Finals ended, and did the semester, with a certain flourish that is most commonly associated with childbirth or the end of a course of antibiotics. The tests were difficult, but they are done. I am glad, and I must admit I'm the ever-so-slightest bit proud of myself for getting through a whole semester of Chinese language school at a real university in Beijing.

Last weekend was quite an adventure. A bunch of us went to the hutong. We walked about in the very cold for a while, and finally landed at the restaurant we wanted. Well, kind of. When we got there and let the workers know that there would be 9 (actually, 11) of us, they said that we couldn't eat there, because there was some function going on. However, they informed us, we could eat in Hutong Bar, which is about three doors down, and they would bring the food to us. So we did. It ended up that we filled up a small room in the bar. I had fish and chips, as did several others, and it was quite tasty.
After the feasting, we headed out to do some shopping along the street. We went into a few shops and bought a few things, though nothing extraordinary. I replaced my Beijing shirt, because the first one got a hole in the armpit, and I want a good shirt. As the day progressed, the number of people sticking out the cold in the hutong dwindled, and finally it was DC, TJ, his friend Russ, and me. Russ wanted a stamp of his name carved in Chinese, so we went into a little shop that does just that. They let us know it would be an hour before the stamp was ready.

DC knew about a Buddhist monastery with observances every day at a certain time, so we hopped into a taxi to kill the hour before the stamp was finished. I showed the taxi driver on the map where we wanted to go, and off we went. As we travelled through the Tian'anmen area, I was pointing out to Russ the places as we passed around the back of the Forbidden city and the side of the oh-so-famous Square. The taxi driver understood exactly what I was doing, since I kept saying words like "Tian'anmen" and pointing. He also knew that I speak Chinese. So he started giving me the tour. He told me which was the Great Hall of the People and Mao's Mausoleum. Actually, he understood that I didn't quite get "Mausoleum" so he just said, "Mao Ze Dong, Mao Ze Dong" and then stuck his tongue out and slumped to one side. Apparently the Mausoleum is where Mao had a massive stroke and lays dead. Farther down the road he pointed out the redlight district. I didn't get it at first, "red light area" in Chinese doesn't mean much. Then I realized that nasty is nasty everywhere. When he started miming painting his face, I asked if they were prostitutes. He said yes, and was amused at my knowledge of the slang for prostitutes. You live and learn, friends.

The monks and the chanting were interesting, but by far less funny than the taxi ride. I stood there with my bag from the t-shirt purchase, and had no inclination that I was offending the entire Buddhist-following contingent. It turns out that after a monk (whilst chanting) glared at me with hatred and indignation, I looked at the picture on the bag. Buddha. As Santa. With a hippie peace-sign necklace. And two peace-sign hands. Grinning in all his ridiculousness as a cartoon. Oops. I swapped my hands to behind my back...

That night we had a birthday party for the 3 year old. Zhu ni shengri kuai le!

Lately the Professor and I have watched the second season of My Name is Earl which is purchased on dvd. That show is ridiculously funny. If you get past the sort of hillybilly redneck vibes it gives off on the surface, it is amazingly clever. I recommend it.

Time to get visas for all of Southeast Asia.

T