Danielle, Agent of Mossad?: Last we saw stalker Danielle, she was laying in DJ Paulie Diabolical's bed, trying to get him to travel to Israel and bolster the gene pool of her people. Then, like a potato chip in a hot tub, she disappeared into a soggy mess never to be heard from again.

DJ Paulie DNA clarified on the reunion show that when he wouldn't return her calls she drove up to Rhode Island to talk to him in person. He apparently sent her packing, but she will not go down without a fight. In fact, we hear that she is working on a spin off with The Grenade and Trashtastic Paula called Furious Female Fighter Force where each week the Duck Phone quacks and a mysterious voice on the other end gives them a case. It usually ends in the destruction of a guido. Every time that phone rings, a blow-out loses its poof. Also an angel vomits sausage and potatoes all over God's feet. Such is the power of this unique animal.

Native Tongue:

Sammi: "This summer, I slept with Ronnie every single night."

Ronnie: "I spent the night…in county for over reacting, I guess, like the degenerate that I'm not. And it's not cool cause I'm not a criminal."

The Situation: "It went from having a nice night, no fight to snap of a finger and Ronnie's in jail."

Ronnie: "I regret that I got caught, I don't regret that I hit the kid, because he had it coming."

Snooki: "Give me a call when you get this, or I'll give you a call like a stalker."

The Situation: "Big is out and lean is in."

Snooki:"I don't see any fucking guido juice heads. You woke me up for nothing."

The Situation: "Eventually, I make my way over to some girls and do what I do best, which is pimpin'."

The Situation:"It's sort of like a Chuck E Cheese, for dudes."

DJ Paulie D: "We'll take that with us forever, that bond. That was deep. That was fucking deep."

The Situation: "If a guy doesn't like you, same as if a girl doesn't like me, it's called, "Fuck you," and there are so many other people out there."

The Situation: "Here at the shore, one minute you have 3 girls in the hot tub, the next minute someone's getting arrested."

It is not possible to predict political developments in Iran, even for the short-term. It may be realistic to assume, though, that scenarios for Iran in 2010-11 will still be scenarios for the Islamic Republic of Iran – that, in other words, a replacement of the existing system by another is unlikely. True, changes within the Islamic Republic are to be expected. The precise depth and direction of such changes will depend on a variety of factors originating both within Iran and its external environment.

A scenario is not a prediction; quite the contrary, it provides a picture or story of different possible outcomes. It does not tell policy-makers what they have to plan for, but suggests unexpected developments that they might find it useful to think about (see “Iraq in 2012: four scenarios”, 11 September 2007).

But even the “best” scenarios tend to be far less complex than reality itself. It is thus with some inevitable simplification that two main variables can be put forward as likely to determine Iran’s political development in the near future:

* “regime strength”, which is largely a function of the regime’s legitimacy, cohesion, and the availability of material resources

* “external conflict”, which is largely (but not exclusively) tied to the nuclear tensions.                                        

These variables can be plotted against an imaginary graph. The “regime-strength” continuum forms the horizontal axis reaching from regime-consolidation to regime-fragmentation, and the “external-conflict” continuum forms the vertical axis reaching from military action to a nuclear agreement and an Iran-United States rapprochement.

If this is done, four scenarios can be imagined in the short timeframe of eighteen months-to-two-years: that is, between early 2010 and the middle or end of 2011. This is a period when all the relevant players may try many possible options. How do these stories unfold?

Scenario one: a circling of wagons

In early 2010, it is clear that the proposed nuclear agreement between Iran and the so-called “five-plus-one” (the United States, Great Britain, France, Russia, China, and Germany) - negotiated in Geneva and Vienna in autumn 2009 - will not come to pass. Some inconclusive negotiations continue, but fail to result in an agreement. No one announces a failure, or an end to the diplomatic process. But the “five-plus-one” are clearly annoyed and disappointed.

In March 2010, a new United Nations Security Council resolution denounces Iran’s failure to respond positively to former UNSC resolutions and to the package supported by the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA). These in essence stipulate that Iran’s enriched uranium is first processed and then converted into fuel-rods in Russia and France; call on Iran, one more time, to seek an agreement with the “five-plus-one”; and request UN member-states to be particularly vigilant in their transactions with Iran, in order to prevent any breach of previously imposed sanctions (without at this stage imposing a new set of sanctions on Iran).

The United States and the European Union publicly announce that they will further reduce trade and financial interactions with Iran; Russia silently withholds arms-shipments; China declares that all diplomatic options need to be tried before another round of sanctions should be declared. The Chinese oil company Sinopec, however, announces that it will not pursue further an earlier agreement to build an oil-refinery in Iran – solely from business considerations, of course.

In several meetings of the “five-plus-one” in 2010, thresholds for further sanctions are discussed. Iran announces that it has installed a first cascade of centrifuges in its new enrichment-facility in Fordo, and that to mark the occasion of nowruz (Iran’s new year) in March 2011 it will undertake a trial run of the cascade. In response, a new sanctions resolution is tabled and eventually passed at the Security Council. The earlier sanctions (which the advanced powers unilaterally imposed) and the new round together fail to “cripple” Iran or its economy; but they critically hurt its private business sector and increase the weight of illicit trade, the latter predominantly controlled by a group within the Revolutionary Guards.

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Iran’s president, had initially intended to make a deal with the “five-plus-one” and the IAEA. But realising that his opponents within the Iranian political elite will not allow this to happen, he again switches course after the negotiations’ failure. He returns to playing the populist card. The closing of ranks behind the government of opposition leaders (Mir-Hossein Mousavi, Ali Larijani and Hashemi Rafsanjani) in response to open military threats from Israel, and huge demonstrations in defence of the Islamic Republic suggests that the tactic has succeeded. The opposition’s rallying around the flag is also encouraged by the increasing conviction in Iran that the United States and other western powers are behind repeated violent incidents in Baluchestan, and that Barack Obama’s administration has also failed to achieve progress in resolving the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

The number of centrifuges in the Natanz plant that are actually spinning has remained constant, even though the Iranian government had not announced any freeze. The Israeli air force undertakes highly publicised exercises that simulate long-range missions against heavily protected sites – but these stop short of actual attacks.  Washington’s opposition to an Israeli strike is strong enough to prevent it - for now. A sense of confrontation, and that the stalemate will not last forever, remain in the air. Iranians feel increasingly isolated as foreigners - visitors and investors - shun the country. But the domestic front is stable.

Scenario two: a dysfunctional system

The nuclear standoff continues, and there is no deal. In this scenario, however, Russia and China agree to a new UN Security Council resolution in May 2010 that imposes a new round of sanctions. Both countries’ diplomats had made some efforts to rescue the IAEA-brokered draft agreement and moderated it in Iran’s favour; Moscow and Beijing now feel offended by Iran’s inability unambiguously to accept any of the new proposals.

Indeed, Iran has engaged in new provocations: a missile-test, incendiary statements about Israel. A US navy frigate stops a ship loaded with arms of Iranian origin and allegedly destined for Gaza just outside Sudan’s territorial waters.

The new sanctions imposed by the Security Council limit financial transactions with Iran and insurance for Iranian ships. G20 countries refuse to open letters of credit for trade with Iran, and Iranian imports collapse. The economic situation deteriorates visibly; sanctions hurt; in September 2010, the official inflation-rate reaches 37%. A delegation from Tehran’s bazaar demands an urgent meeting with the president, but is rebuffed.

At the beginning of the new school year, protests erupt in universities across the country against stricter basij controls on campuses and the expulsion of activist students and professors. The students are joined by merchants; violent suppression fails to quell the outbreaks of civil disobedience. The police manage to re-establish public order in the universities and the cities after each new wave of protest, but the intense effort this costs leaves the security forces unable to contain unrest in Sistan-Baluchestan and Kurdistan.

There is no Israeli military strike against any nuclear installation. But there is an unexplainable explosion at the conversion-plant in Isfahan during a moonless night in October 2010, which causes an interruption of the uranium-hexafluoride (UF-6) supply to Natanz. A similar explosion in February 2011 at an electrical plant in Tehran that is known to manufacture centrifuge parts raises questions - even in the official Iranian media - about security at important sites.

The political elite is increasingly unhappy with Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. The majlis (parliament) foils the president’s budget-proposal for the new-year beginning in March 2011. Ahmadinejad threatens to press his budget plans regardless; parliament delivers no-confidence votes to the ministers of finance, economy and energy. Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, the supreme leader, seems annoyed by the president’s mismanagement; he does not make any public statements to that effect, but TV shows him more frequently in the company of the speaker of parliament (Ali Larijani) and the head of the experts’ council (Hashemi Rafsanjani). The president appears increasingly weak: unable to deal with dissent in Tehran or instability in the peripheral provinces, where power visibly slips away from government control.

The European Union’s high representative for foreign and security policy makes some attempts to return the nuclear issue to diplomatic engagement, but failed to get a response from Iran’s foreign minister and national-security advisor. The regime seems more and more dysfunctional; both Iranian and foreign observers seem to be waiting for an event that could break the stalemate.

Scenario three: a tightened fist

There is a waning of international attention on Iran as a result of the crisis in North Korea. Iran’s nuclear programme seems to have stalled, partly through a mix of technological problems. The domestic economic situation continues to deteriorate, and there are constant protests by students, merchants and public-sector workers.

The opposition prepares for major demonstrations in June 2011, to mark the second anniversary of the presidential elections of June 2009. Two leaders of the opposition are arrested, and an assembly of clerics in Qom denounces the political repression. A group of basiji storms a gathering of clerics at Mofid University in the holy city; several clerics have to be hospitalised; the police do not interfere. A number of spontaneous demonstrations of solidarity erupt in Tehran and in other cities; prominent clerics ask the supreme leader to intervene and dismiss the leadership of the basij. Ayatollah Khamenei is silent.

The rumours that Khamenei is seriously ill, even that he has died, spread. An open power-struggle erupts. Hashemi Rafsanjani convenes the experts’ council in order to prepare for the election of a new supreme leader; a detachment of Revolutionary Guards seals off the council building in order to prevent the meeting from taking place and Rafsanjani from engineering his own succession to Khamenei. The commander of the guards announces the establishment of an Interim Committee for the Rescue of the Islamic Revolution which temporarily, and as a collective body, assumes the functions of the leader. Parliament is dissolved, and president Ahmadinejad leaves for an urgent medical treatment in Venezuela.

The Interim Committee sends interim foreign minister Saeed Jalili on a lightning tour to Riyadh, Moscow, Paris, and Vienna to reassure regional and international leaders that Iran is under control, but that the temporary government will need a couple of months before it can resume diplomatic action to deal with outstanding questions.

Scenario four: a dual détente

The “five-plus-one” and the IAEA hold a new round of negotiations with their Iranian partners in February 2010 in the attempt to rescue some sort of deal with Tehran. They introduce some minor changes to the procedure envisaged in the nuclear package that was negotiated in Geneva and Vienna in 2009. A revised agreement allows for Iran to deliver two batches of low-enriched uranium (600 kilos each) in direct exchange for French-manufactured fuel-rods for the Tehran research reactor. The Iranian government pledges that, once the deal actually implemented, it would recommit to the rules of the additional protocol of the non-proliferation treaty (NPT). French and American officials declare that the new package is flawed, but that they would accept it in order to build some confidence and start multilateral cooperation with Iran on the nuclear file.

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad convinces Ayatollah Khamenei that a nuclear deal with the IAEA is actually in the best interest of Iran. It represents an implicit acceptance of Iran’s right to enrichment and the peaceful nature of its nuclear programme; it will lead to a freeze and probably a lifting of international sanctions and will thus ease the economic situation; it will reduce external threats to the regime.

A phone-call from the Russian prime minister to the supreme leader, in which he reportedly announced that Russia would be obliged to halt deliveries of conventional arms to Iran if no agreement was reached over the nuclear issue, also helps to convince the leader that a compromise may be necessary. Barack Obama’s state-of-the-union address contains two messages to Iran: first, that the United States would seek and implement stronger sanctions if no deal was reached on the nuclear file within the next month; second, that Washington was prepared to solve all “other issues” with Iran (including the dispute over frozen Iranian assets in the US) if some confidence was restored.

An agreement is signed at the beginning of March 2011. Soon after, experts from the United States and Iran meet and begin to establish Iran’s financial claims on the United States; and to discuss procedures for the establishment of a US visa-section in Tehran by the end of 2010. President Ahmadinejad, in a speech at Tehran University, declares that the engagement with the United States has to be seen as another achievement for the revolution.

Iran’s opposition leaders, unable to stop the president from achieving a diplomatic coup, jump on the train to share the presumed success of a rapprochement with the United States. Ali Larijani announces that the NPT’s additional protocol would be tabled in parliament for discussion (and probably ratification) by autumn 2010. Hashemi Rafsanjani announces that Mahan Air would apply for a licence to fly the Tehran-Los Angeles route.

The external détente is accompanied by attempts to achieve reconciliation within Iran’s political elite. Most of the prisoners that condemned for their part in the post-election unrest of 2009 are freed. In a speech at the private Azad University in Tehran, Ahmadinejad states “our internal disagreements are over.” he adds: “Those who relied on foreign support have had to realise that the government of the Islamic Republic of Iran has defeated all conspiracies and has thereby convinced the America, Great Britain, and France to seek friendly, productive relations with Iran.”

Some students carrying anti-Ahmadinejad placards are removed from the auditorium by force, but overall the president’s appearance at a university so closely linked to his opponents is seen as an attempt to heal wounds. Many long-term green-movement supporters are not convinced that the regime’s interest in domestic détente is genuine, or will guarantee fair parliamentary and presidential elections in 2013. But these dates are still distant: for the time being, most opposition leaders and many activists are prepared to forgive Ahmadinejad for still being president – as long as he now delivers better political and economic relations to the west and easier access to visas.

All bets are off

This last may be the most unlikely story of all - but only because it assumes that Iranian as well as western leaders will be prepared to accept compromises they have so far refused. In that it offers a more peaceful path for Iran the region than the three others, it is also the most hopeful scenario.

Behind all four, however, lies an extreme one that envisages all-out war between Iran and Israel and/or the United States. The danger of this wildcard scenario could arise within 2010-11, or beyond it. Its mere existence should be an incentive to all relevant actors: think, act, and move in a direction that makes the best outcome possible a reality.

If you’re tired of the Harry Reid controversy, I don’t blame you -- and you know what controversy I mean: “Negro dialect,” “light-skinned,” and all that. But I’d like to add a few words, if you don’t mind.

I thought I heard a dog not barking -- see if you agree. Once upon a time, Jesse Jackson was the President of Black America. That was a title conferred on him by political journalists and others. But he has long since been supplanted. For one thing, the actual president of the United States is black (or at least partly so). In the old days, Reid would have run to Jackson for absolution, as white politicians were always doing. Seeing Jackson, or calling him, was the equivalent of going to black Americans at large. No longer, which is gratifying.

Did Reid seek out Jackson, for his absolution? Not that I noticed. He did, however, seek out Al Sharpton -- which must have really stuck in Jackson’s craw, and delighted Sharpton.

Interesting that Sharpton should be thought of as Chief Black. (Sounds like a name for an Indian, doesn’t it? Don’t mean it to be.) I have little use for him, as readers of this column well know, and am largely immune to his charms. But he amuses me, now and then. You recall when Senator Biden called Candidate Obama “clean”? Said he was “the first mainstream African American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy”? (“African American” -- at least Biden got the lingo right.) Sharpton retorted, “I take a bath every day.”

In the old days -- before he went all respectable -- Sharpton was hell on black moderates, and I don’t necessarily mean moderate in politics: I mean moderate in temperament. Let me quote from a 2000 piece I wrote about Sharpton (which may be found, incidentally, in the collection advertised at the end of this column):

He likes to say that he agitated from the beginning: “I yelled when I was hungry. I yelled when I was wet. I yelled when all those little black bourgeois babies stayed dignified and quiet. I learned before I got out of the maternity ward that you’ve got to holler like hell sometimes to get what you want.”

“Black bourgeois babies” -- a lovely phrase.

Another excerpt:

When he at last took to full-time rabble-rousing, he did so with a ferocity, lashing out at “faggots,” “cocktail-sip Negroes,” and even black Marxists -- those who carried “that German cracker’s book under their arms.”

“Cocktail-sip Negroes” -- there’s one for Senator Reid to tuck into his vocabulary.

One more thing: Remember when Thurgood Marshall retired from the Supreme Court? In a press conference (I believe), he used the word “Negro,” which caused a gasp or two. You tend to stick with what you grew up with, or arrived at, I think. And Reid’s word choice was not sinful.

Of course, if he were a Republican, he’d be toast -- a leper in public life. But that is an old, old story . . .

Concerning the matter of Google and China, National Review Online has produced an editorial: here. I don’t have much to add to it. But I have a little, if you don’t mind. (I’ve said that before, haven’t I?)

Four or five years ago, Google went into China. In doing so, it cut a deal with the devil, so to speak: It agreed to censor its search engine. Otherwise, the Chinese government would allow nothing. So, in China, if you Google “Tiananmen Square” -- you will not get what you would get in the rest of the world.

Google’s reasoning was that it was better for the Chinese people to have something rather than nothing -- and that was a fair point. (Also, there was money to be made. For decades, Western companies have thirsted after “the China market.”) Still, the behavior of Google bigs rankled, and I expressed some of this resentment here in Impromptus. Remember Eric Schmidt, the Google CEO? He said, “There are many cases where certain information is not available due to local law or local custom.”

Yeah, “local custom.” Usually, when we speak of that, we mean native dress, dancing, maybe arranged marriage. Google was talking about a police state.

In any case, Google’s ire has now been roused. Why? Last month, the Chinese government, doing what comes naturally, attacked Google’s “corporate infrastructure,” as the company says. What they were mainly trying to do was get into the e-mails of human-rights activists and their supporters. So Google is threatening to pull out of China altogether -- and is saying that it is no longer willing to censor its search engine.

That is an amazing and beautiful development. (To see Google’s official statement, go here.)

There has long been a debate about police states and technology. I have participated, a little, in this debating -- I think in particular of an afternoon in a Davos forum. Technology is doubled-edged, as we know. It helps dissidents and freedom fighters, who can find and communicate with one another through technology; who can learn about the outside world through technology; who can communicate to that world through the same. And it helps a dictatorship: to identify, catch, and thwart the “troublemakers.”

On balance, however, it seems clear that technology is a friend to dissidents, and a threat to police states.

Internet freedom may seem a minor issue when it comes to China. After all, we’re talking about a country with a gulag -- a country against which all-too-credible charges of organ harvesting have been made. But it is an issue all the same.

Governments, including our own, are unwilling to take on China, in any serious way. Amazing, that it is an Internet company that is doing so. Sure, Google cannot shake China. Sure, a hundred companies would rush to take its place and do anything Beijing wanted. Sure, the Chinese people benefit from search engines, even censored ones.

But still: Hasn’t Google done something new and kind of thrilling?

Every time those scientists move the big hand of their “doomsday clock,” I tell a story -- I hope you will bear with it again (or have forgotten it). If you have never heard it: I have a lil’ story for you.

When I was a freshman in college, I took a course in diplomatic history, from a distinguished historian. On the last day of class, he said approximately the following: “The Bulletin of Atomic Scientists has nudged the doomsday clock a minute or two closer to midnight. Ronald Reagan is a dangerous nuclear cowboy, who has turned his back on détente. He threatens to blow up the world. I can’t be optimistic that you will grow into full adulthood.”

Have a nice life! As I have observed before, my guy had more respect for Brezhnev than he did for Reagan, almost certainly. Anyway, the atomic people are at it again, moving the minute hand, as this article tells us. And, once again, I think of my freshman year, and the anti-Reagan hysteria that was a major part of my political coming of age.

(You don’t mind a little autobiography, do you? I mean, a little. Understood.)



President Nixon had many talents, as well as many shortcomings. Little had I realized that perhaps his chief talent lay in art criticism. Get the opening of this Associated Press report: “In newly released papers from his presidency, Richard Nixon directs a purge of Kennedy-era modern art -- ‘these little uglies’ . . .” He called New York’s Lincoln Center, then relatively new, a “horrible monstrosity” that shows “how decadent the modern art and architecture have become.” He said that the new art in our embassies was “incredibly atrocious.”

Tell it, RN. Right on.

Three cheers for Alistair Campbell, the old Blair aide who was testifying before Britain’s “Iraq Inquiry.” “Do I support that decision now?” he said -- referring to the decision to invade. “Yes. I think that Britain, far from beating ourselves up about this, should be really proud of the role we played in changing Iraq from what it was to what it is becoming, and the impact that is having on the region.” For a story, go here.

A story out of Baghdad: “Iraqi forces arrested suspected insurgents who allegedly planned to target government ministries and seized a large cache of explosives Tuesday, in a crackdown across the capital that brought parts of the city to a standstill. The security measures demonstrated the ever-present fear that insurgents will carry out more bombings, like the ones against government buildings in past months that killed hundreds, ahead of the March elections.”

That is what the Iraqi government has to face every day -- massive attacks by the extremists remaining in the country. Attacks intended to paralyze Iraq, undo progress, and send the country back to the despotism from which it has been released. The government has to succeed all the time, in sniffing out and thwarting these attacks. The terrorists have to “get lucky” only every now and then.

The Iraqi government, it is clear to me, has one of the most important and most daunting jobs on the planet.

You might chuckle darkly at this: “The United Nations has cut back sharply on investigations into corruption and fraud within its ranks, shelving cases involving the possible theft or misuse of millions of dollars . . .” Did you know that the U.N. was much into self-investigating in the first place?

I don’t know about you, but I was glad to hear that the pyramids were not, after all, built by slaves -- as we have always thought they were. No, they were apparently built by free labor. Makes a difference, somehow, doesn’t it? (For a report, go here.)

And I think I have said this in Impromptus before: I was shocked by the pyramids -- happily shocked. They proved that some things, in fact, are worth traveling to; that not everything can be gleaned and appreciated through photos, TV programs, and the like. I was staggered by the pyramids’ size and their -- for lack of a less trite word -- mystery.

Okay, enough of my Egyptology . . .

When I saw the headline “Princess Caroline: husband’s slaps ‘symbolic,’” I thought the story concerned a domestic altercation, or altercations -- and that Caroline was covering for her man. Instead: “Princess Caroline of Monaco told a court Wednesday that her husband slapped a hotel owner in Kenya as a symbolic reproach over noise from a disco but did not beat the man.”

Ah.

P.S. I saw Caroline at the Salzburg Festival a couple summers ago. Still beautiful. Looks her age. But still beautiful. Princessy, even (middle-age princessy). Don’t know about the husband’s temper or culpability.

Mark McGwire’s belated admission of steroid use was greeted cynically and chucklingly by many -- by most, I suppose. I must tell you, though, that, as I read this story, I found much to be touched by. Particularly interesting is that McGwire called Roger Maris’s widow, to give his admission personally, in advance of his public admission. (It was Roger Maris’s record that McGwire broke -- and the asterisks pile up.)

Henry Aaron -- Hammerin’ Hank -- showed magnanimity: “He has my forgiveness. If that’s all that stands in the way between him being inducted into Cooperstown, we should all forgive him.”

Anyway, an interesting article, the one I’ve linked to. And it is never too late to come clean.

This is an interesting article, too: It gives the obituary of Miep Gies, who died at 100. She was one of the helpers of Anne Frank and her family -- one of the helper-hiders. She was the last living. It was she who saved Anne’s diary, unread, to be presented to Anne’s father later. She explained that she would never read someone else’s diary.

And she “despised praise,” to use old language. She said that others had done the same kind of thing she had, and far more dangerous things. Once, someone, or some group, wanted to make a character study out of her, to teach heroism to the young. She recoiled at this: Young people should not “grow up with the feeling that you have to be a hero to do your human duty. I am afraid nobody would ever help other people, because who is a hero? I was not. I was just an ordinary housewife and secretary.”

I don’t know about that.

A little language? I read a headline that said, “Mystery object to whizz by Earth Wednesday.” “‘Whizz’?” I thought. “If they added a third ‘z,’ would the feeling be more whizzy yet?” I was very surprised to discover, via a dictionary, that “whizz” is an alternative spelling of “whiz.” Who knew? Did you? (Probably.)

You know the Pepsi symbol -- the one fashioned after Obama was elected, and that looks a lot like Obama’s campaign symbol? That red-white-and-blue wavy thing? Well, I saw the Pepsi symbol the other day -- and this thought occurred to me: Some Pepsi executives were pretty nervous about how Republicans would respond to the new logo. (I know this to a certainty.) I wonder what Pepsi thinks now -- now that the president’s approval rating is below 50 percent.

Maybe it’s a non-issue . . .

How to end this kinda long Impromptus? Want a name? Okay. A reader recommends a member of our armed forces: Staff Sgt. Max Fightmaster. Works for me.

Have a good one.

              

This weekend, Shanghaiist Junior Editor Cary Hooper braves the winter elements to bring you coverage of the world famous Harbin International Ice and Snow Sculpture Festival. While he's at it, he's going to do his best to slip and slide all over the ice covered city in hopes of finding the perfect tipping point between Harbin Beer-drunk and death from hypothermia, and maybe even a few cultural points of interest. Sponsored by the lovely folks over at Ctrip, the easiest way to find the best fares in China.

Disclaimer: although it's day two of my reportage, it's technically still day one of my trip to Harbin. But with all of the crazy things to do around this lovely, blustery little town, I figure today warranted at least two days of coverage, if not more.

After my morning activities, I had decided to spend a few hours resting in the warmth of my hotel room, and then left for the lantern festival a little bit before sundown. My original intention was to walk through Stalin Park (斯大林公园), an austere, tree lined promenade that runs along the side of the river, on the way there. But I didn't quite make it: as soon as I got to the riverbank, I became way too curious about the festivities on the frozen ice. After all, you can walk along a tree lined path any day, but how often can you see snowmobiles blowing across a frozen river?

It was cold on that river, and i mean it. I've already talked about how cold it is during the day, but once you've experienced Harbin nights, you stop complaining about the days. Sunlight makes this place practically tropical in comparison. I've been wearing a scarf around my face to conceal my identity lest someone recognize me and blow my journalistic cover (ha, ha, okay, it did happen once though, I swear), and after about a block of walking, the moisture on my breath condenses on my face to the point where I have to wipe my brow, and by the time I actually reach my destination there's a thin crust of ice on the top of my scarf. It's intense. If you're planning on walking around town, your best bet is to carefully choose a hotel that's centrally located, or just take cabs everywhere

(By the way, if you're considering coming here, I would highly advise staying at the Songhuajiang Gloria hotel. It's probably the best location in town: I haven't had to walk for more than fifteen minutes to get to any destination I've wanted to go so far, and it's not too shabby to boot. That being said, make sure they don't give you a room that ends in the number 40. It literally takes me about fourteen turns and two minutes to walk to my room from the elevator. In fact, I'd suggest trying to avoid any rooms ending between 30 and 50, but definitely avoid 40. It's a bad number. Plus, If you say it in some Mandarin dialects, it sounds kind of like death doubled over, which only furthers my point.)

While I'm talking about the weather, there's another phenomenon worth discussing that I've noticed around town. People drive slow, and i mean very, very slow, as if they were in a retirement home parking lot. Naturally, it's because of the ice, and as I have yet to see any cars actually equipped with winter traction gear, I imagine Harbin could easily be awarded the nickname "Spinout City." You would think this would perhaps make for less accidents, you say? Wrong: cabs and cars still come within incredibly close, horn honking distances of each other- it just happens in slow motion.

Anyway, I made my way down the treacherous, snow covered steps and out onto the ice of the Songhuajiang (松花江), and boy was it a spectacle: horses, carriages, snowmobiles, tube slides, those indescribable sit down ice skating devices that kind of look like cross country ice luging, and a whole assortment of other activities. There were street (ice?) peddlers selling cotton candy and hats, a small snack shack constructed on the ice that made all sorts of hot and cold food, and best of all, a dj booth which blasted dated techno hits loud enough to deafen people within half a kilometer.

After packing all sorts of warm clothing for the inevitable freeze, I stupidly forgot to pack any sort of warm footwear, and have been stuck wearing my lovely, canvas thin converse across the icy tundra. Bad move, in general: the only mildly redeeming part about wearing them is the lack of traction, which made sliding around the ice pretty fun. After a number of photo ops with locals and tourists, I decided it was about time to get off the ice, but then I saw them: lines of German Shepards tethered to little ice chariots, waiting to mush around the ice for only a few measly kuai. If you've ever seen me drunk, you've probably heard about my love for dogs, and maybe if i was really skunked, I would've brought up my lifelong fantasy of dog sledding. Needless to say, I just had to do it, and it was a blast: I laughed the entire time, even though it was only for about two minutes. Still, totally worth it.

Finally, I made my way off the ice and towards Zhaolin Park (兆麟公园), where they host a smaller ice festival than the grand one across the river. As I had head this one was crappier than the others, I was just mildly excited, but as soon as i I got to the ice castle gate surrounding the real gate, I let myself go. I bought a ticket, and ran into the park at its west entrance, where a gigantic lion snow sculpture something out of the opening scenes of Aladdin greets all the guests. And as I passed row after row of ice and snow sculptures, this deep contentment settled in: not many people have the chance to see something like this in their lives, and the enchantment I felt can only be likened to a child's first visit to Disneyland. Feel the magic, you know?

This simile was only further hardened when I came upon Aladdin's palace made out of ice. Seriously, it was the palace out of the movie: it even had a picture of Aladdin and Princess Jasmine on both sides, and a snake staff ice luge next to it. You could also tube down the side of the palace, which was extra fun, even though I probably was too large for the intended audience. Park attendants in pink bows and mickey mouse ears greeted my winter enthusiasm with laughs and smiles, which only fed to my enthusiasm.

After passing a whole row of Mickey Mouse statues from different eras, I....wait, Mickey Mouse? It suddenly dawned on me that pretty much everything I had seen so far was somehow Disney related: The palace was a giveaway, and I realized that those snow sculptures I had been admiring kind of looked like Ariel from The Little Mermaid to boot. Sadly, I still didn't quite process that it was the Disney Harbin Ice Festival until I saw the princess castle, with pictures of every imaginable Disney princess inside. Okay, I guess I could have just looked at the ticket stub when I bought it: I blame my ignorance on my enthusiasm, and mild frostbite.

Once I realized it, it was too obvious to miss: there were Ice mouse ears everywhere, small figurines from every iconic Disney cartoon ever, and even a part of the park where they wrote out in lights "Mickey Park." I could have probably saved myself some personal embarrassment had I just turned left at the entrance and seen that first. Best of all, they had turned a temple complex into a Disney store (tacky?), with televisions, more statues, and a ton of things to purchase. But after staring at the off-blue mickey plush dolls and remarkably Japanese animation looking Pooh bears, I began to wonder whether Disney had anything to do with the "Disney Festival." I'll probably always wonder about that.

After a good long time in the snow, I decided to retreat back into the warmth of my room.Back at the hotel, I suddenly found myself feeling the beginnings of fatigue from my twenty nine hour journey the previous day. I think you call it jet lag. I decided to nix the nightlife, and just go get some food. After some research (i.e. finding what was recommended online within a few block radius, I settled on Lao Chang's Spring Cakes (老昌春饼, 道里区中央大街178号), a chain around town that serves traditional Dongbei food in a manner pretty much identical to Beijing Roast Duck.

Here's the dish: you sit down and order dishes and beer like at any Chinese restaurant, but this one comes with your chunbing, a crepe-like wrap, as well as a special brown sauce and onions. Apparently, their specialty was an omelet (yeah, just eggs), so I ordered that, and some vinegar-sopped vegetables with meat bits to stuff in my large spring cakes (does that sound inordinately dirty to anyone else?) Oh, and a Harbin Beer, of course. I love Harbin beer so much that I try my best to drink it no matter where I am in China, and it's been awesome to see so many different varieties of it around town: even the 2.5 kuai large bottles are notably better than other Chinese beers.

I wasn't expecting much from what looked like it should be breakfast food, but frankly, it was pretty delicious. And with the amount of food I ate and had leftover, I pretty much had no choice but to go back to the hotel and succumb to my full stomach, and the wonderful, soothing sensation of finally being warm for the first time since I had gotten out of bed.

Tomorrow should be a good day: I'll be heading to the actual International Ice Festival, which should blow my mind, and I'm thinking of tracking down the Harbin Brewery before that to give me liquid courage to brave the cold. Wish me luck!