Pong

Three days ago I sat on the lid of our bathroom toilet and it cracked. Granted, most newly constructed apartments in China contain shoddy fixtures, and ours is no exception. Nevertheless, the message was clear in even two languages: 我是胖. (Woh shuh pong, or "I am fat.") Given that we've been eating Chinese food for three squares a day, in particular the oily Beijing variety, I should not be surprised, but still.

We started to research local gyms, and discovered Zhangbei Fitness thanks to a classmate's recommendation. It's on our way home from school, so we stopped by to look around last night after what can only be described as the most excruciating lecture we've had to date. Suffice it to say that Chinese civil law can be made much more complicated than it actually is, particularly when the class runs for three hours on a Tuesday evening.

I was pleasantly surprised by what we found at Zhangbei. The gym wasn't too expensive, and the people were extremely nice. We had a bit of a language gap to deal with, as usual, but as we were walking around with a member of the gym's sales staff, people who could speak English struck up conversations and served as impromptu translators. "Larry" was particularly helpful.

Above all, however, the gym was notable for its dance classes. There's nothing funnier than watching a sweaty, effeminate Chinese man with dyed hair and skin-tight pants lead 30 yuppie women in libidinous Jazzercize moves, all of which are set to the tune of a hava negilah techno/dance club remix. I can only imagine what Katie's yoga sessions will involve, but if it's a klezmer doxology, I'll post videos.