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Diary entry number Eighteen.   

I was just in a commercial for Chinese wine called 'Bai Ju'. I don't know
why. Us Laowai are very interesting to the Chinese people. We had to hold
this wine and say 'OK!' loudly. It sucked. Mightily. I think I was just
cracking up laughing during the actual recording.

The producer/director type of guy was an slimy jerk, bastard. He kept
saying that the film wasn't for television, 'it was for memories'. That's
very touching but completely untrue. He gave us two bottles of the wine
(Which was awful, so we trashed it.) and took us out to dinner in this
really fancy hotel.

Dong Er is probably the poorest area I've lived in. (Well, lets face it, it
IS.) It's just a big pile of dust. But there's this hotel where we went to
eat. It's the swankiest place ever. I swear to good, no matter where you are
in the world, there's probably a million pound worth hotel somewhere around
the corner.

Then the SLIMY (And seemingly homosexual in mannerisms, everyone says so.)
asked if he could take a picture of us all. For MEMORIES. Which would have
been fine. But he wanted us to have a glass of wine each in this photo, and
a bottle of the stupid wine in the middle of the table. I toasted with Tsing
Lao, which is beer, and a blatantly different colour from the wine.

Bastards.

One thing in China is that nobody will tell you exactly what's going on. I
don't know why. I thought it was just in Che's academy. Nobody could just
say what's going on, they'd rather tell you some obvious lie, which is so
stupid, then telling the freaking truth. There are very small circles of
trust, even with very small secrets, like 'why we were planning to take
photos today, but now we can't', can't get a straight answer.

Silly.
 

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