Oh, the sounds of China

I love China but I hate the music around these parts. It's so. damn. happy. Fake sugar sweet, like aspartame. Nauseates me at times. I wonder how no one gets sick of it? Shops, taxis, the ring-back on phones, you name it and that sound is there, the sound of "We wish you happy every day."

That is the rule of thumb here, to be happy every day, even if you're not. I don't quite understand it. I think happiness can only be a genuine emotion, one that does not fake itself, one that cannot be forced. What if I don't want to have a happy every day? What if I want to feel like shit and curse everything in sight because, well, it makes me happy?

Other than feeling a cold coming on, I don't feel like that today. But sometimes I'll get waves of it, I'll clench my teeth and think not so happy thoughts. The folks who stare, the oh-so-slow people in my way (I call them Chinese turtles), the buses shitting exhaust in the air, the air itself. The happy music. Fortunately I don't act on these kinds of thoughts, I keep them inside except for an occasional mutter that no one around me understands. There is a comfortable privacy in speaking a foreign language. Sometimes I like to hide behind it.

I was riding home today from a task and a female announcer was on the radio. I think she was telling a story. Her voice was so grating I found myself imagining I could reach inside the speaker and grab her face, squeeze it shut. I tried not to let it bug me and instead concentrate on what she was saying. I could maybe pick up a word here and there but nothing substantial for me to understand. And she kept making the pre-cough noise, the throat drag. I found myself wondering, How is the Chinese language pleasing to the ear? Why can't it be like French or Italian? And why, WHY must it be so damn difficult to learn? Wai shen ma, wai shen ma?

There's another radio announcer here who's pretty popular, a man whose voice sounds like Satan if I knew what Satan sounded like. He's always growling and slurring, he sounds so angry. There's been a few early mornings here and there when I had to take a cab home, and the driver would have Satan blasting on the radio. If I didn't have my headphones I was in big trouble, because Satan and my hangovers would not get along. I found myself wondering, Why are you listening? What is he saying? And why doesn't his voice bother you? It doesn't sound happy any day...or night.

I find myself craving Beijing more frequently for the mixed culture. We're going tomorrow to see DJ Shadow. I don't really get much of my punk/indie fix here but that's fine. I like electronic as long as it's good. None of this Madonna remixy crap, or friggin' Avril Lavigne. Ohmylanta, they love her here, it's sickening and insane. I sat in on one of Kim's classes and a student asked me if I liked Avril. Rather than responding with a  "Hell no!" I gently suggested she check out some other artists. I wrote down Jeff Buckley and Bjork. Later I ran into her on the street, she ran up to me with an excited smile on her face. "I love Jeff Buckley!" she gushed. "He's so cute!" I wholeheartedly agreed, then broke the news that he was dead.

I started my sound project over the weekend when we went to the Great Wall. I won't disclose too much, other than I'm really happy with the quality. Thank you, Levus, for letting me borrow your microphone. It really picked up some good stuff. I will be posting my Great Wall pics shortly, once I have them all gathered and put together.

Thank you for reading. I wish you happy, every day.

xo
misu

p.s. Dear family and friends, I can't get a stable connection to call anyone at this point. Lamesauce. But hopefully that will change in the near future. P.S.S. My phone can send texts to the States, apparently.