This is a post conceding that I don't really use this blog the way I thought I would. For those who want to keep tabs with me, it's probably best if they switched over to reading my LiveJournal (see right). I've had that for something like five and a half years now, and I probably will continue using it for future times to come.

Thank you, and good night.

One week, two shots at my lack of Chinese culture.

It must've been Sunday that I was on the bus back to the train station, because I was going home to pick up for the imminent arrival of a friend from Summit (aka Preppyville). For about three stops, I found myself sitting across from an elderly gentleman, Caucasian by the looks of it, dressed in an Buddhist monk's garb. When he noted I spoke English, he asked me, in a thickly American accent -- "Ni jiang zhongwen ma?" -- "Do you speak Chinese?"

Actually, he had to repeat it twice for me, his accent was so strong. I kind of stared at him blankly, trying to decide what to say. In my flat-American-accented, notably nasal English, I responded, "A bit."

I didn't respond in English to make a point; it was just what came naturally to me. He further inquired as to why I was using primarily English; I responded that I was brought up in the United States, and that we were the only Chinese family in town. (Which was true; there were few other Eastern Asian families in Summit, and although another family friend of ours had a father from Hong Kong, they viewed themselves as mostly Korean--at least, as far as I know.) After a few more questions about my knowledge of the Chinese language (in short, my limited Mandarin and practical illiteracy--I could only make out that the bag he wielded was branded with a conference which took place in August 2003), he eyed me a little, with one of those unseen-but-felt glares of resentment, then told me that I'd make an excellent example of the deculturalization of America, and that he was going to be holding a talk about this at some seminar of his, and that I should come. I accepted the yellow scrap of A4 paper he gave me and pocketed it for further reference, and said good-bye as I got off the bus at Cornavin.

The more I think about it, the more I think about the hypocrisy of a white man dressed in Buddhist garb and attempting to speak butchered Mandarin reprimanding a Chinese-American for not respecting his roots. Obviously I could be wrong--perhaps he was raised in China (with that accent? Doubtful), or maybe a Chinese household. But my money is still on this guy discovering Buddhism while reading texts in college, finding it fascinating, and deciding to become a devout follower of Siddhartha Gautama's teachings. I'm not saying that's a bad thing--people do what they will when religion is involved, and it's all fine and well as long as it doesn't involve hurting others--but still. What're the odds that he went to Sunday School as a wee lad, celebrated Christmas with his buddies and hunted for Easter eggs in the early Spring? Pretty damn high. Working on that assumption (because it's just that--an assumption), what right does such a person have to foster judgment on "loss of cultural heritage" when he has dumped his own?

I'm proud of my Chinese heritage. I'm apparently in the narrow line of descendants of Chu Hsi, a major character in the founding of the Neo-Confucianist philosophy--or so my father would have me believe. (Besides which, I would think that "Narrow line" still involves thousands of people in our current generation. And reading that Wiki entry, I could identify with his philosophy.) I'm the only one of my three brothers who can speak Mandarin with any sort of fluency, although Jamie was always better at understanding it than I was. I do believe that I lack the kind of cultural heritage I believe I should have--but that judgment is mine, and mine alone, to make.

***

It gets demonstrated again, two days later, as I walk along the lakeside from work to a bus stop. I stumble upon a confused-looking Chinese couple, pondering a map and looking around.

Anyone who knows me well enough knows that my ability to speak Mandarin is directly related to my familiarity with the other people in the conversation, as well as the language I perceive them in. This is why, for example, I can hold decent conversations with my mother and grandmother, am Extremely Hesitant to speak with my father, can hold my own for a couple of minutes with one of the barmaids at Cactus, and will completely lose it after asking a lost couple, "Wo kebukeyi bang ni mang ma?" ("Can I help you?")

They tell me that they're looking for Cornavin station, referring to it with the German acronym SBB amongst a flurry of Mandarin. Their side comes easily to me. I open my mouth to tell them that they need to turn back and turn left at the Arab bank, and then realize that I've never given directions in Mandarin before. Panicking, I start spitting and swallowing words, using broken Mandarin and frustrated hand gestures, and muttering to myself about not being able to speak "guoyu," which literally translates to "the National Language" and is not an official way of referring to Mandarin. (Is it Taiwanese? I dunno, and it seems kinda ironic if it is.)

Eventually, they do get the idea; they end up thanking me and going their way. I probably-not-so-subtly wait at a crosswalk and cross over to the lakeside proper, basically trying to get as far away from my butchery of the National Language as I possibly could.

The more I think about it, the more it gnaws at me.

I am an Asian-American. I hesitate to say "American first," not because of my disrespect for my American upbringing, but because of my respect for my Chinese heritage. But it must be said; when asked with which of the two I identify more, I will unhesitatingly say "American." But, again, do not make the mistake of panning my being proudly American as an attempt to discard the scraps of Chinese upbringing with which I have been brought up.

It wouldn't matter, anyway; I think my guilt is a harsher judge than anything you could throw at me.

These really make my stomach churn.

If anything's gonna turn me religious, it's my fervent praying that these are exceptions to the norm. Like, serious exceptions.

Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.

Been back for the better part of two weeks now. Too busy to properly update.

However, I leave you with a link to what will be the greatest Sam Jackson movie EVAR. With the one-two of SLJ and a title like that, how can you go wrong?

You won't let those robots defeat me

Well, I'm officially past my probationary period, which I think most of the people I know in real life are polarly--is that a real word?--split over in opinion (either "I knew you'd make it all along!" or "WHO ARE YOU? VAT HAFF YOU DONE VIS ZEE REAL LAWRENCE?"), which is a good thing, since it means that I can do things like trip out to Flaming Lips and update the blog occasionally after work if I feel like it. Especially when I'm waiting for the LAST EFFING REPORT OF THE DAY TO COME IN

It's not going to be a real huge update, though. My aunt and uncle and one of my cousins and his family are visiting from Germany, so it'll be as brief as I can make it.

Geneva's been good this time of year, alternating between I'm-melting-whadda-world hot and I'm-melting-whadda-world wet, and still remaining bearable. I've been spending a goodly amount of time outside with Smiljana, Astrid, and Gabriel (when he can get away from his internship), hanging around on the beach or the Bois-de-la-Bâtie and stuff, though this is the month when each of us goes away for a week or so (except for Gabriel, who I suppose technically is away, since his family's still in Spain and he's gotta go back after his internship).

I've managed to, after seven or so years of living here, check out Cinelac for the first time ever. It is most definitely worth the seventeen francs asking price. It's got a spectacular view of the lake, a huge-ass screen, great sound, and Migros offers a free ice cream with every ticket. I felt like a VIP up to the moment I tried to get a central seat and was told that they were reserved for VIPs. Oops. That explains all the "La Poste" stickers on the seats; the Swiss can't live without their mailmen.

Mr. and Mrs. Smith was the first movie we watched, and it quite frankly kicks ass. It wins at both being a hilarious domestic comedy, and for just over-the-top enough action sequences to be fast and frenetic without being confusing or over-bloated a la Batman Begins (please note, I loved Batman Begins and was grinning madly throughout the whole movie, but its action sequences were too quick-cut to be comprehensible). On top of that, Angelina Jolie was in top form, both acting-wise and physically. I wasn't a big fan of her in her Lara Croft Boobtastic outfits, but in this movie, my hormones nearly kicked me out of my seat. I crack up whenever I picture her delivery of the line, "I don't understand that question." But anyway.

A few days later, I ended up watching The Interpreter with Kerstin, one of my friends from the ITU. Also a good movie, and surprisingly engrossing. Nicole Kidman as Silvia Broome was stunning as usual, and Sean Penn's Tobin Keller is one of the most incredibly sympathetic performances I've seen recently. This movie is also notable in that, despite the chemistry between the two leads, they don't force a romantic angle on them. For that, it also deserves credit. There's one moment where Silvia rests her head on Tobin's shoulder, and he just holds her protectively, and you can't help but think about how sweet that was.

I'll be going to the States in a week and a half; maybe I'll update sometime after that. In the meanwhile, I'm finally free to leave, so!

War of the Worlds, a little terror, Columbine, and GTA.

For about the past week and a half I've been trying to write a decent review of War of the Worlds to no avail, so I've given up. Suffice it to say:

1. Minority Report is the superior Cruise/Spielberg film.
2. Dakota Fanning is awesome.
3. I kind of liked how when the aliens are invading, the kids continually ask if it's terrorists. Brings an interesting perspective on the current nightmares of children, especially in light of yesterday's bombings in London.
4. There was only one scene where I found myself actually gripping the edge of my seat, and it's an extended homage to Jurassic Park--a few people (yes, including Cruise) are hiding from alien probes inside a house. For I think about five minutes, there is no dialogue, no music stings, nothing--just people breathing, the whine of an alien motor whirring, and so on, and it manages to create an atmosphere of tension beautifully.
5. Beyond that, though, this movie falls woefully short of any expectations I had for a Spielberg film. The name brings expectations that are not met; had Jan DeBont been attached, for example, I think I would've been impressed.
6. Stupid cop-out ending, and I'm not talking about the aliens. Those who've watched will know what I'm talking about.

All in all, I give it a C+. If I want good recent Spielberg cinema, I guess I'll stick with Catch Me if You Can.

Also, I wanted to point out the following blog entry as found on 1Up. It's a perspective on violent video games like the Grand Theft Auto series, the Postal games, Halo, etc. as written by a Columbine kid (as he puts it, "friends with both killers and the killed"), and I think that it is one of the most brilliant essays on these games and their inherent appeal, as well as how they reflect the general state of society today. My particular favorite part was about how the author's father was offended by something in Halo 2:

My dad said it was the most disgusting thing he'd ever seen. His face was red. Seem like an overkill reaction? nah - you see, i was on xbox live and some little kid called me a ni**er jew who should be raped, burned, etc. he was ranting. (forgive the language - but if you've played halo 2 on live, you've heard worse). You all ahve seen it happen. a little kid who doesn't ahve his parents around decides to be big man and yell at everyone obscenities that make all of us embarrassed to be gamers.

This upset my parents more then anything. Because they realized that in these other games, the kids weren't pushed into doing bad things - they CHOSE it. My parents finally realized that parents suck. It's the parents fault. You don't get this - my PARENTS realized it's the PARENTS fault. That's amazing lol.

Taken sic. Although I consider that the most brilliant part (and favorite anecdotal insight), there is lots more to be taken away from this essay. If you're a video gamer (and since I know Kim occasionally glances in here, there's at least one!), you should check it out. http://www.1up.com/do/blogEntry?bId=5179966&publicUserId=5629740

So I got another blog.

This account's mostly meant as a means to keep an eye on other people's Blogspot sites, but I might end up adding stuff here later. I was thinking along the lines of pictures, memes, fanfic (assuming I get back into it again) and stuff you'd find on other blogs. Maybe not so much in the drama department.

For those of you who don't know me...uh...if you're reading this, odds are you know me. But anyway! Humor me. For those of you who don't know me, my name's Lawrence. As of the time of this writing, I'm 24, two months into a three-month probationary period as an IT guy at a private bank in Geneva, scared sh--witless in my first career position after almost a decade of temping at helpdesks, and not nearly in the kind of shape for DDR as I was about two months ago. I am fluent in English, Franglish, Chinglish, and Spanglish, and only slightly more adept in French and Mandarin than a second-year language student who discovered a kilogram of hashish laying around on his desk eight hours ago. No, I did not discover a kilogram of hashish laying around on my desk eight hours ago.

I am a superficial media junkie. Although I appreciate film, I tend to enjoy movies a lot more. Thanks to the Internet, I have also been devoutly following TV shows like House, 24, and Lost and stuff from the other side of the Pacific, like Yakitate!! Japan and Glass Mask. I tend to absorb random movie knowledge, and have been known to quote movies I haven't seen. Some people call it "poseur." I call it...hey, look over there! *scurries offscreen*

I've been going through a lot of music phases, but I still remain loyal to Garbage, No Doubt (although I've yet to acquire Gwen Stefani's solo album), and The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, and have picked up into downtempo music like Zero 7 and Morcheeba. I've also been a fan of ska-core and reggae, though the only name I can remember is listed above (although Rude Boys Unity is a local DJ group that mostly sticks to reggae and dub and they kick ass). No, I did not discover a kilogram of hashish laying around on my desk ten hours ago. My little brother, who will usually be referred to as LilBro for the sake of calling him LilBro, has shaped my taste in punk rock, with a liberal dose of Anti-Flag and NoFX. MTV has shaped some of my listening preferences, having introduced me to The Dandy Warhols and Franz Ferdinand--no, wait, those were also LilBro. Who probably picked it up from MTV.

Anyway, I really don't have much else to say here for the time being. Maybe I'll jot down movie reviews here. Maybe I'll post pictures. We'll see. Meanwhile, don't pay too close an eye here, but feel free to drop by now and then to see if I ever touch this thing.