On Qinjin Road, Bao’an District, Shenzhen, PRC. (aside: I have the same T-shirt as the man.)

Captured: March 29, 2008.

A locked door, at a built but never occupied building.

Captured: March 23, 2008. Shenzhen, China.

Jim, or Jimbo as I nicknamed him, was a lot like a ferret, after consuming a gallon of nicotine-lace Red Bull. He was everywhere all at once, dancing around the classroom, rummaging through my desk, the king of the overzealous nuisance. We had spent eight months together, one period a day, five days a week, before I had had enough.

He was smarter than his classmates. He could read, sound out new words, and understand the difference between is and are, something many of the native-speaking English teachers at his school were challenged with. His hand was the first to be raised. It was his voice that called out, “Teacher! Teacher!” when his written work was complete. He was smart, but he was the proverbial handful.

My first term teaching I yelled a great deal. I had the attitude that many new teachers do: I came all the way from Canada, these students should be thankful and respectful of my great sacrifice. I had yet to learn it was my attitude that had to change, not theirs. They were children, and kids will be kids. After I realized I had to think like them, not the other way around, my job became much easier.

It was a kinder, gentler Stevo that knelt down next to Jim that morning. I had sent him to a seat at the back of the class. When his mates were busy with a written exercise I approached his temporary desk. I looked him in the eye and said quietly, “You have to be quiet.” I put my finger to my lips.

He was subdued and nodded his agreement.

“Do you want me to call your mother?” I lifted an imaginary phone to my ear. That and mother would be enough of a threat to keep him in his seat the rest of the week. I didn’t yell, I talked in a quiet, understanding voice, the opposite of my boisterous classroom demeanor.

“Teacher,” said Jim, “No mother.”

The only sound was the breaking of my heart. Stupid, oafish Stevo. I understood why he was misbehaving, why he sought my every ounce of attention. Was she dead? Had she left? I never found out. My dastardly threat ended with me wanting to throw my arms around the Grade 3 boy and apologize for my stupidity and the dose of real-life he had been force-fed.

I still use “The Mother” threat, but more in jest. Sometimes attempted solutions hurt more than the problems.

CG: Yao bu yao?

Stevo: Yao.

CG: Liang ge er G DDR2 RAM ma?

Stevo: Dui.

CG: Acer, very good. Fei chang hao.

Stevo: Dui. Zhe ge, duo shao qian? (pointing in display case).

CG: Zhe ge?

Stevo: Dui.

CG: Ni yao Bluetooo …

Stevo: Bluetooth.

CG: Hao. Xie xie. Bluetoooooth.

Stevo: Wo yao Bluetooth. Ni you mei you Bluetooth USB?

CG: Dui. Zhe ge, xiao, small. Zhe ge, big, hen da. (spreading arms wide)

Stevo: Da de, hao de. Wo yao.

CG: Zhe ge?

Stevo: Yeah, I want that bad-boy. Bag it, Dano.

CG: Shenme?

Stevo: Zhe ge, wo yao mai yi ge.

CG: Hao hao hao.

I wonder: How would I say vector wallpaper in Chinese?

Lighting incense at the Temple of the Six Banyan Trees, Guangzhou, China.

Because the dynamic duo Ron and Robin (are they like The Captain and Tennille?) have been getting musical I will do the same today. This title of this song fits, but not the rest, unless the vocalist is singing about The Buddha. Meh, it’s early.

CHINA–Blissful sleep came to an abrupt end for The Stevo today. After three days of sleeping far later than his biology allows he was roused by the masked civet living in his kitchen.

The cat, said The Stevo, was out of the bag. The burlap sack lay in shreds. A raccoon-like face stared at him before plunging back into the garbage bin.

“I thought they would meow, it looks like a cat,” he said. Instead, he described a high-pitched whistle-cum-wail emanating from his glassed-in kitchen.

“It’s pretty damn freaky,” said The Stevo.

The civet was last seen feasting on a bags of skim milk power and uncooked rice. In an attempt to appease the wild fucking animal in his kitchen The Stevo tossed some papayas through the door.

“I just want it to shut up,” he said. “There are four more papayas and three oranges. After that all bets are off.”

The owner of said civet, The Stevo’s brother-in-law, who had spent the previous two night on the sofa, has departed Chateau Stevo. The dismayed kitchenless man said it was an unjust karmic joke.

“I would really like to get back into my kitchen,” said The Stevo.

Authorities fear there may be a double slaying, the brother-in-law, and the civet, if The Stevo is not able to get into his kitchen during the next 24 hours.

“I really want a sandwich,” he told this reporter.