Monday, October 7, 2013

Unhealthy for Sensitive Groups



Trotting around on a fine Monday morning jog.  Santana’s “Persuasion” had me pushing harder around the first loop so I turned it up.  My headphones started to sputter.  The double A battery, which I’d put in only two days prior, must but be fading.  Ripping the set off my head, assumption confirmed, the little green light was flickering. 

The last Bose headset I had, was similarly pricey but came with a rechargeable battery, which you’d think was slick, as it was green and renewable.  But it wasn't.  If you’re on the road without their proprietary charger, you were screwed.   More galling, the fully charged battery ceased to effectively connect with the strips it was supposed to adhere to and within five month’s of purchase, it became useless.  (Yeah, yeah, I know I could fill out the card, find the receipt and the box and register on line and drive across town and throw a fit in Chinese and probably get another one.)

After swearing repeatedly that I’d never purchase another Bose product, I went to the Apple Store and secured the Bose Quiet Comfort 15 with disposable batteries that seemed smart at the time.  I’m swearing again.  After my run, and the insertion of a new Double A, I commenced with uninterrupted listening.  Doing the dishes, air guitaring with Captain Sensible’s lead on “Anti Pope” from ‘Machine Gun Etiquette’, I turned mid-windmill and the chord was yanked out of the headset.  It had been looped on a drawer knob.  It’s detachable, which is better than it getting stuck and severing.  Fiddle it back in, clean another plate, turn for a platter and, again, chord’s out on another knob. Swearing literally now, I vowed to get a Bluetooth headset next time.  But does my iPod have such connectivity?  And you can’t Bluetooth the damn battery charge in. Not yet, anyway.  

Part of the problem is that these noise reduction headsets are so effective, and the world is so thoroughly kept at bay, that disruptions are significantly more annoying.  I don’t want any more things I have to charge.


                                                                              
I probably shouldn’t have been out there running in the first place.  Dust is in ascendency over brine and things are somber around Beijing.  I woke to a message yesterday from the U.S. Embassy here in town, telling me not to breathe.  Apparently the Air Quality Index (AQI) ratings spiked ominously.  A mere 200 is considered “very dangerous.”  A 300 rating, meanwhile is “Hazardous”, presumably for anything with a lung.  We were up at 400, which can only be bordering on lethal.

I like to humor myself that we are 20 kilometers from downtown and so it’s necessarily better out here.  But I’ve driven all the way to my wife’s home in Shandong, three hours from here on the expressway and, drum roll please, the Yellow River plain is enshrouded with yellow air all the way out.   Northern China has terrible, dusty yellow air, that’s part pollution and part Gobi Desert.  I recall when my mother in law spent a year with us in San Francisco.  She might have marveled at many things, but she was primarily gobsmacked by the fresh air.

The folks at the State Department had a list of things to avoid like smoking, burning candles, strenuous activity, (jogging, idiot) and presumably gut laughing.  Unfortunately I’d already opened the following link from my sister, which had me audibly gasping for air. 


Did you check it out?  Which one got you?  The missing pigeon?  Stolen Bassoon?  Come on.  There must be a good Chinese version of  “amazing street posters” that someone could translate and post for the rest of the world.  Please post the link below if you know of one.  I’ve seen postings for all sorts of things, from accounting courses, to cures for premature ejaculation.  For those of you who don’t live here, one of the most ubiquitous forms of graffiti in China is for workmen to spray paint their mobile phone number suggesting a service available.  China has no dearth of tricksters.  Let’s get some photos of salacious messages written above unsuspecting cell phones. “What?  I don’t even know what “transgender” means.   I install air conditioners!”

Today is beautiful.  The readings are back down to the “Unhealthy for Sensitive Groups” range.  Cool.  My daughters wanted to go out and play basketball, which we did.  I suck.  What’s worse I’m rather tall, and suck.  People who aren’t tall seem to find this rather puzzling.  How can you be tall, and suck?  Mercifully my daughters aren’t aware of all this yet.  I dusted off my lay up, and my dribbling with both hands.  Sunk a few free throws.  It occurred to me that basically any American could probably communicate the rudiments of basketball to the next generation.  Just as any Chinese parent, even one who sucks at ping pong, can probably teach their kid the cool way to hold the paddle and serve that always seems to baffle Americans. 



My young one’s throws maxed out about four feet below the net.  I didn’t think she had the necessary umph required.  But she persevered and by the time we were ready to go, she sunk one.  She was so happy and it was lovely to see.  Her mom told her 孰能生巧[1]which I hadn’t heard, but jotted down so I could share with you all.  I’m beginning to feel a bit like that about this daily writing regimen. 





[1] Shúnéngshēngqiǎo:  with familiarity you learn the trick (idiom); practice makes perfect

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