A Different Kind of Graduation

It's the end of the Chinese school year, and what's more fitting than a giant, time-wasting ceremony to top it off?

We had to arrive thirty minutes earlier usual supposedly to get our seats. Well, I grumbled and mumbled and showed up at 8:30 in the rather early morning. We went into the auditorium and plopped down somewhere in the middle. And sat. And sat. Until 9:00, finally things started happening.

First on the agenda was the pathetic excuse for a symphony orchestra. Let's start with the conductor. He listens to some piece of music, which is probably copyrighted by the way, and then writes out the notes. Then he does a little arranging with the final result leaving the second violins with the melody. And finally, when he conducts, he sings along! The rest of the orchestra is composed of whoever is gullible enough to participate, although there was a half decent first chair violinist, but he still needed to work on his shifts. The last first violin was a bit too timid, the second violin's bowing out of sync, and the trumpet made some odd noises usually associated with flatulence. Their performance thankfully ended with the loud death of a bovine.

Following the orchestra was some video of the Chinese school's university somewhere out there. The idiot manning the spotlight decided to let the beam rest on the screen, making it nearly impossible to discern what was happening. Then another idiot controlling the sound system either muted the audio and created some very inharmonious feedback.

Then came the graduates, complete in their shiny metallic ponchos that passed for a graduation robe. Pieces of paper, probably diplomas for what they're worth, and pollen-leaking flowers were handed out to the leaving students.

When the graduates left, a special ed group of students dressed in bathrobes came on stage and began can be best described as when teacher's pets begin experiencing a lack of drama in their lives and must thus dramatize everything. A glazed look comes over their eyes and they move in awkward, lumbering movements. When they speak, they somehow butcher the words and must move their entire heads back and forth. They are also quite gullible. One of them will shout "Look!" and point into some point above our heads and the rest of them will follow. Haha, made you look!

Then we have more awards and a slide show of a bunch of adults with their mug shots. Every so often, some of them will have their picture of Buddha. I assume that this indicates that the individual has gone to a better place where they sit on lotuses and deform their earlobes. An award was passed out for Best Improvement, which can quite easily be won by failing all your tests first semester and then "suddenly improve" in the second semester.

There was also a time when we saw the karate students strut their stuff. They did some very simple kicks and made noises that made me wonder if they didn't practice while squatting on top of a toilet. After the constipation example, some other students showed some fighting moves which involve the enemy grunting and then standing still. I don't want to see choreographed combat! I want to see some blood gladiator style! Finally, there was some board kicking. When the ceremony had ended, I got a chance to examine the boards. They were broken with the grain, and there was evidence of the gluing of boards together. The fracture lines were rather clean, too. Suspicious.

Then the ceremony was ended by much barbaric voodoo dancing among other things, during which the aforementioned special ed people demonstrated their lack of situational awareness. Despite having in their hand the object known as a microphone, the proceeded to shout at the top of their lungs to make themselves heard, and when they were done screaming, laid the still active microphone on the stage. And when the stage happens to contain a bunch of shuffling munchkins about to perform some silly dance, well, lets just say that it wasn't very quiet nor pleasant.

And the end.

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One more thing! Uncle say go to Humor-blogs!

Communist Chinese School

I've always had this suspicion deep down inside, and now I know I'm right. My Chinese school is Communist.

My Chinese school is part of a larger organization that claims to help the world and save the needy.

Everyone is equal, so they say, and every one is part of the school, even if they don't want to be. So, they stick us all in collared shirts, and with the coming of next year, uniform pants, just like their uniform loving Communist cousins Asia, to say that we all belong and that we're equal. Whatever happened to free will? Furthermore, don't they know that there are needy people in the world without clothes? We already have clothes, and these stupid monogrammed uniforms could be used to clothe little children.

They also have culture classes such as how to host tea parties, attempting to keep their culture alive in a world where everyone is trying to assimilate into one big melting pot. Now the "traditional" in China is whatever the dramas are doing. They also require us to perform childish songs. The most disgusting part of it all is when those retarded "aunts" and "uncles" put on manufactured smiles and treat high schoolers like little kids. If we don't do what they want, they try cajoling us with candy and sweet smiles. Then they pretend to get mad and frown and place their hands on their hips. Ooh, I'm scared.

Then they have the infamous reeducation classes, where they torture us to death via boredom. In these classes, they attempt to reeducate us on things that we already know, among them what to do during a fire and about global warming. The scary thing was that when teaching us about fires they had to read from a book, nor did they actual organize any fire drills. During these classes, they also showed us self-aggrandizing videos of themselves helping the unfortunate. A classic example of conceited Communist propaganda.

If you have ever seen a Communist parade, you will notice flags everywhere. Likewise, my Chinese school does the same, and speaking of parades, also like to host large performances to display their freak talent shows. Last year, I had the misfortune to perform with their half-arsed symphony orchestra. The ensemble stank, because everyone who could play a violin half decently was also smart enough to do something else, and there is no such thing as a symphony without percussion, the only reasons why band might sound better than an orchestra. To add to my indignities, the conductor gave the melody to the second violins and sings along, even during the performance! I knew I shouldn't have joined, and I regret letting my mother cajole me into joining. The year prior, the teacher, who was the father of my violin teacher, suddenly disappeared during the middle of the year to go visit Taiwan. Can't blame him, not that it mattered. With three violins and a cello, we weren't going to get much done anyways. This year, when my teacher asked me to join, I had to yell, "No, no, no, and No!" The last I checked, the music was only about three lines long.

Then, they have their hypocrisy, without which no Communist state would truly be Communist. They once gave a lecture on recycling and reducing, as if we didn't know them. The instructor was saying not to buy bottled water and instead buy a reusable bottle. But behind him, you could see several dozen cases of bottled water, stacked from floor to ceiling. Another time, they were telling us how unfortunate people were in some unfortunate Asian country had to write with little plastic pencil tips while they gave out pens for answering their stupid questions.

After that, they have their inefficiency. Just like all those workers would gladly build some statue for the Motherland, we have a bunch of old men with nothing better to do than volunteer at the school. I suppose it's a good thing to volunteer, so I respect that, but what do they do? They put four people to man one crosswalk. I remember quite clearly that you only need one person for one crosswalk. I believe that's three people less that could have been picking up trash to make our world a better place. Then they have student volunteers. These people sit in their custom volunteer sweaters (a waste of money) and are only found running errands and ringing bells. In their free time, they sit around and talk instead of fulfilling the school's mission statement.

The food is disgusting. One time, for that afor mentioned "orchestra", if it can be called that, I had to stay afterschool for a "rehearsal". So we had to bring our own bowl and fork and cup over to the house that the school owned on the other side of the street. The place was like land of the giants. Everything was oversized, from the sinks to the pans to the containers. Their spaghetti was too acidic and the veggies soggy. The scrambled eggs were sweet!!! Who in the world puts sugar into scrambled eggs! I'm pretty sure its not a Chinese dish. Later, after taking a look around, I saw a stack of empty cans about a foot in diameter. They read "Spaghetti Sauce" and "Chop Suey". So our food came from these huge cans. I immediately felt sick, but everyone around me was happily chowing away at their gruel. Oh yea, there was plenty soy but no meat, and they were using Mexicans as chefs.

And that's all I have to say about this Red organization that is somehow still open in the middle of the United States of America in which President Truman declared that the US would fight Communism everywhere in the world. Well, it's happening in our own back yard, and I would call the Department of Homeland Security, but I don't have their phone number. I can see how people as evil as the fascists would also hate Communism. That's one thing Hitler got right.

In the spirit of Spring Break

I have no idea why I looked forward to Spring Break this year. Or last year. Or the year before that for that matter.

When you think of Spring Break, you think of going out and partying all night and going snowboarding or something fun like that. But apparently, all that I've heard about those five extra days of fun is an illusion.

Teachers just don't understand the true meaning of spring break. Wikipedia defines Spring Break as a week long recess from studying at universities and school. By extension, studying includes doing any form work related to learning against your will.

I really pity Chinese extra-curricular institutions for their bliss-less ignorance. At the same time, I am quite offended by their simply remaining open during this sacred time of rest. By doing so, they allow parents the option of packing us off to rot at these brain washing facilities. If that wasn't bad enough, some of them send home work for us to "keep sharp" over the break.

But I'm not being fair here to the "Other Schools". My high school teachers are giving more than their fair share of homework. In nine days, I have an English paragraph, an English book report (which I have to present), an English essay on the Holocaust, and that's just for English alone. Add in about a pound of biology that relies on an online textbook since I forgot to bring my carbon copy home, and a nice, juicy history project that's worth a rather large amount of points. Don't forget the math, either. I have four sections of about seventy problems each, not to mention some graphing. Thank goodness I'm just doing odds. Then we can round up that four course banquet with a nice two servings of Chinese homework.

Come to think of it, I was partly wrong when I said that teachers didn't understand the meaning of spring break. Some teachers even go to Paris, leaving us to slave away at the work they left behind for us.

So now I'm living in a spring break that reminds me of a lot like school days. I get a little more sleep, and I also get a little more distracted. After all, I do have this shiny laptop sitting here, just begging to have a blog written on it. But somehow, I'll make it through. I always do. A little procrastination never hurt anyone.

Still, in the spirit of Spring Break, lay off the homework, will you teachers? Thanks.

Chinese Tea Party

Today, I had to learn how to attend a tea ceremony at my Chinese school.

Okay. Before we could even enter the tea room, which was actually just an assembly hall, we had to wash our hands. They had these not-so-clean looking stone bowls with lemon slices floating around. They probably hoped that citric acid could disinfect us.

While we were waiting outside, I noticed something. My Chinese school is supposed to be a nonprofit organization, yet I noticed that they had flat screen TV's and even security cameras. I'm sure that there could be some better use for that wealth.*

Finally, the people were ready for us. Then it was like a roller coaster ride. They split us up into groups of six and we went off, headed by a mute lady. Buckle up, keep your hands clasped in front of you, your head bowed to your chest, don't scream, and enjoy the ride.

The layout of the room included a small raised ledge in front of the entrances. It would've proposed a small obstacle in getting around, but there was a space in the center. On the other side of this ledge, were our little Rubbermaid tables and chairs, fit for little children about half my size.

You would have thought that you would walk down the middle to get to your tables. Quite on the contrary. We were lead, single file like back in the olden elementary school days, using the longest way possible to get to our tables. When we finally got there, we couldn't sit just yet. We had to walk, twice, around our tables before we finally took our seats. It is important to note that everything was done as slowly as possible and that meditative music with the annoying plucking of an out of tune lute was playing.

I thought that my legs could finally take a break from the tedious tip-toeing, but as soon as we sat down we had to stand back up to bow to a portrait of an old monk I suspected was the founded of the school's foundation*. Great, now my back gets to ache. Where's that Advil?

Next on the agenda, meditation. They told us to close our eyes and listen as they put on some computer-generated noise that vaguely resembled bird calls, windy tundras, and rushing woodland streams. Apparently, it was enough to fool some people, because they answered with birds and wind. I, alone in reality, smugly answered a "CD player". The other students must have thought I was hearing things because they began laughing. But I knew better.

We sat back down again for a lesson on taking off shoes. Everything must be done slowly and considerately to others. You can't kick of your shoes; you must nicely remove them. You also can't leave it right in front of the door, for it would block others way. So being courteous, you very slowly bend down, pick up your shoes, and slowly deposit them to the side. While you take your sweet time trying not to inconvenience others, people are standing behind you, twiddling their thumbs and waiting for their turn to get in the way of others.

Also, when putting back on your shoes, you must pick up your shoes, slowly as usual, and walk else where to put them on, even though it'd be faster just to stick your feet into them and start stamping. Better hope you're wearing black socks, because they never get dirty the more that you wear 'em the blacker they get.

Thankfully, the shoe tutorial was over. Now, it was time for tea serving enlightenment. How you carry the tray is quite important. You can't carry it too high, because that would seem like something is dirty. Understandable. You can't carry it too low, because it makes you seem lazy and efficient. Not so understandable. You have to carry in the most energy-consuming way possible; your hands must be completely flat underneath the try, with your thumbs gripping the side so as to provide the most uncomfortable position and maximize your chances for wrist injury.

As if you didn't bow enough, you have to bow when serving the tea, as well as having the most artificial of smiles plastered upon your face.

At any rate, several ladies brought us our tea. We then had to take turns pouring the tea into cubic centimeter cups in a counter-clockwise fashion. Say thank you to your pourer. Smile. Pick up the pitcher. Pour. Acknowledge thank you. Set pitcher down. Time consuming, isn't it? The tea, they explained, was a special tea custom grown for the organization. My hopes brightened. Perhaps it was an exotic boba milk tea. Fertilizer. The stuff was yellow and tasted like your everyday mass-produced Asian tea.

The hostess then said, "Help yourselves." I grabbed the teeny cup and prepared to throw it back, but apparently, the hostess wasn't quite done speaking. We're supposed to daintily hold your cup with your pinky finger stuck out. Just kidding. Using your thumb and forefinger, grip the cup near the lips while supporting it from the bottom with your other three fingers. It was so unstable that I was constantly scared that I would spill.

Highlight of the day. Snacks. But no crumpets. I was hoping to meet a moufflet cousin, without frosting. There was some red bean cake, a raisins and marshmallow skewer, and some interesting little droplet of a something. I braced myself for the proper way to eat. Perhaps you were supposed to nibble, seeing as how everything was supposed to be slowly done. But no instructions came, and I ate all of it in less than a minute. After eating all the food, I discovered something at the bottom of the little plate. It was a sprig of a green something, and it looked very pretty and not for eating. But, food was food, and I ate it anyways.

That about concludes the tea ceremony. On a final note, the instructor asked if we would like to share any comments. I went up there, and explained how I learned that we must do everything as slow as possible, walk as much possible, get scoliosis as much as possible, and use as much energy as possible, and be as inefficient as possible. The teacher just kept smiling. I thought it was just public relations, but somehow I had this feeling that she didn't know I was making fun of her. What she doesn't know won't hurt me.

*Kind of like Communism, isn't it?