LA Review of Books: Q&A with Shannon Young, Author of “Year of Fire Dragons”

I have a new post up at the LA Review of Books China Blog, in which I interview Hong Kong-based author Shannon Young:

Young Year of Fire Dragons coverYoung, however, didn’t originally plan to spend her life writing; she wanted to be an editor. But after graduating from college in 2009, she found many of her plans upended. Publishing jobs were nearly impossible to find in the midst of the economic downturn, her student loans were looming, and she had fallen in love with Ben, a Hong Kong native whom Young had met while on a semester abroad in London. Asia offered the chance for both economic security and personal happiness, so Young packed up and moved to Hong Kong — only to see Ben suddenly transferred to London a month after her arrival. In a new memoir, Year of Fire Dragons: An American Woman’s Story of Coming of Age in Hong Kong, Young recounts the ups and downs of her first twelve months in Hong Kong as she grappled with a life totally different from the one she had planned.

Read our Q&A here.

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Shanghai Snapshots


What did I do with ten days of vacation in Shanghai?

Well, I spent a lot of that time recharging my batteries—drinking multiple cups of instant coffee and writing or reading in my cozy attic room at the Astor House, marking the passage of hours by the chiming of “The East Is Red” from the Customs House clock tower on the Bund every 15 minutes.

IMG_2937I walked the length of the Bund and back nearly every day, even though it rained just about the whole time I was in Shanghai.

I went to the library did research and tried to figure out what kind of publication my dissertation wants to be. (Articles. I’ve decided it wants to be articles.)

IMG_7780I visited the huge new Disney store in Pudong and got “It’s a Small World” stuck in my head for the rest of the day. I thought the store was disappointing because there didn’t seem to be anything distinctively “Shanghai” about it. Turns out that might be an issue at the Disney Shanghai theme park opening next year, too.

When a typhoon was predicted to hit the city last Saturday, I went to CityShop and stocked up on supplies for a hotel picnic, joining dozens of other foreign women there buying those essentials of cheese, fruit, crackers, nuts, chocolate, and wine in preparation for a natural disaster. (In the city center, at least, the typhoon wound up being nothing more than quite a lot of rain.)

IMG_2962I walked and walked and walked around the French Concession, checking on all my past neighborhood haunts.

I caught up with old friends.

Shanghai food collageI ate all my favorite Shanghai specialties.

I considered going somewhere else for a couple of days—a summer retreat to Moganshan sounded appealing—but decided that after so much time on the move, it was nice to stay in one place.

IMG_2992I got my hair cut by CoCo, my favorite hairdresser—not because she is especially excellent at cutting my hair, but because she’s never treated me as anything but a client who happens to have hair that’s a different color than that of all her other clients. I’ve encountered many stylists in China who seem terrified of taking scissors to my hair, seemingly convinced that it somehow requires specialized knowledge to attempt. CoCo doesn’t bat an eye; she just picks up her tools and gets to work.

And eventually, I decided I was ready to go home. I remembered a blog post that Stephanie Pearl-McPhee wrote earlier this year, in which she realized that she can only take ten days on the road without getting lonely and melancholy. My number is a bit higher than hers, but as my China trip passed its three-week mark, I realized that hotels and restaurants had lost their allure; I yearned for my kitchen and my washer and dryer. After 24 hours of travel (Shanghai to Newark via Los Angeles), I finally walked into my apartment yesterday morning and began the process of reentry. My big suitcase is now empty and stored at the back of my closet; my passport is tucked away in its hiding place; I switched out the renminbi in my wallet for dollars. For the time being, at least, I’m settled in at home.

Until next time, Shanghai.


Posted in China, Shanghai, Travel | 2 Comments

“Home” Again in Shanghai

Prime walking/mulling/writing/coffee-drinking weather in Shanghai this week.

Prime walking/mulling/writing/coffee-drinking weather in Shanghai this week.

The work portion of my China trip over, I flew to Shanghai on Sunday morning for a week-plus of vacation. The minute I walked out of Hongqiao Airport, everything clicked: I was back in familiar territory—my territory. I jumped into a cab and smoothly gave the driver instructions to get to my hotel, knowing exactly where he needed to go and the best route to get there. As the car jostled in stop-and-go traffic on Yan’an Elevated Road, I looked out over the city and spotted one familiar sight after another. There’s the university where I taught; there’s the block of apartment buildings I lived in; there’s the place with the best wonton soup, around the corner from the archives. It’s been nearly eight months—but only eight months—since I moved back to the U.S., and Shanghai looks mostly the same.

Over the last six weeks, I’ve been on the mailing list for a series of “Tiny Letters” that my Twitter-friend Liana Silva has been writing. One of Liana’s recurring themes is the idea of home—what makes us regard a place as home; why some places don’t feel like home, no matter how long we live there; how we make the transition from residing in a place to regarding it as home. Walking around Shanghai these past few days, revisiting favorite haunts and reflecting on ten years of encounters with the city, one thought has slammed into me again and again: this is still my home.

Or one of my homes, at least, though the only other place that I would put on the same level is Philadelphia, where I grew up and where my family still lives. I spent a decade moving again and again—to Beijing, New Haven, Hangzhou, Nanjing, Southern California, and Princeton—but I don’t associate any of those places with the word or feeling of “home.” I lived in them, but I never really settled in. Shanghai is different. I know this city: not just its street layout or where to go for good Hunanese food, but also its history and its stories and its rhythms and its sounds.

All of this has me reflecting on Jersey City/New York, which are not [yet?] my home. Don’t get me wrong: I enjoy and appreciate working in New York, and I’ve been having fun exploring Jersey City over the past few months. But neither of those places has inscribed itself on my brain, my feet, my heart. I’m still getting to know them, and it feels like that process will take longer than it did with Shanghai.

“I can’t understand my life without New York, even though I’m getting better at living away from it,” Liana wrote in her second Tiny Letter, putting into words a feeling that I’ve been wrestling with these past few days. I might live in Shanghai again. I might not. But I can’t understand my life without this city.

Posted in China, Shanghai | 2 Comments

Postcard from Hong Kong


United Airlines flight 117 begins at Newark Liberty International Airport, 10 miles from my home in Jersey City, and ends in Hong Kong, 8065 miles away. It’s the eighth-longest flight route in operation, and if you’re a restless flyer—and I am a terribly restless flyer—there’s nothing good about it, save the small cup of mango sorbet that follows dinner. I boarded the plane on Thursday afternoon feeling like a normal human being; I staggered off nearly 16 hours later feeling, as they said in Ghostbusters, like the floor of a taxi cab.

But when I did finally deplane … I was in Hong Kong! A place that I love but never seem to linger in very long—and this trip was no exception. I’m here for work. I had a few hours on Saturday morning to wander around before our program got going, so I did a handful of my favorite Hong Kong things:

… walked through Wan Chai and enjoyed the languid pace of city street life on an unrelentingly hot and humid June morning;

… lingered in Pacific Coffee as I staved off a nap with a cup of their brew;

… sat at a tiny table with five strangers and ate an egg sandwich and iced milk tea at the Capital Café cha chaan teng for lunch;

… bought a precious bag of Crispy M&Ms—the best M&Ms, no longer available in the U.S. but still sold in Hong Kong—at one of the 7-Eleven stores that populates nearly every block of the city;

… watched the narrow double-decker trams shudder and jolt their way through the streets, as they have since 1904;

… listened to people speaking Cantonese everywhere I went, often feeling like my Mandarin-tuned ears could almost understand them, but not quite.

And then it was time to go back to the hotel and start working. We leave for Mainland China tonight.

Catch you next time, Hong Kong.

Posted in China, Travel | Tagged | 4 Comments

Let’s Go to the Movies


After checking out the exterior of the historic Loew’s Jersey movie theater a couple of weeks ago, I didn’t expect to see the interior anytime soon. I knew that the theater screens classic films, but also that it’s closed in the summer due to a lack of air conditioning. I thought I’d missed my chance and would have to wait until the fall to check it out. It turns out, however, that I got to venture into the Loew’s sooner than anticipated: last week, their Twitter feed began publicizing the final screenings of the spring, a Saturday night double feature of Superman and The Seven Year Itch.

I’m busy getting ready for a nearly monthlong trip to Asia that begins this Thursday, so I didn’t think I could spare the time for both movies and decided that since I’ve seen Superman before, I’d go to The Seven Year Itch. But the movie was kind of beside the point (which is good, because it was … pretty awful). I really just wanted the experience of seeing a film at the Loew’s Jersey, even though I knew it wouldn’t be quite like Annie’s first visit to Radio City Music Hall.

Last night, I ate a quick dinner at Deccan Spice on India Street (get the vegetable biryani, it’s excellent) and then walked a couple blocks over to Journal Square to join the line of people assembling in the foyer of the Loew’s. Superman was running late, so after buying my ticket for The Seven Year Itch, I had about 20 minutes to check out the lobby and second floor. The lobby seems to be the best-restored part of the theater, and it’s spectacular.


Grand staircases on either side of the lobby lead upstairs, where things need more TLC but the dazzling original features are still evident. Although the paint is peeling and the carpet is worn, the building has “good bones,” as they say on HGTV’s renovation shows. Modern multiplexes seem even more bland and cookie-cutter when you compare them to an old theater like the Loew’s Jersey.

The sitting area of the ladies’ restroom

The sitting area of the ladies’ restroom

I was far from the only person wandering around the lobby taking photos—and several people had brought far more elaborate cameras than I did. Clearly, lots of people relish the chance to see a classic movie theater up close.

Looking down at the area just outside the auditorium entrance

Looking down at the area just outside the auditorium entrance

Eventually, the Superman crowd cleared out and the Friends of the Loew’s volunteers began ushering those of us milling about the lobby into the theater itself for the second show. The auditorium is massive, and I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like back in Jersey City’s prime, with every one of the 3,100 seats on the floor and in the balcony filled. (Because it doesn’t meet current building codes, the balcony is now closed.) There were only fifty or so people sprinkled around the auditorium on Saturday night, though that might have been a reflection of the movie being screened—a couple in the ticket line who attend all the Loew’s shows said that the place gets pretty full on Hitchcock nights.

In front of the curtain hiding the movie screen, an organist played for us on the theater’s vintage instrument—possibly the high point of the evening (he was excellent) and far, far better than the commercials and dumb trivia games movie theaters play before the previews today.


Finally, a Friend of the Loew’s stood on the stage and welcomed us to the theater, followed by the organist playing “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend” as he and the organ slowly descended below the stage on an elevator. And then the lights dimmed and it was showtime.

So while The Seven Year Itch wasn’t great, I loved the experience of seeing a classic film in a vintage theater. It was also not an expensive night out: movie tickets are $8, and I bought a small box of popcorn and a can of diet Coke for $1 each. Since the movie ended at 11pm, I took the bus home rather than walk, costing an additional $1.50. Not quite the same prices someone would have paid in 1955 to see The Seven Year Itch in its original run at the Loew’s Jersey, but not nearly as pricey as a regular movie theater today. If you’re hanging around Jersey City on a night when the Loew’s is screening a film, don’t miss it.

(And if any Friends of the Loew’s happen to read this … The Philadelphia Story! I would love to see that on the big screen.)

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Two Movie Palaces in Journal Square


A massive transportation complex dominates Jersey City’s Journal Square, a grotesquely ugly concrete-block monstrosity of the type favored by urban planners in the 1960s and ‘70s. Thousands of commuters pass through the transportation center each day as they head to New York or Newark on the PATH subway trains that rumble underground. Few of those commuters spend any time in Journal Square itself, though. Grove Street, one stop up the PATH line, offers trendy cafes, fitness centers, and shops. In contrast, Journal Square is populated by a grim lineup of Subway sandwiches, Dunkin’ Donuts, a dollar store, and discount clothing retailers. Even the Jersey Journal—the newspaper for which the square is named—has left, moving its offices to Secaucus in 2014. The hopeful banners adorning lightposts that welcome visitors to “The NEW Journal Square” aren’t fooling anyone: Journal Square hasn’t been new in a long, long time.

You have to look back to before the Second World War to find the glory days of Journal Square, when the area—already a transportation crossroads—was also the place to go for shopping, dining, or a movie. Especially a movie: the square once boasted three lavish movie theaters, the kind of elaborate facility known as “movie palaces.” One of the three, The State, is gone. But the other two—The Stanley and Loew’s Jersey—remain, physical testimony to an era when Journal Square was a destination, not a transit point.

I’ve been passing these old theaters for months, riding the bus to and from the PATH station, and finally decided last weekend that I wanted to take a closer look. On Sunday afternoon, I laced up my sneakers, slipped my camera into my bag, and ran (well, mostly walked really, really fast) the two miles down John F. Kennedy Boulevard from my apartment to Journal Square. By the time I arrived there, the thunderstorm that was forecast for late afternoon was sweeping in several hours ahead of schedule, the clear blue skies rapidly giving way to ominous dark gray clouds.


I approached The Stanley from across the street first, getting a full view of its eye-catching copper marquee, somewhat dull from the shadow of clouds massing overhead but beautiful nonetheless. Movies and stage shows played at The Stanley for half a century, from its opening in 1928 through the day the doors closed in 1978. Five years later, the neglected theater was purchased and turned into an assembly hall for Jehovah’s Witnesses—still its role today. On two occasions (1983-85 and 2012-13), the Jehovah’s Witnesses have organized massive volunteer operations to restore The Stanley, ensuring that the theater retains its original Venetian-inspired opulence, even as its function has changed.


Continuing down JFK Boulevard as rain drops began spattering the sidewalk, I took refuge under the grand marquee of the Loew’s Jersey. Completed in 1929 (opening day was only one month before the stock market crashed in October of that year), the exterior of the Loew’s is far more ornate than that of The Stanley. Carvings adorn the sand-colored stone façade, an oxidized green statue sitting at the top beneath a stone arch. The old-fashioned ticket booth, now faded to a dull brass, is decorated with scrollwork. A sign posted outside boasts that the Loew’s houses the “Best Movie Theater Organ in NYC Area,” per The Village Voice. Everything about the Loew’s hints at its glamorous red-carpet past.


But the theater is not fully operational these days. Like The Stanley, the Loew’s saw business dry up in the 1970s as people moved from Jersey City into surrounding areas and began patronizing suburban multiplexes. Closed in 1986, the theater was slated for demolition; only a six-year crusade by a newly formed “Friends of the Loew’s” saved the building, which had fallen into terrible disrepair. But for the past two decades, the Friends have struggled to realize their vision of restoring the Loew’s to its former splendor, a project that has gotten bogged down in battles with the city, which now wishes to bring in a national developer and turn the theater into a concert space. The Friends have fought back, and only last week won a victory in court as a judge upheld their lease on the theater. For the time being, at least, the Loew’s will continue as it is, holding special screenings of classic films. One such screening actually prevented me from checking out the interior of the theater on Sunday: I found that ushers at the door were selling tickets for a showing of a Star Trek movie that would begin shortly. Not much of a Star Trek fan, I turned around and walked across the street to get a closer look at The Stanley.


I didn’t enter The Stanley, either, though this time the issue wasn’t access but propriety: the Assembly Hall was holding services, and I didn’t feel my running clothes matched up to the Sunday finery everyone walking into the building sported. Instead, I admired the stained-glass panels set into the exterior and the elegant designs above the shuttered ticket booth, snapping a few shots of both as the raindrops suddenly accelerated from a shower to a downpour. (I’ll wear nicer clothes some other time so I can get inside. In the meantime, this news story on The Stanley’s renovation offers great views of the interior.)

Realizing that I wasn’t going to run/walk home, I lowered my head and dashed through the rain across the street into the transportation center, fishing in my bag for bus fare. As the bus emerged from the concrete bowels of PATH Plaza and turned onto JFK Boulevard, I saw the Loew’s Jersey on my left and then, a few seconds later, The Stanley on my right. Dormant during the week, both old theaters had a steady stream of people walking into their doors on this Sunday afternoon—a brief flashback an earlier “NEW Journal Square.”

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Postcard from Citi Field


I should do this more often.

I spent yesterday afternoon watching the Phillies lose to the Mets at Citi Field. It was my first time to that ballpark, and there’s a lot to recommend it: easy subway access, a great seat for a reasonable price (thanks to Groupon), well-behaved fans, Nathan’s hot dogs, the occasional roar of a plane soaring overhead as it takes off from LaGuardia, orange-and-blue sprinkles on Mister Softee ice cream, Mr. Met (not as good as the Phanatic, of course, because no mascot can be as good as the Phanatic, but an acceptable substitute), and—yesterday, at least—the perfect mixture of sun and breeze.

If only the Phillies had, you know … won.

Can’t have everything, I suppose.

Posted in New York | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

Reading Rainbow

Between commuting to work (about 45 minutes each way on mass transit) and traveling (greetings from Orange County, CA!), I have been plowing through books at a prodigious rate these past few months. I often read two to four books a week, making repeated trips to the New York Public Library branch close to my office to exchange one volume for another. (For free! It’s all free!! Public libraries delight me. Support your local library, blog readers.)

A few recent favorites:

Meyer coverIn Manchuria: A Village Called Wasteland and the Transformation of Rural China by Michael Meyer – I’ve actually read Meyer’s beautifully written history-travelogue-memoir twice already—once as soon as my review copy arrived, and a second time before he visited the National Committee and I did this podcast interview with him (listening to it later made me realize how frequently I say, “I’m curious about …”). In Manchuria makes me wish I had spent more time … well, in Manchuria. It doesn’t sound like a wasteland at all! I took this as an opportunity to re-read Meyer’s first book, The Last Days of Old Beijing: Life in the Vanishing Backstreets of a City Transformed, which is also a thoroughly researched yet deeply personal account of change in contemporary China. [Standard disclaimer: Meyer is a fellow in the National Committee’s Public Intellectuals Program, which I co-direct.]

Serve the PeopleServe the People: A Stir-Fried Journey Through China and On the Noodle Road: From Beijing to Rome, with Love and Pasta by Jen Lin-Liu – If In Manchuria made me wish I’d traveled more, these two culinary memoirs made me wish I really knew how to cook. Jen Lin-Liu includes recipes for many of the dishes she describes in mouth-watering detail, but pretty much all of them looked way beyond my abilities. (Well, I could probably handle the cucumbers in vinegar: slice cucumbers, toss with chopped garlic, pour on vinegar, eat.) Serve the People recounts the story of how Asian American Lin-Liu moved to China, learned to cook, and opened a cooking school in Beijing; On the Noodle Road follows her on a journey from East to West as she attempts to discover the origins of noodles. I preferred Serve the People, mostly because I didn’t think the “Noodle Road” conceit worked especially well. It made me want a big bowl of pasta, though.

The Royal WeThe Royal We by Heather Cocks and Jessica Morgan – This is a Grade A escape-from-reality novel that’s partially based in reality—Cocks and Morgan imagine what life is like for an ordinary American college student who falls in love with the future king of England. I managed to get an electronic review copy and read all 400+ pages in a single day (and long night), then picked up my Kindle a week later and read the whole thing again. And then bought a hardcover copy when the authors did a book launch event in New York, so you know I really like this book. I’ve seen lots of fans on Twitter ask if there will be a sequel, and I’ll add my voice to those pleading for one.

An Untamed StateAn Untamed State by Roxane Gay – If The Royal We is escape-from-reality, An Untamed State is hyper-reality. Gay’s novel about a Haitian American woman kidnapped from the driveway of her parents’ house in Haiti is intense and raw and almost too much to read at several points. But it’s also absolutely impossible to stop reading, even when you want to look away. I think Gay is a very talented essayist (check out her collection, Bad Feminist); An Untamed State made me realize she’s also an extraordinary novelist. It’s rare to see someone so skilled in both genres.

Dragon DayDragon Day by Lisa Brackmann – Brackmann’s third (and final) Ellie McEnroe mystery-thriller is another book I devoured in under 24 hours. (I also recommended it to a woman on the subway who saw the cover and asked me about it!) Dragon Day isn’t available yet—I received an advance copy—but that gives everyone time to read the first two books in the trilogy before it’s released in August. Sarcastic, angry, broken Ellie McEnroe is one of my favorite anti-heroines, and the China setting only increases my interest in her misadventures. I’m sorry to see the trilogy end, but Dragon Day is a very satisfying conclusion to the Ellie books.

The Porcelain ThiefThe Porcelain Thief: Searching the Middle Kingdom for Buried China by Huan Hsu – I borrowed The Porcelain Thief from the library after Susan Blumberg-Kason recommended it on her blog. Huan Hsu is a Chinese American journalist who moved to Shanghai to work at a relative’s company and investigate a missing cache of priceless porcelain that his great-great-grandfather buried before fleeing his home during the Sino-Japanese War. Hsu writes well about his struggles with being ethnically Chinese and culturally American in a country where people don’t quite know how to treat or place him.

By the time I was midway through The Porcelain Thief, though, I was suffering from a serious case of China book fatigue. I read a lot about China, and I obviously find China very interesting, but I need a break every now and then. So I’ve had Erik Larson’s In the Garden of Beasts on hand for spare idle minutes during this California trip, and once I get home tomorrow my reading plans involve books on New York, Indonesia, and India. I haven’t finished the Outlander series yet, either—though I’ll probably save those books for a three-week trip to China I’ll be making in June.

So much to read, so little time!

Posted in Books, China | 2 Comments

No Pictures on the Scorecard

My race results

My first official 5K results

“No pictures on the scorecard” is one of my father’s favorite expressions. It comes from golf and (as I understand it) basically means that people only see end results, without knowing how you arrived at them. He usually invokes the phrase when someone tries to dismiss an accomplishment as easier than it sounds. (Because a hole in one is a hole in one, regardless of how short that hole was—no pictures on the scorecard.) But it goes the other way, too: maybe a terrible result masks the fact that you’re playing with pain, and that playing at all is an accomplishment of sorts.

Despite my wide-ranging knowledge of golf expressions, I am not athletic. I dreaded gym class in my elementary and high school years, hoping that it would be a “fun” day (dodgeball, wiffle ball, or Richard Simmons Sweatin to the Oldies aerobics) and not a “why didn’t I fake illness?” day (field hockey, basketball, or running). And running was the worst. In elementary school, running meant multiple laps around the athletic field, trying to linger as long as possible on the side lined with trees that provided shade, delaying the inevitable moment when I’d be back on the dry, sun-drenched stretch. The athletic girls in my class would blow past the other stragglers and me, completing their laps and relaxing on the grass (in the shade!) while Ms. Porter clapped her hands and implored all of us still running to “hustle up, girls!” My single goal on running days was not to finish last.

So when I signed up for a “run/walk” 5K this weekend, I was a little worried it might be a replay of gym class. But I had reasons to do this. I’m trying to get more exercise, as I have a lot of grad-school weight to lose. The 5K was organized by my high school, Merion Mercy Academy, and its goal was to raise money for a Mercy-supported girls’ school in Sudan. And I had three of my closest friends doing the 5K with me; the four of us registered as “Team 2000.” The “run/walk” aspect of the race was also reassuring; I knew I couldn’t run it, but wasn’t worried about my ability to walk 3.2 miles at a reasonable pace.

Team 2000: Jackie, Maureen, Moira, and me

Team 2000: Jackie, Maureen, Moira, and me

So on Saturday morning, I showed up at Merion and collected my race bib and “MMA SuDash” t-shirt, then met up with my three teammates: Maureen (a really serious runner), Jackie (also a runner, and even more impressive because she runs while pushing a jogging stroller and almost-two-year-old), and Moira (who was walking with me). We strolled down to the starting line on the school’s lower campus, amassed in a big crowd loosely separated into runners at the front and walkers in the back, and waited for the air horn to sound. We were off.

At the starting line

At the starting line

The registration for the race promised a “fun, flat” course, and I had an idea in my mind of where we’d be heading. I turned out to be completely wrong, and the course was anything but flat. We wound through Merion’s campus and then crossed the street to enter the neighborhood behind the school. One hill after another, and they were steep. As Moira and I started up the first hill in the neighborhood, two cyclists came up behind us and called out, “first runner! First runner!” We moved to the side and watched a teenage boy run past us. We were barely into the off-campus course, and he was already on his second lap. It’s like gym class all over again.

But we kept going, which was reasonably easy for two reasons: (1) the two of us walking together meant we each had someone to talk with and motivate us, and (2) Merion had stationed race marshals along the course—current students, parents, and teachers—and they were all friendly and encouraging. “Thank you, alumnae!” one father hollered as Moira and I passed his station. “Keep it up, ladies!” called Ms. Clarke, the gym teacher, exactly the same as she did when we were in class 15 years ago.

Thankfully, Ms. Clarke wasn’t assigning us grades this time. Moira and I completed the first lap in the neighborhood; as we reached the point to do another one, the race marshal asked if we wanted to walk the entire 5K or turn back to campus, which would leave us a with a one-mile “fun walk” under our belts. Knowing the hills that were awaiting us on the second lap, I almost said we should go back to school, but squashed that instinct. Moira agreed: we had signed up for the 5K and were going to do the whole thing.

And actually, the second lap felt easier (though my RunKeeper times tell me I’m wrong about that, as we definitely slowed down a bit). But the second lap also felt a lot emptier—the runners, including Maureen and Jackie, had all passed us on their own second lap and were already back on campus. As Moira and I walked down the last section of the neighborhood loop, I looked behind us and realized that I couldn’t see anyone. We were the last two out on the course.

IMG_2460We left the neighborhood, crossed the street, and walked through campus. As we approached the finish line, we saw the timekeepers packing up their stuff. OMG, we finished dead last. But we finished, and that’s what mattered. No pictures on the scorecard.

And, incredibly, Team 2000 even won something! Maureen won our age division, and the four of us won the best all-female team category. (How many all-female teams were there? Shhh. No pictures on the scorecard.) We were evidently not the only ones surprised that our team won. “Now, I don’t remember you ladies being the most athletic group,” smiled Mrs. Killeen, the director of admissions. We all admitted that was true.

I looked up the race results when I got home, and I’ll admit, it stung a little bit to see my name at the very bottom of the page (officially, I came in 104 out of 105 runners and Moira was one second behind me—but we really crossed the finish line at the same time). And I’d set a goal for myself of finishing in 45 minutes, which I did not meet (those damn hills). But I did finish, and I didn’t take the easier option of stopping after one mile when it was presented to me, a fact of which I am somewhat proud. I had fun and got to catch up with friends I have not seen often enough over the past 15 years. I supported a good cause that I believe in. And I gave myself a time to beat—because I’m pretty sure I can do better. Even if I don’t: no pictures on the scorecard.

Posted in Philadelphia | Tagged , , , | 3 Comments

4/30, New York: Women’s Rights Activism in China Today

On April 30, I’ll be the guest speaker at an after-work gathering of China Hands NYC, talking about the topic of women’s rights activism in China today. The jumping-off point for my talk will be, obviously, the five feminists who were detained in China just before International Women’s Day last month and finally released earlier this week. But I’ll also look back at the history of feminism in China over the past century or so and discuss how this recent incident fits into a broader story.

If you’d like to come (there’s a $10 charge, but that gets you beer, drinks, and snacks, PLUS me), RSVP using this link. Security procedures in New York are strict—if you’re not on the list, you won’t get in.

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