My mind raced through the multitude of vulgar terms I could use. My extensive knowledge of Chinese profanity was about to put to good use.

The taxi driver had made a wrong turn. I knew I was in trouble when he called dispatch for directions. Why do I always get the hacks with wet ink still on their driver licenses?

Zhu tou. (pig head) was the first one that came to mind. A common used term, it is usually directed against me, by small children, with the adjective stupid added for good measure.

I considered my stock insults: All would involve the driver’s sister, mother, or grandmother, a foreign resident of China, and part of his anatomy.

Tian wo de pi yen (lick my ass eye – you get the picture) was the newest addition to my insultive arsenal. My tentative trial of the phrase on Mrs. Stevo garnered expected and humorous results. She often laments my Chinese vocabulary, saying if I put as much energy into learning useful things I would be fluent. It’s not easy to learn Chinese.

Driving me home should have been an easy task. The wrong turn had ended our progress in a traffic snarl. The ambulance in the next lane, air horn blaring and lights a’flashing, was also stymied by the gridlock.

After my insult, the father of all insults, I would throw some money at the moron behind the wheel and jump out of the conveyance he piloted. I could find another cab, post traffic jam.

I’m not usually angry. It had been a long, evil week. I was tired. Mrs. Stevo was at home, and might have news of the secret.

Your sister….

Your mother and sister…

I grabbed for my stack ‘o’ cash. The driver shifted and reached into his pocket. He was quicker on the draw.

He looked over his shoulder, an open pack of cigarettes in his left hand. It was an apology, a sign of friendship, and camaraderie. He looked tired, but his face held a smile.

I smiled back, took the proffered cancer stick and said, “Xie xie.”

He was in the same boat as me. He didn’t know the city, I could tell by his accent he was from the north. It was raining, the streets were mayhem, and there was a foreigner in his cab that smelled of floral-scented massage oil. His night was as bad as mine. No, worse.

It’s not all about me. That’s easy for all of us to forget. Walk a mile in someone else’s shoes, etc.

I forgot about the insults, ate the smoke, and enjoyed the rest of the stop-and-start journey.

March 3, 2005 is a day that will live in infamy with The Stevo. No, there was no sneak attack, unless you count The Fates: The Stevo’s constant nemesis, up to their mischievous tricks.

I had been a resident of mainland China for 6 days. I was settling into a routine in my new country, albeit slowly. Jetlag, strange foods and languages, continuous stares, and rain conspired to keep a good man down. My lunch hour was three hours long, something I never complained about. The now-infamous event occurred while I was walking back to my office, perched on the fourth floor of the library building, after the 180 minute midday break.

I cut into a side stairwell, leaving the main ascent 100 meter further away. Up four flights and across a large, empty common room was my desk. After an email or two I’d see my only afternoon class. Then, a bed awaited, an attempt to sort my jetlag and teaching-related exhaustion.

Read the full story

The hills around the China / New Territories Hong Kong border are covered in tombs. Much of the area is inaccessible, except on foot. The departed wanted to be buried in their homeland, China, but that practice was not permitted. They were interred by their loved ones as close as physically possible:On the green hills, next to the river that once divided a British colony and what was seen as a hostile nation. Barbed wire and video surveillance remain, as do the resting places the dead, still maintained by relatives granting a wish as best they could.

Captured: May 15, 2008.

To the photo geeks: If anyone knows how to cut-down on urban haze/smog, be it a filter or digital processing solution, please drop me a line.

The Stevo’s have a secret.

No, I won’t tell you what it is: It’s a secret.

No, the world cannot expect a little Stevo any time soon. Have you seen The Omen (the original or remake)? A wee Stevo would make Damien Thorne look like a harbinger of goodwill. I’d be happy with a xiao gou (puppy), but Mrs. Stevo feels we should pass on our genes. Not a bad idea: My good looks, Mrs. Stevo’s beauty and innate goodness…

Wanna know the secret? Stay tuned. Signed up for RSS email updates in the right sidebar (brought to you by Feedburner!)

RT Cunningham at Untwisted Vortex, uncrowned prince of the blogosphere, has been as busy as a beaver as of late.

Last week he posted some great articles on improving your blog.

Want to know how to use Feedburner to offer RSS updates by email? RT is the man to see. Check out info on the Top of the Blogs, a new ranking service . Heard about Stumpedia? It is a new human-powered search engine. RT has been there and lived to tell the tale.

RT is a knowledgeable guy that I met through Carrie at My Several Worlds. The man knows blogging and WordPress. Give him a click and learn a lot.

Dear Andy:

I’ve seen a movie or two of your’s. More often than not I see your face plastered on every product you pimp endorse.

A trip to an electronic store has me facing your face, smiling at me from boxes of DVD players.

A trip to a DVD store has me seeing your viseage on the posters of the four movies you make each year. A tour through the CD section has me confronted with a mini you, in strange costumes, on CD jackets. I see a lot of you, Andy. You’re part of my weekly routine. A week without Andy…

I feel as if I know you, so I will say this:

You Cheap Bastard!

That’s right. You’re a cheap bastard. I read of your donation to the Chinese earthquake relief fund. Andy: 100,000 RMB? You have more than that in loose change. If you searched your sofa you’d find more money than that.

Come on, cheapie. Jackie Chan gave 10 million RMB. Jet Li parted with 1 million RMB and Yao Ming donated 500,000 RMB. The students and staff of my school donated more than 400,000 RMB. Let’s not talk about the $10 million RMB anonymous donation made yesterday.

You, tight-wad. 100 Gs?

$14,285 American for the young Chinese women that revere you? I know a Chinese English teacher that took the name Andi to honor you. YOU! Scrooge.

I’m not a man of your means, but after a day of phone calls I could donate 100 grand.

Yes, I’ve seen you face all over China. I never really liked it, my only reason being your blatant endorsements pimping. Now I have a reason. As does the rest of China. You have gone from a superstar to a laughingstock overnight.

Please, Sir, redeem yourself. Open your sock drawer, pull out your mad money, and take it to the nearest Red Cross office. Be the star in real life you are on the big screen.

SIncerely,

Sti Fu.