Mind your Manners

Over brunch the other day, I was discussing the best places to stop off between Australia and London with a group of friends. Several of the usual suspects came up. Singapore. Thailand. Japan. Hong Kong. The mention of the latter caused one of our group to screw up her nose.

I went to Hong Kong but I didn’t like it. It was too full on. I didn’t know where to go to eat. It was so confusing that I only had one meal a day.


We looked at her in consternation.

Really? You only had one meal a day?

You might think that we were being sympathetic but no.

Hong Kong is a food paradise. How could you go there and only eat once a day? I go there to eat! My tone was almost accusatory.

Another friend interjected before I could continue.

It can be quite confusing, he sympathised. It doesn’t help by the way the Chinese language sounds. It sounds like they are screaming at each other but actually, they’re just saying Hello.

That’s true, I verified, They may have sounded abrupt and rude but they were probably just asking you if you were hungry.

I’ve noticed during my time in London, that the word rude is commonly used in day-to-day vernacular. This comes as no surprise as the English are culturally defined (and stereotyped) as a society that prides itself on manners. Rudeness is seen as the eighth deadly sin. I’m not certain of the historical evolution of why this is so but methinks that Queen Victoria had something to do with it.

This is all well and good but manners are culturally specific and not always translatable. Growing up in a Chinese household, we did not use the word, please very often, nor spoke in modulated tones that were pleasant to the ear. We barked comments to one another, butted into each other’s sentences and spoke to each other in a volume that suggested we were in the midst of a busy marketplace rather than sitting next to each other at the dinner table. Chewing with your mouth open, burping, picking your teeth in public with a toothpick were all norms. Horrendous faux-pas from an English etiquette POV but perfectly normal for Chinese.

Straddling these two worlds of manners made for some interesting situations growing up. On my first day of high school, I heard my name being called by my form room teacher.

What?! I shouted out in response.

He glared at me with his beady blue eyes.

You do not say “What”, he replied icily, You say Pardon. He paused for effect.

What do you say?

Pardon, I mumbled, thoroughly mortified.Why had my parents never told me to say Pardon? We always said What! Sometimes we just grunted.

I caught on soon enough that I would have to modulate my peasant Chinese ways so as to appease the convict English ways of all my friends.

You’re so abrupt, almost curt, they’d accuse. And you never say what you really think.

Because I’m saving you face, I’d retort in my mind. Do you know about that? And do you know that when I gave you your birthday present you should have accepted it with both hands and not opened it in front of me you rude, ungrateful bitch.

I never thought it was fair that I had to adapt to their manners but that they had little understanding of mine. It was cultural imperialism at work in the playground. I had not yet learnt about the term, bi-cultural conflict, which would serve as a handy term to hang my angst on in my teenage years.

Along the way of acquiring mixed manners I’ve often asked myself why does it matter? After all it’s just a code of conduct that regulates us all in one way or another. Why can’t we be more experimental from time-to-time? Why must we frown if someone acts unexpectedly? Why must we judge?

These days my attitude to manners is much more laissez faire. I just can’t be bothered to be something I’m not so I just go with the flow. I can be the perfect guest or the rudest cow on earth, depending on which POV you are coming from and your own baggage.

But for now - thank you very much for reading my blog and please come back again soon. Have a nice day!

He's Gone with the Wind

It's a sad, old world now that Patrick Swayze has gone. Say what you like about the man and his song lyrics, but he was a marvel to behold when he moved those muscles. On one hand he was a horse-riding, football playing, jock-cowboy and on the other, a pirouetting, hip-shaking, chick-lifting danseur. A dichotomy of sorts but he pulled it off without descending into caricature. He was a man that straddled the worlds of Rawhide and Rachmaninoff with equanimity and a level of grace.


Patrick flickered onscreen as Rob Lowe's brother in The Outsiders before he burst upon us in all his sweaty glory as the tortured dance instructor/gigolo, Johnny Castle in Dirty Dancing. Our hearts swooned when he taught Baby the pechanga (someone tell me what that is. I never figured it out) and showed her how to boogie; upright and horizontally. We wanted him to teach us and would have carried many watermelons and sat in any old corner for the chance.

After soaring into the stratosphere by shaking his booty, Patrick's magic continued in Ghost where he transferred his Art to Craft and swapped Ballet for Bowls. The theme of dirt continued too. By smearing clay all over himself and Demi, Patrick gave the pottery world a makeover that they've never recovered from since. He then starred as the uber-cool Bodhi in Point Break in which he and Keanu swapped personas. Here Patrick was the dude; the surfer- mystic- mask-wearing-bank robber and Keanu was the tortured, trying-to-find- and-come-to-terms-with-himself-Johnny-Castle character-cop called, strangely enough- Johnny Utah. There was not much dirt in that film but if there was, they were always rushing into the ocean to wash it off anyways.


After that, the descent was gradual. We had forgiven him the lyric,She's like the wind, through my tree. We had forgiven him Roadhouse. Fatherhood was pushing it. But when he appeared in Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights, there was no more forgiveness.

But the love never died. When he announced that he had pancreatic cancer, a billion hearts around the world pounded, No! Not Johnny Castle!

I got to see Sexy, I mean, Swayze in the flesh a few years back. He was in London appearing in Guys and Dolls and I happened to be in the vicinity when he exited the Stage Door. Up close his face was leathery and lined as you'd expect from a man who rode horses outdoors and smoked in his fifties. This made me strangely happy. I don't think I could've borne it if he'd had plastic surgery. He was in dancerific shape and seemed like a humble, nice man.

I wish that before he departed this world that Patrick had given us one last dance on celluloid. Despite his work as an actor his true nature was displayed, for me, when he danced. He was in his element. As the man himself said:


There's just something about dance. It's like a primal thing in all of us.
- Patrick Swayze

RIP.

An Isle of Joy

Eleven years ago I went to New York City by myself. I was on my way back home from a two year stay in London and was brokenhearted to be leaving. Despite my wobbly state of mind, New York grabbed me by the collar and made me fall in love with her. At least I thought it was love. Until now.

I've just returned from my second visit to NYC, this time not alone but with a Husband. It's been eleven years but the city and I still had a connection. Stronger in fact. What we had before was puppy love; a crush. This time I fell hard and fast. Perhaps the Husband was jealous but he knew not to get in the way of True Love.

New York is a city full of snapshot moments. It is a mistress of atmosphere and seduction. It challenges and charms you equally and in the end you either keep up with the pace of the city or you are spat out. We had many of these "snapshots" during this visit. Here are some:

*Being asked by a guy on the street if we wanted to be in the studio audience for the Late Show with David Letterman . It was the slickest backstage production process I have ever seen. Military in it's precision and frightening in its utter professionalism. I was impressed. I'm not a big Letterman fan but watching him do his thing made me realise just how hard it is to seem so natural and how very good he is at it.


*Eating a porterhouse steak at Peter Lugers in Brooklyn, reputedly the best steakhouse in New York. I'm not a steak fan but the first bite was perfection. If I never ate steak ever again, it wouldn't bother me as I think I've had the best:


*Watching Nine to Five on Broadway with the wonderful Alison Janney (a la CJ Cregg from West Wing). It was one of the best live musicals I have ever seen. Once again- high, high production values and slick professionalism. These New Yorkers are good at putting on a show.

*Walking across Brooklyn Bridge on a beautiful afternoon when all of a sudden a voice shouted out -Call 911! and we saw that ahead of us a man was perched on the bridge beam. He was holding on for dear life. At least that's what I thought until I saw his face and I realised he was deciding whether or not to let go. The crowd that had gathered were taking photos. What were they trying to capture? Desperation? Vulnerability? Fear?

*Eating corned beef on rye sandwiches at the brilliant Katzs' deli on the Lower East Side. Meg Ryan faked an orgasm here during When Harry Met Sally and whilst the food was good, it didn't make me wanna scream:




*Turning the corner onto Rockerfeller Plaza to find a location crew filming 30 Rock in the street. Seeing Tina Fey in person just about made the Husband wet his pants. He loves the series.


*Drinking one night at Milanos, an old dive bar in Nolita that feels like it's been there forever. Perched at the end of the bar amongst the grizzled regulars drinking Pabst, I felt right at home.



*Hanging out in Noho, Greenwich Village, Hells Kitchen, Chelsea,Nolita, Chinatown, the Lower East Side, Williamsburg. Where else in the world can you walk two blocks and be in a whole new world? In New York you can go Around the World in Eighty Minutes.

*The bookshops. Oh the bookshops. I came back home with a veritable library. McNally Jacksons and the Housing Works were my two favs on this trip.


*One of the best things about being in New York is eavesdropping. New Yorkers don't hold back when it comes to verbal sparring. They don't even mind if you join in. Here are some of what I overheard:

In Walgreens:

Girl 1 - He's just trying to butter me up.

Girl 2 - Oh really now?

Girl 1 - Yeah you better believe it. But you know what I told him? I said I don't what none of his butter. He can take it and spread it somewhere else. He can butter someone else's bread, you know what I mean?

In Brooklyn on a street corner

Man 1 - He was my best friend, my brother. But you shot him while I was in prison.

Man 2 - Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.

*A meatball and pepperoni pizza at Lombardi's - the first pizza place to open in New York and still one of the best!

*If New York is a pulsing heart with its streets as vessels, then the hundreds of yellow taxis are most certainly the cells that transport life around the city. There is nothing more blissful that riding down one of the arterial streets of Manhattan in a NY cab with the window down, the wind blowing in your hair on a summers' evening.


* My most favourite building in the whole world. Grand Central Terminal. It's impossible to capture in photos but everyone keeps trying:


Dinner at the Oyster Bar in the station was delicious. We had East coast & West coast oysters and in my opinion, the former were much better.


*Having a proper New York diner breaksfast at the Lexington Candy Store (no candy in sight but lots of fat, sugar and carbs):


*Strolling through glorious Central Park. Whose brilliant idea was that? A living, green oasis in the heart of the city.

*Trying a red velvet cupcake and the devils food cake at the Magnolia Bakery


*Gagging at the pretension of some of the stuff in the Whitney Museum.. And where was the Georgia O'Keefe work? Ripped off.

*New York street art. Punchy, to-the-point and attention grabbing. Kinda like it's citizens:




And that was just day one.

It was a heady trip. Exhausting, stimulating, challenging, engaging. The city dunked us in its unique emulsion of craziness and control. It wasn't enough. I wanted more. I left New York kicking and screaming; a junkie to the core. I did not want to leave this city that had once again imprinted itself so definitively on my heart, my mind and my psyche. I had no choice this time but next time, I'll plan it differently.

For now, it's:



But not forever.


Summer journeys to Niag'ra
And to other places aggra-
vate all our cares.
We'll save our fares!

I've a cozy little flat in
What is known as old Manhattan
We'll settle down
Right here in town!

We'll have Manhattan
The Bronx and Staten
Island too.
It's lovely going through
The zoo!

It's very fancy
On old Delancy
Street you know.
The subway charms us so
When balmy breezes blow
To and fro.

And tell me what street
Compares with Mott street
In July?
Sweet pushcarts gently gli-ding by.

The great big city's a wonderous toy
Just made for a girl and boy.
We'll turn Manhattan
Into an isle of joy!

We'll go to Yonkers
Where true love conquers
In the whiles
And starve together dear, in Child's

We'll go to Coney
And eat baloney on a roll
In Central Park we'll stroll
Where our first kiss we stole
Soul to soul

And "Abie's Irish Rose" is a terrific show they say
We both may see it close, some day
The city's glamour can never spoil
The dreams of a boy and goil
We'll turn Manhattan
Into an isle of joy!


Manhattan (1925) by Richard Rogers and Lorenz Hart