The view from the hotel this afternoon.
I'd like to thank my mother for my curls. Sunday afternoon. How much more could I possibly love this time of the week? All my life I used to love Friday night - all the weekend ahead of me; I could do anything and the repurcussions would surely only last til Sunday morning, and I'd still have a day in hand. Admittedly when I was around 10 years old I used to feel anxious on Friday night because we'd have soccer on Saturday morning, and though I loved playing, I used to suck at waiting for the game. I used to pray it would be rained off, so I wouldn't have to deal with the buildup. Which is kinda ironic, because I was then disappointed when game time came around and we couldn't play.
But now Friday night is just like Monday night, just another day before work. Work on Saturday is usually more relaxed, but it's still work. Anyway, back to Sunday afternoon. Sigh. No obligation, except to eat and breathe. I can lie on my bed all day and I'm the only one who will beat myself up for it. I do intend to be productive today, which is what this is, along with a gym session later today. I've never been a gym guy, but I decided its high time I did something about my puny breasts. The training bra must come off. I thought I was bench pressing granny weights, but then I realised the bar itself weighs 20kg, so its slightly more respectable. Still not enough for me to brag about it on here. I hate people who talk about their personal physical prowess, so I'll shut up (mainly because I have nothing to brag about).
Last night I was dragged along to a work dinner, which makes me sound like a brat with no respect, but to be honest if you'd been there and had to deal with the drunken ramblings of 40-something temperamental Japanese guys, you'd have wanted to run screaming yourself. I would rather not talk about it, but makes for interesting reading (I presume), so I might have to write about it in a collective post about Japanese cultural setbacks. I promise it's more than just a whinge.
So 9pm rolled around and we were set free, with the other guys heading off to play billiards with the hotel escorts, and me sneaking away to meet up with friends at karaoke. I say "sneaking" because apparently I'm not allowed. Oh dear, it appears some of the above paragraph is leaking back in here. But it's necessary backstory, so bear with me: My mates here are from a Taiwanese supplier company we are outsourcing at the moment. But business with them is all still at a volatile point, with lots of points of debate between the companies (like production output, and the "m" word... "money", for those of you less subtle). Long story short, my company would prefer we don't get too close to the supplier staff, to maintain professional business relations. I certainly believe in this when it comes to the other 3 suppliers, as I feel they are letting us down. Need to stick pretty firmly to our guns with them. But with these Taiwanese, I think we've achieved a good relationship of mutual respect. Maybe it's safer to guard your hand, but this isn't going to be the company that will dick us over. So, whether it's because I enjoy the good cop role offset against the bad cop that my workmates play, or whether it's just because the Taiwanese are pretty cool guys (I think it's both), I'm not going to let Japanese standards stop me from making friends. Just as long as it doesn't land me in trouble - though even Vincent and the other supplier guys know they shouldn't go telling my workmates about our fraternising.
Chinese karaoke. When I say that, do you think of Rush Hour 2, with Chris Tucker impersonating Michael in front of a crowd of businessmen? Well, now remove that image. Nothing like it. Japanese karaoke is different from Western karaoke because they tend to go with the booth setup - just you and a bunch of mates sitting around getting drunk and hoarse as the night rolls on. Nothing like the movie "Duets" or the K-Club in Wellington. China does this too, but they add another factor: karaoke girls. In fact, in China any private establishment seems to be an excuse to have an escort service. The hotel "sauna" is what is usually referred to as a "gentlemen's club". When I ring up from my room to request a masseus, they always ask "Just a massage sir?" "Yes, just a massage, what do you think I am, sexually frustrated?" Curiousity (and alcohol) got the better of me the other day, and I asked what the alternative was.
Asked, not requested. "Why, the Special Service sir." What, like an elite military group? Or a birthday cake brought in with a barbershop quartet? It all sounds quite harmless, so I asked how much this special service might cost. 730RMB, or NZ$123. "Ah, so its sex then," I blurted drunkenly. Thankfully I left it at cutting remarks, and requested "just-a-massage". One thing I don't think I will ever consider as fun is paying for sex.
So in the karaoke you have a room lavished with alcohol (usually red wine or Japanese sake), velvet couches, fruit (melons, lychees, grapes), and girls. The girls tend to be sent in in a line, like a catalogue, and you are supposed to pick and choose one or two girls each to spend the night with. Her job is to snuggle up to the guy, pour his drinks, light his cigarettes (if he smokes, which most guys do), drink when he drinks, laugh when he laughs, dance with him, compliment him if he sings, and generally be the perfect date for the evening. She gets 200RMB for that, and if he's up for it (and has enough money), she goes home with him. She has a bit of a say in it, but I don't think any of the girls ever say no. They tend to value their jobs over their personal comfort.
For my part, I showed up late this time, so I didn't have to go through the painful process of choosing a girl I don't really want. Some guys may think this position of pseudo-superiority is a great power trip (one of Vincent's friends referred to having two girls as "being the emperor"), but to me it all just feels fake. I like talking to chicks, but if they're being paid to talk to me, where's the fun in that? How can you tell if she's really entertained by you? Last time I went through the selection process (mostly not to look like a sour grape, and partly to give it a go so I could justify my opinion). Choosing a girl is hard - saying "you please" effectively says to all the other girls "you're unacceptable". Maybe not that harshly, but surely there's girls who never get picked, and how would that make you feel? Life shouldn't be a constant beauty contest.
In the end I picked a girl who wasn't spectacular, but she looked like she had a slight cynicism about the job, and I decided to make her evening a good one. I figured I pick her she'd get paid for a night without having to perform, like she would if some older Chinese guy chose her. I told her "I don't really want anything from you, other than to relax and have a good evening." Worked out pretty well, and we even shared some humour (including jokes about the whole system) that made for a pretty fun night.
This time around I was too busy singing "Billie Jean" and "Hotel California", along with harassing my drunken friends, to worry about having to tell any of the girls I wasn't interested. I did play dice with a bunch of the girls, who were ridiculous cheaters, but it just made it more amusing. Other highlights included rapping over the top of Chinese songs I didn't know the words to, lending my sunglasses to almost everyone in the room (with mixed results of style), and taking pictures, which I'll post here. All in all, I don't really buy into the whole escort service here, but it doesn't mean I can't have fun. Plus, being the only guy in the room who can sing English songs means I get extra applause, even when I know I stuffed it up royally (word of advice: don't sing Pretty Fly For a White Guy unless you're sure you can do a good Offspring impression, and have the lungs for it).
Me and Vincent big it up. 
Keith and Vincent say hi to their mums. 
Two of the girls, one of whom needs to give my glasses back. 
Vincent breathes style into Chinese pop.
