CNY: FLASH Edition

A couple of weeks ago, I gave a talk on American business etiquette to the engineers at Pro-Lambda. It was great fun, and I’ll expound on it in good time. Of immediate relevance was my contention that Americans, by and large, tend to be more conscious of hygiene than apparel, relative to East Asians who dress to the nines, but suffer as a people from greasy bangs and startling halitosis. (I kept the last bit to myself and made the point through a rather funny (I thought) slideshow of an imagined business meeting between Homer Simpson and Dr. Indiana Jones, which nobody understood. Anyway.)
According to my colleagues, a fairly dominant Chinese perspective is that Americans are a sloppy, insouciant bunch. We drink, we fuck, and, moreover, we speak candidly (in exported film and television, anyway) about drinking and fucking. Drugs, lingerie and inter-class and race mingling aren't taboo either. I retorted that despite embracing certain socially liberal mindsets, there's no celebratory occasion during which America becomes a lawless land. Even the most joyous events end in tear gas and mayhem. Remember when the Red Sox won the ALCS in 2001 and some poor girl got a rubber bullet through the eye?
The following photographs chronicle the best bits of my first Chinese-Chinese New Year (and not a Middle Eastern war zone, as one might conceivably think), which focused on preserving the 2,000 year old tradition of amateur arson. Kim and I blew 200RMB on a not-negligibly-sized arsenal of contraband:

The man at the store explained that they come in four varieties, 'dangerous', 'more dangerous', 'very dangerous', and 'very, very dangerous' (not appropriate for beginner use). The degree of danger correlates to the recommended a) speed (from a leisurely canter to "as fast as you can") and b) distance ("10 meters. No, 5." "Well, which is it??" "5. 5 should definitely do it.") one ought to pursue after putting match to . . . is it a wick?
At sundown, several million private citizens emerged from their high-rises to manage their own pyrotechnics show in the streets, in the midst of residential skyscrapers, or wherever there was space. I hope that the following gives you a sense of how low and near the fireworks were, relative to the buildings:



Policemen patrolled, but only to distribute sparklers and fire extinguishers, as appropriate.
'Fireworks' falls somewhere between 'the beach' and 'kippered beef steak' in my list of favorite people, places and things. I did incur a bruise getting clocked (on the noggin!) by an exploding canister, and Tina's hair singed a bit from falling embers, but it didn't deter a tremendously good time. Behold:

This is Kim, me, two fountains, and a very brave Rusty, who's about the have his mind blown.

This is me, assuming the position recommended by the box.

This is Kim, appearing to have confused 'canter' with 'mad dash'.
Here are some shots taken around midnight. The noise was deafening.





The New Year was rung in to the sound of firecrackers and gleeful clapping (and not sirens and screaming mobs). I'm certainly thankful for a number of American social practices, but found myself conspiring ways to smuggle and sneakily detonate a half-hour's worth of happiness in Central Park. It would be so gratifying. . .!