China Cool

I’ve never been one to stand out in a crowd. Some guys, the rat pack boys, the Gene Kelly crew, they could float down stairs, whisk through rooms and make the rest of us mortals simply stop and stare. I know. I’m a professional onlooker. Given this, life in China is a bit strange, for here apparently, I’m the one to watch.

Now I’m not diluted. I’m painfully aware of my charismatic limitations and have a handle on my handsomeness. And so I understand the reasons for the admiration. The bad girls envision a walking ATM and the good ones a potential green card. Their respective boyfriends simply see the same self-indulgent quarterback type I used to hate in high school, only I’m worse ‘cause my letterman’s jacket is a knock-off to be sure. Heck, I couldn’t withstand the rigors required of a chess club membership without a helmet and wrist guards.

But I’m not concerned with all that. My attention, as it often does, turns to the kids. They approach me without reservation bellowing, “Hello. How are you?” After all, I’m the crazy Caucasian…and those round eyes are always good for a laugh.

Officially, they long to practice their English with a native speaker. But truth be told, the pre-pubescent goofballs are just hoping to learn the latest slang and perhaps a few curses if they dare ask. Now I’m not one for dirtying the mouths of planet’s young people. I’m no saint of course, it’s just that the action lacks a sense of style. So instead I launch into a scholarly dissertation on coolness and its dependence on slick yet subtle oratory. The thing of it is I use a text from 1975.

That’s right, thanks to me there are a handful of Chinese kids running around Beijing sounding like a combination of Shaft and Re-Run, from What’s Happening.

I know, I know, I’m evil. But the thing of it is, once you have reservations in Hell, there’s really no point sweating the little things.