Story Lines

4 weeks in China and no blogging. Sorry. Lots of excuses, but we won’t go into detail. I do plan to make it up and dedicate the next 4 entries to China. They won’t be in Chinese, but let’s just say that the tears and laughter from China still won’t let up.

There’s a song by Brandi Carlisle that goes,
“All of these lines across my face

Tell you the story of who I am

So many stories of where I've been

And how I got to where I am…”
I love the song, but the more I think about it, the less I can relate. “Lines across my face”? What lines? You mean that scar from where the plastic surgeon removed a mole? The black line that rims my eye? In the modern, western world, we don’t know what lines are. We think we do; but we don’t. When we see a line, a spot, a crease, or a splotch we are lightening quick to MAC, Estée Lauder, and Cover Girl it away (what’s your pleasure)? And if we have the time and the money, we’ll go one step further and zap, peel, plump, and laser anything that remotely represents…should I say, LIFE? I have 10 year old scars on my shoulder and leg from a battle I lost with the reef, and multiple burn marks on my arms from oil splashes while standing over a hot stove. I got cortisone injections at a plastic surgeon’s office for the scars, and put Vitamin E oil on the burns. What am I trying to hide? They are a part of my story.

Of course if you want real story lines, go to China where face after face has been brushed with scars and crevices. In fact, go anywhere outside of North America and Western Europe and you’ll see lines that will have you wondering, “If those lines could talk…” So deep…so many. Was is war? 40 years of working in the field? Hot blazing sun in the summer and bone-chilling frost in the winter? Financial worries? Political, religious, and social oppression? Violence? They are etched in my mind…

I can’t help but compare my face to theirs; ethnically the same, but vastly different. Of course, I spent 15 minutes putting on my make-up this morning and last night I did a 20-minute clay mask to pull all the impurities from my face. It burned like hell but beauty is pain, right? Or is it? What if beauty hides the pain? The real pain isn’t the chemical peel. The real pain comes from the events that cause the lines and the mortification we may experience should anyone figure out the truth. Worry, hurt, sadness, disadvantage, anger, resentment, regret, bitterness, deceit, selfishness, discomfort, sorrow, pain…we cover it up because no one likes to air their dirty laundry (or wear it on their face), and the painful TRUTH is often much less tolerable than the pain caused by waxing.

China was a breath of fresh air because no one hid (and the ones that did were just as disillusioned as us Americans). Every line, every wrinkle and scar, were testaments to their life. Their faces were rich with character and experience, and the deeper their lines, the more stories they probably could tell. I don’t claim to know how they lived, and if was a hard life (which I assume it was) or a walk in the park (which I assume it was not); either way, the lines were witnesses- furrowed brows, laugh lines, and all. And when I looked at their faces and deep into their eyes I saw them, beautifully and wonderfully made; every line crafted to perfection. There wasn’t a wrinkle out of place. Do you have a story to tell? Because from the looks of it- behind your botox, pressed powder, liquid eyeliner, and all-day lip color- I can’t tell if you’re always happy to see me, or if your eyebrows are just shaped that way. FYI, my eyebrows are just shaped that way.

China Embarkation

Here I am sitting on the floor of the Vancouver airport, my gateway to Asia; cringing at the decubitus ulcer forming on my coccyx, but thankful for the free wi-fi. Thus starts the beginning of my 5 week trip to the motherland, beginning with 2 weeks of medical aid in Inner Monglia at the Chengjisihan town hospital and then the Elunchun minority village. After the medical portion of the trip, I will spend a few days in Beijing to do the essentials: shop, jumpshot on the Great Wall, and Peking Duck. I have heard the PD isn't as good as you would expect-ducks too skinny, not good like supersize American kind (which explains the supersized Americans), but for the sake of research I will try as many ducks as necessary to get a fair sample size before making my final decision. After Beijing I will head down to Shanghai for the remainder of my stay where anything can and probably will happen (and will inevitably stay in Shanghai). Blog ya from China...

Flush 101

I've long been aware that technology has made us stupider. Much, much stupider. We can text 100 words a minutes, download music, skype, make online purchases, clip our toenails, and microwave dinner simultaneously. But ask me my sister's home phone number and I'm blank; ask me how to get from point A to point B and I'll throw my hands up in the air and scream, "What do you think I am, a GPS???" (never mind that A is the kitchen and B is the livingroom). Unfortunately technology has even infiltrated the most sacred space of all and made us complete idiots in what should be a very simple operation. What space is that? The bathroom stall (duh).

Females may relate to this more than the males...I don't think this applies to urinals (correct me if I'm wrong). Have you ever walked into a stall and found it unflushed with toilet paper from the last three occupants? We all have, and if you were one of those last three occupants, SHAME ON YOU! What really kills me is when I walk into a stall, find it filled to the brim, and then see that the toilet is an AUTOMATIC FLUSH. Apparently for some people, when they see a handleless toilet and a blinking red light, they not only let their bowels relax, but their brain as well, rendering the common sense portion of it useless.

Word to the wise...the cue to exit the bathroom stall is NOT a wave of relief and a zipped zipper. Those are actually bonuses in a successful trip to the W.C. The real green light to leave the stall and head for the sinks is the FLUSH. No flush, no flee. In case you haven't noticed yet, computers crash, GPS's take you on the scenic route, and sometimes, that sensor stops sensing and toilets don't flush when you're finished...time to use your head. The beauty of the automatic-flush toilet is that unlike a computer that may drop dead for no apparent reason, the auto-flush toilet has a little black button that actually lets you flush it manually specifically for those times that the auto-flush fails. I know its archaic and in a time of progress its a shame to move backwards, but for the sake of the next patron I highly recommend that you burn those extra 3 calories, lean forward, and PUSH THE BUTTON. Stare technology in the face and declare, "You will NOT get the better of me! You're my toilet, and I will flush you whenever I want. Boo-yah!!!". FLUSH.

Leaving without a successful flush is like going up to an automatic sink that doesn't turn on and simply walking out the door. I suppose if the sink doesn't turn on it means you are meant to have urine on your hands, right? Unless you pee out magic fairy dust I'd have to disagree. Wake up people; don't don't let your brains go to mush and allow technology to dictate your life. Technology should enhance our existence and I've got to be honest, your used TP just isn't doing it for me. If that stall isn't clean (and odor free) once you're done with it, than you should not be opening that door. And if for some reason the button is broken or the contents are too overwhelming, be curteous and make the next person in line aware of the situation; to allow them to walk into such a trap is just inhumane. Unless of course you hate them, then maybe they are getting what they deserve (and if this is the case you should also spread some toilet paper on the ground or try to use it all up before leaving).

On a side note, I always wondered how much money it cost to change a traditional toilet to an automatic-flush. Has anyone done a cost benefit analysis? What was wrong with the handled ones? Could the money have gone to better use--schools, education, the environment, hunger, healthcare, world debt, human rights, etc...? No, let's spend the excess budget money on toilets. Speaking of flushing something down...

Tearful Laughter

Step into my world of Tearful Laughter. It’s my take on life- things we love and hate; the questions that never get answered; and most importantly, the ironies that infiltrate every day in every way and never cease to amaze (and annoy). I will never assume to understand the world; its proven far too many times that it can and will get the better of me…too many variables, too many choices, and an overwhelming number of personalities; even statisticians are at a lost for explanation. Is it astonishing or frustrating? Is it liberating or stifling? Is it thrilling or pee-in-your-pants scary? Does it cause you to stop and think, or does it have you going so fast there isn’t a moment’s peace? Are you trapped in its stereotypes or are you fueled by its creativity? Are you living in it or merely observing? And most importantly, does this world have you LAUGHING TO TEARS, or THROUGH TEARS?

A word about this blog… Don’t like it? I don’t care. This isn’t for you; it’s for me. I mean, how else am I going to get a book deal by the time I’m 30 if I don’t start a blog? It’s my expression and a very cathartic one at that. Now thanks to my blog, I can move those voices out of my head and on to paper and finally get some clarity, even if it is “foggy clarity” (which, by the way, was what I intended to name this blog only to find out that I had been beaten to it by someone else; someone else whose writings pale in comparison…poor sap). Of course I hope despite my selfish intentions you will laugh occasionally (of course I have been told my humor is very dry so only an intelligent few may catch on) and maybe you’ll gain some perspective that you didn’t have before. Maybe I’ll gain some perspective like blogs are stupid and a complete waste of time, thereby making this my first AND last entry. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

I will make a few promises to you the reader, of which you can keep me accountable:
1) I’ll try not to offend, and if I think I will offend I will do my best to do it in a backhanded way to ease the sting
2) I will always be honest unless I feel that being honest will:
a. Get me into trouble
b. Make me less popular
c. Offend (See #1)
3) I will try not to use “…” unless absolutely necessary…

Until next time, if there is a next time…(absolutely necessary).