Friday, May 18, 2012

Haiku for the week

Guests begin to stink
(Like fish, the Italians say);
Hosts turn unfriendly.


This is a proverb I always take care to remind myself of when setting off on an extended jaunt 'back home', knowing that I am going to be dependent on the hospitality of friends for extended periods. I think the Italian wisdom suggests that three days is the limit of tolerability, which is a harsh rule indeed. But I try not to stick around for more than 4 or 5 days at a time if I'm under people's feet, perhaps a week or so if they're out of the house most of the time.

It is starting to seem as though there is a similar principle which applies at the national level - at least here in China. So many of us foreigners who've been here 5 or 8 or 10 years, or even longer (and, in many cases, had thought we might settle here for life - though I was never one of those), have been driven to leave in the past year or two... because the things about this country that most provoke our rage and disgust and despair are actually getting worse rather than better as the years go by. Even the most Sinophile of expats are reaching their breaking point and giving up on the place. Most of my longest-standing friends here have gone already; most of the rest are talking about leaving in the next year or so.

And now the government is going through one of its periodic spells of actively seeking to hound us out of the country: making us liable to swingeing 'social security' contributions, making it ever harder to obtain visas, even instituting a concerted policy of petty harassment against us by the police (though this is only here in the capital so far).

On top of all that, we get this idiot stoking up the always-simmering-below-the-surface xenophobia of the great Chinese public. It was IMPOSSIBLE for a foreigner to get a taxi this morning (one of the four drivers who refused me a ride made a pretty fair go of attempting to run me down).


Oh, and we get the first foreign journalist to be expelled from the country in 13-and-a-half years (one of the brightest and best, too).


And obscene sabre-rattling towards the Filipinos....


I wouldn't count on Chen Guangcheng getting his 'promised' permission to leave the country any time soon, either. [Ah, well, at least I was being unduly pessimistic about one thing. I hadn't been following the news on Chen over the previous couple of days, but he and his family arrived in New York less than 48 hours after I wrote this. An isolated piece of good news in a dismal month for China.]




Yes, it's a good time for foreigners to quit the country. This place is going to hell in a handbasket.



Thursday, May 17, 2012

I'm thinking of a 15-digit number: can you guess what it is?

When I experienced strange difficulties in accessing my cyberbanking a couple of weeks ago, I went along to my branch to make further enquiries in person.

How was it, I asked, that the cyberbanking log-in page would not recognise my 'account number' as a means of accessing my account details?  And moreover, how was it that the online customer help service had told me that my 'account number' "couldn't possibly be more than 16 digits", when it was in fact quite clearly 19 digits long?


Well, it turns out that the 'account number' for cyberbanking purposes is not the account number. Oh no. It's a secret number, for the use of bank staff only.


WTF????

I could not extract an adequate explanation from them as to why the bank would need its own code number for referring to my account. Or why this number is ordinarily kept secret from customers. Or why they were now willing to share it with me. (Gosh, I can be a forceful fellow at times!) Or why the cyberbanking log-in page was prompting me for a number that I, as a customer, wasn't supposed to know, instead of the REAL account number which I did know.

Sometimes you just have to make do with what you can get, and treat it as a positive result. At least I was able to confirm that - for all regular intents and purposes (checking my balance, arranging inpayments from employers) - my 'account number' is the 19-digit one that appears on my bank card.

The status and purpose of the other 'account number' is likely to remain forever a mystery to me.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

It's not like they don't want us here (2)

Ah, no, that's exactly what it is.



Fresh from my ordeal of spending four-and-a-half hours trying, and failing, to reach the new foreigners' health check centre (now located many miles OUTSIDE the city), and my consequent abandonment of plans to renew my visa, immediately upon getting back to my apartment yesterday I learned of a new campaign by the Beijing police to 'crack down' on foreigners "working illegally or overstaying their visas".

To this end, the police are planning to blitz the areas most frequented by foreigners - Wangjing/Lido, Wudaokou, Sanlitun - with spot checks demanding to see our passports and residence registration certificates. Theoretically, there has always been a legal requirement for foreigners to carry these documents (since we don't have any local ID), but no-one - least of all the police - has ever given it a second thought, since it is obviously a completely fatuous idea that we should risk losing our passports by carrying them around with us all the time.

I imagine that, as with the pre-Olympic 'spring cleaning' of the city, this asinine crackdown will initially target Africans (many of them are highly visible in selling drugs around the bar district; hence, unfortunately, all Africans get stigmatized by this). But it could soon become a hassle for everyone. It does sound as if the authorities are pretty serious about this; and the campaign is slated to last for 100 days. I'm glad I'm going to be out of the country for at least 90 of those.

For my last week here, though, I am going to spend as much time as possible in Wudaokou and Sanlitun, sidling up to coppers and defying them to ask me for my passport. I really want to have an opportunity to piss myself laughing at them.


It's not like they don't want us here (1)

Oh no, wait, it is.


After a month of canvassing advice and ringing around numerous different 'visa agents', I'd finally found someone who said they could still arrange a Z visa for me. And his 'shell company' wasn't concerned about the new social security regulations, so the price wouldn't be too outrageous. In fact, if I applied from the UK while on holiday this summer, it would work out even cheaper - only about 20% or so more than I paid last year. After weeks of nothing but bad news and closed doors, this revelation was so exhilarating that I impetuously decided to move ahead with this option... even though I'm unconvinced I want to come back at all, and am pretty damn certain I don't want to be here for another full year.

Alas, this visa application would apparently entail that I would have to get a health check at the hospital specially designated for this purpose. I don't know what the regulations about that are: they are even more obscure and pointless and open to being completely ignored than most such Chinese legal requirements. I've been living here 10 years and have only had to do the health check twice, I think.

Still, my last experience of this had been pretty positive: a very swift, efficient, painless process. (Well, efficient in liberating you from your money. Pretty nearly worthless as a health check. They're really only interested in the blood screening for HIV. The ECG and the X-ray are a joke. And for the rest, the doctors just automatically tick or rubberstamp all the boxes without reference to your actual physical condition. The first time I went through this charade, the presiding doctor was challenged to try to enter an idiosyncrasy on the form and discovered that he only had the one stamp - 'No Abnormalities' - and was thus unable to record my friend's defective vision.)

I was almost looking forward to experiencing this quirky ordeal again, because at least the hospital is conveniently close to my new apartment, only about a 20-minute walk away. 

Make that was. I hadn't realised, having somehow escaped the need to renew my health check for some 5 years now, but the hospital was relocated just after the Olympics.... to Xibeiwang Township. That's not in Beijing; it's one of the new 'satellite towns' that are springing up all around it. Still partly under construction and barely inhabited, this place DID NOT EXIST until 5 or 6 years ago, and it is in the exact middle of nowhere. It is outside the city's 5th Ringroad, which is the outermost limit of what can really be considered the city. It is several miles outside the 5th Ringroad. It is several miles from the nearest subway station.

Internet searches on the transport options to get there decline to return a bus-only option. Even the Beijing bus company's search engine insists that you should use the subway to get three-quarters of the way there. The problem with this is that the subway early in the morning is quite hellish - far worse than the buses. And the stations at the northern end of Line 13 - Shangdi, Xi'erqi, Lishuiqiao, I've had to use them often in the past - are a particularly unpleasant prospect: crowded, chaotic, overrun with aggressive 'black cab' (unlicensed) drivers.

I set out at the crack of dawn to try to avoid the worst of the rush hour, but Line 13 was already a maelstrom of seething humanity. And when I got to the 'nearest' station, even the regular cabs were all operating off the meter. The first couple of people I spoke to opened by demanding 100rmb for what I'd been told should be only a 15rmb ride. The asking price soon plummeted to 50rmb, but - after barely 4 hours' sleep and no breakfast (you're not supposed to eat before the blood tests, for some reason) - I just didn't have the patience for this rigmarole, and decided to try to use the bus instead.

A friend had done a Chinese Internet search for me to come up with the number of a bus route that was supposed to work. Unfortunately, she hadn't thought to specify where the stop was. It wasn't at the bus station next to the subway. Or anywhere nearby that I could find. (I eventually happened upon one - hours later - that was about half a mile away.) However, I spotted a bus with the number, heading in the right direction, and decided to follow it until it reached a stop. Well, it appears to have been some kind of 'express bus' that only stops every few miles (rather than, as is more usual with Beijing buses, every few hundred yards). Or I somehow managed to miss the next stop. Or the next several stops. I walked about five miles without seeing a stop for this bus, although I was still tracing its route - the route of the bus that was supposed to take me to the hospital. I appealed to numerous friends via SMS for help in identifying another bus number that might take me to the hospital. Most of them didn't get back to me for nearly an hour, and when they did, were only able to offer numbers which did not correspond to those displayed on the last bus stop I'd passed.

Still, it was a beautiful, beautiful day. I was quite enjoying the walk. I was willing to take a chance on being able to get there by foot, relying on dead reckoning and a not terribly convincing printout from Google Maps (with stuff that's only been built in the last few years, you can't rely on Chinese maps to be at all accurate). But after nearly 90 minutes, there was still no sign of the bloody hospital.

And then I thought to myself: "What the hell are you doing out here, 20 miles out in the countryside, searching for a hospital that quite possibly doesn't even exist? Why on earth are you going to all this trouble to get this stupid, bogus health check to apply for a visa to stay in this doomed shithole of a country?"


Perhaps it was just hypoglycaemic despair. But I like to think it was a moment of clarity.


Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Where I'm at in my life just now

"It's an utterly GORGEOUS morning... except that I am in China."


(A text message I sent to several friends here earlier today.)

It is one of the most peachy-perfect days you could ever wish for. The kind of day that can make even walking 15 miles in ill-fitting shoes and failing to get important things done seem kind of pleasant.

Unfortunately, we only experience days of such blissful weather a handful of times a year in Beijing, whereas circumstances of the latter type prevail incessantly.

Monday, May 14, 2012

Forced departures

China's mounting reluctance to issue visas to anyone is starting to bite: the cull of IELTS examiners I anticipated a couple of months back has just started getting under way; and I myself will have to leave next week. But China will not be much compromised by our loss, either in its internal functionality or in its external perception by the world at large.

When, on the other hand, the government chooses to expel one of the smartest and most respected foreign journalists working here, it does enormous harm to its international reputation.

For the past couple of years there have been intimations of a clamping down on foreign reporting here: many journalists, freelancers in particular, have found themselves facing longer and longer delays in getting their journalist's accreditations and visas processed, and sometimes being granted only short-term rather than full-year visas amid intimidatory rumblings about the record of their past coverage of China, or their employer's record, possibly having a bearing on the approval of their applications.

But no-one had had their journalist's status revoked... until last week, when Melissa Chan, an American Chinese reporter who has for nearly 5 years been the English-language correspondent for Al Jazeera in China, found her accreditation cancelled, making it impossible for her to get a new visa and thus obliging her to leave the country at short notice.

It's not clear why Melissa has been singled out for this treatment. The authorities mutter darkly about her having failed to "respect China's laws", without - of course - mentioning which particular laws she might have infringed. It's possible that their wrath is directed more against Al Jazeera than against her personally, since they have also declined to accredit a replacement for her, thereby forcing the news channel to close down its English-language bureau in Beijing for now. It's possible that it's part of the tense diplomatic manouevring between China and the US over the Chen Guangcheng case. Or perhaps it's just a brutally random gesture of intimidation, a pour encourager les autres warning to the rest of the foreign press corps to back off from 'negative' stories in this sensitive period of the leadership transition. Melissa herself declines to speculate openly on the reasons, and - in her inspiringly upbeat farewell piece a few days ago - she refuses to feel bitter or sorry for herself. [Do go and check out that article, and the archive of the rest of her reporting from China, to see what a fine writer we're losing.]

Many of my journalist friends are shocked and disgusted by this news, and depressed at what it seems to signal about the way China is heading this year. Evan Osnos in the New Yorker, mostly a fairly optimistic commentator on this country, has written bitterly that the expulsion of Melissa Chan by the Chinese government "revives a Soviet-era strategy that will undermine its own efforts to project soft power and shows a spirit of self-delusion that does not bode well for China’s ability to address the problems that imperil its future."

Quite so. I am glad to be getting out of the place this month. And increasingly doubtful whether I shall ever be coming back.


A double bon mot for the week

"The better the artist, the more vulnerable he seems to be." 


Al Alvarez (1929- )



"An artist feels vulnerable to begin with; and yet the only answer is to recklessly discard more armour."


Eric Maisel (1947?- )


Saturday, May 12, 2012

My Fantasy Girlfriend - Liz Phair


I have a weakness for 'rock chicks'. Who doesn't?

But Liz is more than just an eye-catching figure up on the stage or a ballsy interviewee, she's a truly incandescent talent. Her debut album Exile in Guyville emerged while I was on my great back-packing expedition in the early '90s. A friend I was visiting in China introduced me to it in the spring of 1994 and made a cassette copy of it for me to take with me on my further travels - and so it became hardwired into my brain as the 'soundtrack' to that year of adventures, and associated particularly strongly with my first experience of China. Hence, I dare say, she surfaces in my thoughts at this particular juncture because I am reflecting back a lot on my time here as I stand on the brink of departure (uncertain quite when or whether I shall return, and definitely moving towards a final withdrawal within the the next 12 months).

I was initially bowled over by the music, fascinated by the personality forcing itself into my brain through the earphones of my battered old Walkman. I had never seen a picture of her. And while one of course likes to fantasise that people one admires will also be quite physically attractive, and those fantasies are not usually too far disappointed with music stars who tend somehow to scrub up well, I was unprepared for the discovery later in the year that she was breathtakingly pretty as well - not the elaborately airbrushed beauty of the supermodel or the alienating perfection of the super-actress, but a believable, accessible, girl-next-door sort of prettiness, and all the more devastating for that.

The knee-trembling revelation came for me with her appearance on the cover of Rolling Stone. I can't remember now quite when that came out. I think it must have been towards the end of 1994, when I'd reached New York and was just about to head back home to the UK again. Of course, I bought a copy. Two, actually. I wanted to have one to show to friends and one to keep under wraps as a souvenir of this bewitching indie diva who had kept me company through so many strange experiences during the last 9 months on the road.

I confess there was a more straightforwardly erotic dimension to her appeal as well. Many of her lyrics are exaggeratedly forthright about sex, and suggest a persona that is uninhibited almost to the point of nymphomania. As I have observed on here more than once before, the art is not necessarily the life; but the image she presents of herself in several of the songs on that fabulous first album - and in many more subsequently - does set the imagination racing rather.

She doesn't have a label any more, but put out her last album, Funstyle, independently. She's always been  too edgy and free-spirited to get on very well with record companies, but she's been producing music - consistently inconsistent, but regularly interesting - for 20 years now, defiantly ploughing her own furrow. As she said to fans on her website: "This is my journey. I'll keep sending you postcards."  Apparently, there may be another album - and a book! - in the works. I'm particularly looking forward to the book: she has an astonishing facility with words, is one of the most impressive lyricists of our era; I have a hunch her extended prose will be just as good.

Smart, sassy, talented (a more than decent guitar player, to boot), heart-meltingly pretty, and a bit of a handful in the bedroom - Liz P would seem to be the complete package.

Here's Never Said, one of the best songs from that great first album (the original video; I'd never seen it before). Rolling Stone ranked Exile in Guyville at No. 328 in their '500 Best Albums of All Time'; I would have placed it at least 250 spots higher. You could also check out this much mellower live acoustic version.


And here's another, Divorce Song (from which I quoted a passage in my Lyrics Quiz a while back), set to a montage of more photos of the lovely lady.

Friday, May 11, 2012

Recently, on The Barstool...

So, what's been going on over on my notorious 'drinking blog' over the past month and a half??


After the improbable discovery of a 'Swiss Club' in neighbouring Tianjin, I tried (and, of course, miserably failed) to initiate a new reader participation thread inspired by the The Fast Show's great delusional lothario, secondhand car dealer 'Swiss' Toni.

Reflecting on the strange culture of all-night drinking we have here in Beijing, I compiled a double 'Top Five' of the bars where I've seen the dawn come up and the bars where I've fallen asleep (yes, there is some overlap).

We've had a couple of posts on cocktail recipes - here and here - inspired by the fact that my friend Stephanie Rocard was one of the winners in the recent Beijing preliminary heat of the latest Diageo Reserve World Class Bartender Competition.

On the music front, we saw the second instalment of my new 'Great Basslines' strand with a Top Five 'Chuggers', and a much cheesier Top Five Songs I Miss (from the idiosyncratic playlist at my favourite bar, compiled by the original owner, a mate of mine who has now returned to Oz). I have also posted Harry McClintock's Big Rock Candy Mountains (a song I first got to know as a very young child - although I think I was simply charmed by its surreal imagery and had no inkling of its rather bleak context), husky-voiced Norwegian siren Ida Maria's infectious shoutalong lust song I Like You So Much Better When You're Naked (with a rather charming fan video animated from b&w stills), and some examples of virtuoso playing of a traditional Chinese instrument, the suona (a sort of reedy mini-trumpet). And I celebrated Cinco de Mayo last week with a blast of Los Lobos (and a flash of Salma Hayek!).

I've also shared my views on the imminent Bar and Club Awards run by The Beijinger magazine (I have a tenuous affiliation with their rival, City Weekend, but I am always asked to contribute to their preliminary nominations round), pondered the likely hopelessness of trying to rescue a bar from the Chinese predilection for naffness, delivered an affectionate appreciation of one of the great fictional drunks, Rab C. Nesbitt, discovered a rather wonderful statistics website which revealed to me that North Dakota is one of the best places in the US to get a drink, happened upon a particularly good line from Nietzsche, shared a bitter joke about the musical profession from cartoonist Mark Stivers (who's a musician himself), made a very silly comment on a careless capitalization error on a bar menu (one for JES, my bad-joke-addicted blog-friend), identified the true secret of mixing a good drink in a vintage cartoon, and reminisced on my first summer in Beijing, during the SARS scare.

And finally, my resurrected Invent A Name For A Rock Band game reached its 200th comment. [Unfortunately, that seems to have killed the thread stone dead! Perhaps because bloody Blogger will only display the first 199 comments?!]


Always lots of good stuff over there on the 'dark side'....


This week just keeps coming at me!

After 'flu from hell, dislocating a knee, protracted wrangles with Chinese banks, and a spontaneous data wipe on my computer... today I managed to scald my testicles.

A cup (or two or three) of hot water is essential for lubricating the vocal cords when I'm recording teaching materials or whatever. And this morning one of the girls from the studio was fussing around trying to adjust my microphone when the boom suddenly collapsed, dropping the mike violently on to my little collection of paper cups and so unleashing a tsunami of steaming liquid across the table and into my lap.

Gentlemen in China are more than usually anxious about this sort of injury this week, after the recent news from the far southern province of Hainan of a man dying when a woman attacked him by squeezing his balls.

Topical, but sceptical...


Gosh, cartoonists respond quickly to events these days, don't they?

Yes, it's good news, but... when I found this cartoon last night, I read the line as "remembered more for being African-American."

So, I suppose that's a projection of my own scepticism (superimposing itself on the cartoonist's triumphalism), imagining this might be a barbed commentary reflecting some less exultant responses in America's gay community - many of whom feel they've been waiting too long for this week's stand.



Haiku for the week

Sunshine and coughing -
The city's late April gifts -
Play on the memory.


The approach of summer always seems to bring with it one of the worst of the 'Beijing colds'. I have been very ill since last Sunday. I was similarly afflicted at the end of April or early in May in my first year here - just as news of the SARS outbreak had finally been released here (it had already been in progress for well over a month, but the government had been trying to keep it a secret). I wonder if it's the wheezy cough and the rasping headache (yes, I'm sure all of us here thought we might have SARS for at least a day or so during that jittery time) as much as the similarly blue skies that's been dredging up the memories of that first summer here this past week. Or perhaps it's the prospect of my imminent departure that's prompting me to reflect on my memories of nearly 10 years living in this city... and I'm wistfully focusing on what were, paradoxically, some of the best of those memories.


Tuesday, May 08, 2012

Signs God thinks you're spending too much time on the computer

Rather than praying, cowering, beseeching, and all of that....


He resets his DeityBook 'status' to Wrathful, and very soon there's a whole lot of smitin' goin' on!



Consider - I am reaching a crisis point in my China Exit Strategy (ha!), and really needed to get super-busy at the start of this week... chasing up missing payments from various employers, trying to distill some coherent plan from the almost entirely inconsistent advice I've been getting from a string of different 'visa agents' (and certain unhelpfully 'helpful' friends!), trying to book some affordable flights to the UK and the US, getting hold of a big chunk of foreign currency, and finalising a sub-let on my apartment for part of the summer.

So, it was most unfortunate that I suddenly came down with 'flu from hell over the weekend, a wretched sore throat and fever, utterly debilitating. And then my phone got cut off unexpectedly quickly (it's usually OK to let the bill drift until at least the middle of the month, but the phone company is wildly erratic in its disconnection policy), which was a bit inconvenient for chasing up visa agents (some of these guys keep you on hold for 20 or 30 minutes at a time - which destroys battery and credit on a mobile phone). My mobility was further restricted when I managed to dislocate the dodgy cartilage in my right knee yesterday evening, and my usual 'prayer mat technique' for fixing it wasn't working (it had come out on the inside of the knee rather than at the front, and it's rather difficult to achieve full extension of the knee joint sideways - not without doing horrible things to your cruciate ligaments, anyway); I managed to sort it out eventually, but that was 40 or 50 minutes of extreme anxiety I could have done without. Then, when I managed to drag myself down to the Post Office to make amends for my telephonic delinquency this afternoon (the nearest one is two miles away, but it's so much nicer an experience than trying to pay in a bank), I found that their computer network was down. I was forced to go to the bank after all - and regular readers may have some idea of how bad that can be. I managed to get the job done in only about 20 minutes (which is astonishingly quick for a Chinese bank; mind you, there were only two people being served ahead of me...).

But then, when I got back home, finally ready to take on the massed hordes of visa fixers and travel agents and whatever... my computer CRASHED.

What? No, of course I'm not backed-up! Years of relatively trouble-free computer usage have made me complacent, I know. The last time I did a full back-up of any of my computers, I was still having to use floppy disks - and it ended up requiring half a dozen of the things, and taking absolutely hours. I gather it might be possible to get everything on two or three DVDs now - but it's still a bit of a hassle.

Yes, yes, I'm on it. I just don't have any free disks here right now. I am going to have to leave my computer switched on until I can get out to buy some tomorrow.

Oh, no - the CRASH was not a permanent crash. After the third or fourth restart, and much praying and cussing, and just going away and leaving the dratted machine alone for an hour to try to catch it by surprise... it eventually relented, and stopped hiding all my data from me.

But it had been a VERY SCARY experience. For a while, everything that I've ever downloaded or stored on this computer had disappeared - no photos, no music, no documents; not even a desktop folder with my name on it (although my 'Froog' administrator account was still in place, and GoogleChrome was the only non-preinstalled program still displaying on the desktop and in the Programs list [odd, because it is one of the more recent programs I've downloaded; stuff like Skype that I put on way back when I first bought the thing had GONE]).

A lot of this stuff, I do kind of have 'backed up'. A lot of it has been transferred over from former laptops, which are still just about alive. A lot of the work-related stuff I've taken the precaution of BCc-ing to myself on e-mail. But a lot of the most valuable stuff - training materials and research notes and articles that I've compiled over the past two or three years (stuff that is 'valuable' to me in terms of the time and effort and pride that I invested in creating it, rather than its possible financial worth) - well, it was looking as though that was ALL GONE. Not a happy feeling.


HOW do computers do this to us? Like mischievous amateur conjurors terrorising their family and friends in the parlour after dinner, they make you think that your most valued possessions have vanished into thin air and can never be restored. But eventually, after far, far, far too long, the lost items reappear again. "Only kidding!" they cry, with a smug grin.

And you just want to beat their head in with a spade and bury them in the back yard, don't you?




I am hoping that my new most regular commenter, John, who seems to be a bit of an IT whizz, might be able to chip in with some diagnosis or encouragement on this harrowing episode. In fact, I am inclined to blame him slightly. He had recently given me a tip about a crafty way to revert to the 'old look' on Yahoo Mail (changed a few months ago to something that is, to my mind, uglier, harder to navigate, and - at least on my browser, with my connection speeds - much slower and less stable than its no-frills predecessor). He told me that the new template wouldn't work on smaller screen resolutions, so if you put your display settings back down to 800 x 600 pixcels (and didn't that remind me uncomfortably of playing Doom on an ancient secondhand desktop while I was at law school, many, many, many years ago!!), Yahoo relunctantly gives you the option to switch back. Oh joy, oh bliss!

But not for long. After implementing the template selection on all of my various Yahoo accounts, I went back into my Control Panel to return my screen settings to normal. And something wasn't quite right. The desktop wallpaper didn't look as crisp as it had (much better than 800 x 600, but still not that great). And my desktop icons had all been arbitrarily rearranged in the upper half rather than the left side of the screen (and some of them, I think, had disappeared altogether; I do have rather a lot - I find it a lot easier to go straight to a desktop shortcut that to have to go through pop-up menus). 

So, I thought, something is being a bit glitchy here. Maybe I need to Restart to fully restore my old Display settings. 

And that's when God - or the Devil - started messing with me!

Monday, May 07, 2012

Good as my word

I have now provided the answers to my Film Quotations Quiz of a week ago, in the comments to that post.

Go and see how you did. 

Or test yourself for the first time, before scrolling down to the comments.


Bon mot for the week

"Humour is the condiment to life."


Froog


So, I've said this before! It bears repeating.


Saturday, May 05, 2012

List of the Month - unanswered questions about the Titanic

I recently read Walter Lord's classic book about the sinking of the Titanic, A Night To Remember, having won a copy as the runner-up prize in a Titanic-related trivia quiz a few weeks back on the centenary of the disaster. Lord provides a vivid experience of the sinking through the eye-witness accounts of survivors, but is light on detail and analysis. At the end, I found that there were still many long unanswered questions nagging at me, and some new ones arising for the first time.


What happened to the iceberg?
Well, in fact Lord does touch on this, but in doing so raises a much larger question. It rapidly disappeared into the night, because the ship was evidently still going nearly full speed at the moment of collision and the berg passed along its entire length in barely 30 seconds. A steward on a German liner took a photograph of what is almost certainly the berg responsible the next day (he hadn't yet heard of the sinking, but noticed a long gash of paint along the base of the iceberg). I had always pictured the ship as rapidly coming to a dead stop in the water, and hence the iceberg being comparatively nearby, certainly less than a mile away, perhaps within a few hundred yards; I was curious as to why none of the graphic depictions of the event (hundreds of paintings over the years, as well as several film and TV accounts) ever showed the iceberg still within sight as the lifeboats pulled away from the stricken ship. The reason appears to be that the ship DID NOT STOP. Lord records that  the officer on the bridge, First Officer Murdoch, ordered the engines stopped immediately after the collision - perhaps before the iceberg had even cleared the stern of the ship. Moments later, Captain Smith joined him on the bridge, and the two of them immediately went outside to look for the berg and found it still just within sight, a hundred yards or so astern but receding quickly into the night. I had thought that the point of stopping the engines was to stop the ship; and the point of stopping the ship, presumably, was to provide a stable position for her rescuers to aim for, and also possibly to slow the ingress of water. (I imagine forward motion must increase the pressure of water being forced through the ruptures in the hull, but I'm not sure how significant this effect is. Mr Halpern [see below] of course has done an analysis on this, and concludes the increase in flooding rate caused by forward motion of the ship would not be significant. Quite apart from the question of when, or whether, Murdoch or Smith implemented a 'crash stop', there are some survivor accounts which suggest that the engines were later restarted for some manouevring.) But according to Lord's account, it would seem that the Titanic hardly lost any speed at all, and was probably still making perhaps 15 knots, if not 20 or so knots, through the water when Murdoch stopped the engines. Without reversing the engines to brake the ship, how long would it take her to come to a dead stop? 15 minutes? 30 minutes? It appears that the ship might have drifted several miles beyond the iceberg (and beyond the position Captain Smith had ordered his wireless operator to broadcast to rescue ships?).

How long would it take the ship to stop?
In her brief sea trials - one busy day, immediately before sailing - Titanic had carried out one 'crash stop', and supposedly managed to come to a halt in just under half a mile (probably a rather flattering figure, given that she was not fully ladened at this time). That would take about 2.5 minutes, assuming a uniform rate of deceleration; in fact, deceleration probably becomes much more efficient as the ship slows, so it may be a little less than that. However, Lord gives us - without explanation - the oddly precise figure of 37 seconds between the sighting of the iceberg and the collision. Even if the ship's engines were at full reverse for the whole of that time, it could not have lost much more than a quarter of its speed, probably considerably less. And there must have been a pause of a few seconds at least for First Officer Murdoch to issue the order to attempt a 'crash stop'. I would think there must also be a significant time lag before the propellers can be reversed. (Was there some braking mechanism on the prop shafts? Surely they would have to stop rotating in the forward drive direction before they could be reconnected to the power-train to drive them the other way. That might take quite a while.)

Was a 'crash stop' the best option?
Surely putting the propellers into full reverse must severely limit the ship's manouevrability? It has always seemed to me that Murdoch's unenviable choice would have been to try to stop the ship OR to take evasive action; but it seems he attempted BOTH. I have never seen any discussion of the practicalities of this. Moreover, as recorded by Lord, Murdoch reported to Smith that he had turned hard-a-starboard... and yet the ship turned - eventually, at the very last moment - to port and the iceberg grazed her starboard side. Is the operation of the rudder reversed when the propellers are reversed? It seems unlikely to me that there could be any significant localised flow of water around the propellers in the opposite direction to that of the ship, or that this could be of much effect on the steering when the ship is still moving forward through the water at 22 knots. Lord's failure to address such technical points of seamanship and the ship's operating capabilities is my major gripe about the book. [From what I've read on the Net over the subsequent couple of days, it appears that 'hard-a-starboard' is interpreted as an order to turn to port. Well, according to this explanation, this was an outmoded hangover from the earliest days of sailing, the idea being that you're telling your helmsman which way to turn the tiller (which of course turns the rudder, and the ship, in the opposite direction). This potentially confusing usage had long since been abandoned almost everywhere else in the world, but it somehow clung on in the British Merchant Navy until 1932. I'm not a nautical man, but it's odd that I don't recall ever coming across this before in any of dozens of  books and films about the sea. There's a chap called Samuel Halpern who has produced a number of detailed studies of technical aspects of the Titanic disaster for his Titanicology website, some of them on PowerPoint: the one on the ship's manoeuvring is especially interesting. Halpern reckons that Murdoch must have turned the ship to starboard as it passed the berg, to swing the stern clear of it. He feels that if the ship had turned to port only, to try to avoid the iceberg, the sideways drift of the ship would have resulted in heavier contact with the iceberg, damaging the hull along almost its entire length. He thinks it possible that Murdoch only turned to starboard, to steer around the berg as it was passing, and likeliest that he turned first to port and then to starboard. This further article of his on Murdoch's bridge orders concludes that the First Officer did the best he could to minimize the impact of a collision that would have been almost unavoidable, unless he had reacted within seconds of hearing the lookouts' warning gong (probably impossible, given that he had to first see for himself what the obstacle was, and what its position was relative to the ship); Halpern says here that a head-on collision might have been survivable, but incomplete evasive action - if Murdoch had turned earlier, but not quite early enough - would have resulted in far worse damage. Halpern also seems to think that the engines were not reversed before the collision, but - contrary to the account Walter Lord gives - were reversed for two minutes or so afterwards before being stopped, which might be just about long enough to bring the ship to a dead stop. However, I suspect this belief arises from an opinion of what ought to have happened. The survivor testimonies he cites in support of this view are not very convincing.]

Did the watertight bulkheads fail?
Lord tells us that at least one of the bulkheads in the forward section of the boat did collapse, leading to the sudden flooding of Boiler Room No. 5. Was there a design flaw, the bulkhead not actually capable of withstanding the weight of water in a fully flooded compartment? Or was there some unforeseen effect, unexpected pressure on the bulkhead from the high speed of the water entering through narrow breaches in the hull? Was the bulkhead perhaps weakened by the collision? I can imagine there might have been a domino effect - if one bulkhead suddenly failed, the weight of water rushing backwards might easily smash down several others in sequence. But why did the first one fail?

What's the story with the 'cook'?
One of the most famous survivor stories is that of Charles Joughin, the ship's Master Baker, who, according to legend, got blind drunk in the ship's last moments. Lord focuses mainly on Joughin's own account of events, in which he just had a couple of drinks to settle his nerves; but he does throw in one passing reference - apparently a reference to Joughin - that a passenger saw one crew member downing a whole bottle of gin. So, Lord is vague on how much alcohol Joughin had consumed. The larger question, though, is how the heck did Joughin survive? He remained on the ship until the very end, spent nearly two hours bobbing in the icy water, and when he did finally reach a boat, it was Collapsible Lifeboat B, which had not been properly launched, was upside-down and barely afloat, and thus not offering much comfort from the sea at all. It was a further three or four hours before he was safely aboard the S.S. Carpathia, and for much of that time he'd been in the water alongside Collapsible B. Alcohol is commonly supposed to accelerate rather than ward off hypothermia. And even if there were some unexplained beneficial effect from the whisky and/or gin that he'd drunk, it would surely have worn off within a couple of hours. I can't believe he could have survived if he'd got himself incapably drunk, as the myth suggests. Could a more modest amount of alcohol consumption have contributed to his survival? Joughin somehow withstood the freezing temperatures for hours, conditions which proved fatal in just minutes for many others. It is one of the biggest mysteries of the sinking.

How did the ship go down?
A few of Lord's eye-witnesses refer to the stern of the ship standing almost vertical out of the water in the last moments before it sank. I suspect this is an exaggeration - or perhaps a misperception arising from looking at the ship from in front or behind. In a recent National Geographic documentary on the sinking, film director James Cameron asked an engineer to calculate the stress on the ship when the rear half of it began to be raised clear of the water, and the result was apparently that the hull would snap in two when it reached an angle of 21° above the horizon. It is remarkable how few of the survivors referred to this (none of those in Lord's book); although a good many of them said they could not bear to watch as the ship went down. Lord does, however, mention that some of them noted that the ship "settled in the water" again in its last moments, its angle becoming much less steep: this, I would think, is the moment at which the hull cracked. Charles Joughin (who, like Leo and Kate in Cameron's film, had made his way to the stern of the ship) described the stern as descending to the water smoothly and gently, like an elevator. I suspect Lord thought that he was describing the ship's forward movement into the water as it sank, and failed to question him any more closely about this detail. It seems to me he was more probably describing the downward movement of the raised stern falling back towards the surface of the sea. It seems odd, though, however drunk he may have been, that he would not have noticed and remarked upon the ship breaking in half. I wonder if perhaps the rupture occurred just below the surface, so that the changing attitude of the section of the stern that was still above water was all that the survivors might have noticed.

How did the ship stay on an even keel?
Ships taking on a large amount of water capsize very easily. Was there something about the Titanic's design that made her unusually stable? Did the fact she was taking in water at the bow have a stabilizing effect? (I imagine the water collecting at the front of the ship, and the rearward progress of the flooding being slowed by the watertight bulkheads, would limit the effect of uneven distribution of the water across the longitudinal axis, although I have no idea what the mathematics of this would be.) Were the ship's engineers working heroically to keep the ship trimmed, right up until her last moments? Or was it just 'luck'? (Also, strangely enough, when the ship did eventually start to list, it was to port - whereas she was holed on the starboard side.)

What's up with the lights?
Apparently, the ship's lights remained on until seconds before she finally sank. This seems incredible, given that nearly half the ship would have been flooded with seawater by this point, and that it must have been almost impossible to continue working in the ship's engine room when she was tilted at such a crazy angle out of the water. Again, I would be curious to read a detailed technical appraisal of how the ship's electrical system worked, and how it could have remained operational under these conditions. Furthermore, Lord refers to the lights getting weaker near the end, and taking on a strange reddish glow; but he offers no explanation of these phenomena. My curiosity runs rampant!

How far away was the Californian?
One of the most tragic aspects of the story is that the S.S. Californian was apparently quite nearby, but failed to take notice of signs of the Titanic's distress. The Californian was observing a ship "a few miles away" which clearly was the Titanic (well, it's evident in retrospect; the officers on the Californian had difficulty identifying even what type of ship it was). The Titanic observed a ship - and some of her lifeboats tried to row towards it, but in vain - which was presumably the Californian. Estimates of the distance between the two ships vary wildly: I've seen figures from 5 to 20 miles mentioned; and there is the additional complication that some people believe this nearby ship the Titanic had in sight was not the Californian at all, but some other vessel. However, when the Californian's captain finally learnt of the loss of the Titanic, it took him well over two hours to reach the site - which would suggest he was perhaps 30 miles or more distant. Lord doesn't inquire into this. [The problem with Lord's account is that he doesn't really pay any attention to the Californian joining the rescue effort. He suggests that she set off towards the Titanic at about 5.45am (nearly three-and-a-half hours after she'd gone down), but didn't arrive until some time well after 8am. Halpern indicates that she may not have got underway until nearly 6am, but reached the vicinity of the sinking by about 7.30am - presumably this is where the 20 mile estimate comes from. Unfortunately, she had gone to slightly the wrong position, and had to force her way through broken pack ice to reach the area where the Carpathia had been picking up survivors, which took nearly another hour.]

That much ice?
I don't recall Cameron's film, or any others, showing much if anything of the rescue the next morning. Apparently, there was ice everywhere. The S.S. Carpathia, first on the scene to pick up survivors, found it difficult to pick its way between dozens of large and small bergs. The Californian had heaved to for the night because it had encountered a huge floe, an impassable barrier many miles long. (This would seem to be further evidence that the ship had not implemented a full 'crash stop', but had drifted some distance beyond the collision site. There seems to be no mention of encountering other ice in the vicinity until the morning. If the ship had been fully stopped, it would have been drifting in the Labrador Current with exactly the same speed and direction as the ice, and wouldn't have moved into the midst of it. Well, maybe not: apparently there are some large eddies in that Current.) These were exceptional conditions, one of the highest concentrations of ice ever recorded in the North Atlantic, but... it does tend to undermine the position of those who claim that it was not irresponsible of Captain Smith to be proceeding at nearly full speed despite receiving warnings of ice ahead. The coming of dawn the next day revealed a sea crowded with icebergs: it would seem that the Titanic was not unlucky to have hit one, but lucky to have hit only one.

Was there any way to save the ship, or at least to keep her afloat longer?
I have long been troubled by the thought that perhaps the vaunted system of watertight compartments was a key factor in the speed of Titanic's sinking. Captain Smith relied on them to slow the rate of sinking, even though the ship's builder, Thomas Andrews, had told him that the water in the compartments would eventually overflow the tops of the watertight bulkheads and that the ship must then inevitably sink. I wonder if opening the watertight doors in these forward compartments might have bought the ship more time: if water had been allowed to spread down the entire length of the ship, she might have sunk more evenly, not have had the bow pulled underwater so quickly (and, presumably, more pumps would have been available to reduce the amount of water being shipped). I suppose she would still have tended to sink bow first. And allowing the water to spread further back in the ship would probably have increased the risk of capsize. Perhaps it would not even have been possible to open the watertight doors again, once the forward compartments were largely flooded. But I think this is an intriguing possibility; and I would imagine that it should be possible to test this scenario with computer modelling. I wonder if anyone has tried. [Aha! This article cites a 1995 study by Robert Gannon (published in Popular Science, Vol. 246, No.2) in which he found that the  complete flooding of the bow compartments did substantially accelerate the sinking. If the watertight compartments had been left open, allowing water to flood more evenly through the whole length of the ship, he estimated that Titanic could have remained afloat six hours longer - time enough for both the Carpathia and the Californian to reach her and begin taking off passengers with their own lifeboats. I'm a little sceptical about this, though: it seems a rather dramatic difference. I wonder if Gannon's conclusion wasn't mainly based on an assumption that the Titanic would not have broken in half if the flooding had not been concentrated in the bow, thus lifting the stern clear of the water; it seems unlikely to me that the hull breaking accelerated the sinking very much, since this occurred only a few minutes before the ship finally went under,  and when she was already more than half under water. The ship's designer, Thomas Andrews, had assessed that she could not stay afloat more than two to three hours, and his calculation did not allow for the hull breaking in half. Moreover, I wonder if Gannon overlooked a factor highlighted by Halpern in this study on the rate of ingress of water: that flooding is slowed by the weight of water accumulating above the point of breach, and hence slows progressively as the level of water inside the ship rises towards the external waterline. Thus, confining the flooding to the forward compartments would have resulted in a considerably slower rate of ingress of water than if the watertight doors had been opened to allow the water to spread down the length of the ship, because the water level would rise much more rapidly in a limited space. I suspect this effect would have outweighed the advantages of additional pumping capacity.]



Yes, indeed, so many questions about that terrible night. I have a few more besides, but these are the main ones.


Friday, May 04, 2012

Banks - a medieval instrument of torture?

Six months ago, on the recommendation of a (Chinese American) colleague at one of the management consultancies I occasionally write for, I switched to using the Bank of East Asia. I'm not sure what their ownership structure or history is, but they're headquartered in Hong Kong, and thus I fondly hoped that they might be a little more rational and a bit more customer-friendly than their mainland counterparts. 

Perhaps they are a little, but not much. At least they have an English customer service hotline - which I am obliged to resort to rather too often.

The recommender had particularly praised their online banking service, and this had been the main reason for my adopting them. I used to get paid almost entirely cash-in-hand, but over the past year or two there has been a shift to most of my employers insisting on trying to make payments into a bank account for me. It is a royal pain-in-the-arse trying to monitor who has paid in what and when with a regular Chinese bank. In fact, it proved to be just about impossible. So, the facility for being able to check my account balance and recent inpayments quickly and easily online was the major selling point for me.

But I haven't been earning much lately, so... I hadn't bothered to check my account for two or three months. And when I tried to do so the other day, I found that the bank had just revamped its cyberbanking website. I tried to be optimistic about the change (after the initial irritation of taking some moments scouring a cluttered and unfamiliar homepage to try to find the tab that would take me to the cyberbanking area): it seemed that the 'new look' was somewhat more streamlined.

Unfortunately, on this new log-in page the previously available options to sign in using your name or a 'username' appeared to have been removed, or were at least temporarily suspended or dysfunctional. The only way to sign in was via the account number - which is a cumbersome 19 digits long. And I found that the entry window only admitted up to 15 digits.

I tried entering the full account number, thinking that perhaps it was registering somehow with the bank's website even though it wasn't all being displayed on my screen; but when I hit 'Submit', NOTHING happened. Not even the little swirly thing that tells you your computer is trying to do something; certainly not an 'error message' of any kind.

I tried a few more times. I tried omitting the last two, three, or four digits, thinking that perhaps they might be some sort of bank code and not after all part of my account number. Still no joy.

In a spirit of experimentation, I decided to query this via the online customer service link. When an operative finally got back to me 36 hours later, their message was.... my account number couldn't possibly be more than 16 digits.

Oh. Well, I'm looking at it right now, and it is definitely.... 15, 16, 17... yes, 19 digits long. And your dratted input window wasn't registering anything more than 15 digits anyway. WTF???

Call me old-fashioned, but I find it particularly disturbing when bank personnel appear to be UNABLE TO COUNT. Perhaps they're not using base 10??



Later that day, I found that the cyberbanking log-in page had changed again. I was now once more able to log in under my 'username' (although, having not used it in nearly three months, I struggled to remember it at first). But guess what? My 'account details' page now displays only a balance, not a list of transactions.

I am still waiting to hear from the customer service drones what the hell is up with that.


The weekly haiku

The horror of change,
Paralysis of the will...
The time for leaving.


I need to make ready to quit the country in 3 or 4 weeks. I realised this about 3 or 4 weeks ago. During that 3 or 4 weeks, I have done precisely nothing about it. There's procrastination, and then there's....  Oh dear.

Thursday, May 03, 2012

Invisible banjo? A likely story!

A bunch of my journo friends regularly amuse themselves towards the end of the week by sharing their pick of the most improbable headlines they've seen recently.

One of the most memorable they've ever turned up came from the UK's Daily Mirror a couple of months ago - I was just strumming a pretend banjo.

A middle-aged man on a morning commuter train had been accused of 'public indecency' after a female fellow passenger complained that he appeared to be masturbating under a newspaper that he'd placed across his lap.

His defence was that he had been playing air banjo... under the newspaper. And, well, yes, he might have scratched his balls a bit as well, but chaps do that, it's perfectly normal. And his laboured breathing was caused by a chest infection.

Apparently, evidence was produced to show that the man was indeed a banjo player, and thus might have been practising his musicianship without his, er, instrument. At the climax (ahem) of his defence, he performed an elaborate mime of the suspect conduct, which produced widespread sniggers in court, but was sufficient to persuade a majority of the jurors of his possible innocence.

This is one of the reasons why I never fancied practising criminal law. I couldn't motivate myself to go to such extraordinary lengths in concocting a defence. Or, if I had been able to come up with something like this, I'm sure I wouldn't have been able to carry it off with a straight face.

As a sometime lawyer, the most intriguing aspect of this story for me is the judge's summing up. As reported, it would seem that the judge in effect offered supplementary evidence of his own (on the prevalence and naturalness of men "rearranging themselves") and virtually instructed the jury to acquit. This is very, very naughty. It's the most outrageously prejudicial summing up I've heard... since this one.


Wednesday, May 02, 2012

New Picks of the Month

A couple more recommendations from this time three years ago...

On Froogville, I think I'll have to go for Staring at the sun, one of my favourite poetry posts (though I confess it seemed like showing off a little to combine Greek, English, and Irish poets with a throwaway reference to Wittgenstein and a recollection of a favourite Punch cartoon).

From The Barstool, in similar showing-off-the-breadth-of-me-reading vein, I choose A Chinese proverb - which is exactly what you might suppose, but with a bit of my own commentary added.

Tuesday, May 01, 2012

Out of the mouths of babes...

... and Spellcheck!

Just lately, I have been getting mightily fed up of all the perverse, illogical, insane suggestions that Microsoft Word's inbuilt "dictionary" throws at me whenever it doesn't recognise something I've typed.

But when I was doing some editing this weekend, it was bamboozled by the word Chineseness.

And it asked me:
Did you mean cheesiness?


There is inadvertent insight here. In many situations, the terms would be pretty much interchangeable.


Traffic Report - the blog stats for April

A fairly 'typical' month...

There were 35 posts and nearly 12,000 words on Froogville last month.

There were 29 posts and around 10,000 words on Barstool Blues.


Curiously enough, although comment activity appears to have completely died over on my 'drinking blog', it has been recording a slightly higher number of daily visitors than its big brother over the last couple of weeks. I wonder what's brought that about?

I also note that Froogville has recently enjoyed its first visits from Uruguay and Lithuania - which, by spooky coincidence, are currently my likeliest next destinations when I finally get around to removing myself from China. FATE seems to be nudging me in the ribs again.