Accentos

I have just been pining to write today, so I skipped the second half of my morning lessons today to come back home, strip down to my boxers (it is still quite warm) and type you something.

Last night I, despite having had no more than six hours sleep in the past three days, went out with some of my new multi-cultural pals. Inevitably, as we are all language students, we got onto the topic of language learning and more specifically our accents. I continue to cause a stir with my reserved English tones, constantly contrasted with those of our American friends. A large majority of those on the table, including a Frenchman, one girl from Sweden and one from the Philippines, all said they wished they spoke English with a ‘British’ accent.

I chose to not be my usual, pernickety self and avoided asking which ‘British’ accent they wanted. I would usually run off the absurd number of different forms of annunciation packed into a country not that much bigger than the state of New York; Scouse, Jordi, Cockney, Brum, RP 等等. To be honest it has simply become a way for me to show off a bit, “Look how many accents I can do!” Foreigners don’t need to know my Liverpudlian is in fact probably closer to Irish, and my attempt at Scottish sounds suspiciously similar to French.

I especially turned to the French guy, asked him, “Why?” English sounds wonderful in the thick French accent that tumbles out of his mouth, and after all, why would you want to disguise where you are from? Are you not proud of being French?

I realise in retrospect this was a some-what lame and ridiculous argument. I was clearly just playing devil’s advocate for the sake of it – I blame my tired self. I have a tendency of just go looking for confrontation when I haven’t had my beauty sleep.

Now I think of when I speak my languages. The only one that I speak well enough, in which I can be considered to have anything other than an English accent, is my Spanish: laced with Catalan inflections from years of working there every summer. I am clearly not trying to fit in; ever tried to pass as a Spaniard when you have pale skin, blue eyes and wear nothing but Topman? It rarely works. But the way I speak tells a story; it carries the residue of everyone I have ever spoken to and has evolved because of the very human desire to fit in.

My own English accent has always kind of bothered me, purely because of its schizophrenic nature. Over here I speak a fairly standard form of English, not quite RP but not quite Cockney. It is the accent American will try (oh so hard!) to imitate. I basically have a very androgynous accent when I go abroad, I sound like I am another generic Londoner. This annoys me greatly; I am an Essex Boy and proud.

When I am back home, however, the way I speak wobbles all over the place. My parents are from other sides of the country; my Father from Essex, in the east and my Mother from Bristol, in the west-country. My tongue can never decide which it wants to be; Bristolian or Estuary English. It has always made me question how genuine the way I speak is and have never been sure if I have been subconsciously forcing it (paradox?). I remember times at YouTube gatherings when my accent has been all over the place, because of the mix of people there and their ways of speaking just screw with my brain.

But I guess the way I speak will always change, whether I am at home or abroad. I will flit between the London accent, impossible to place, the country-bumpkin Bristolian or the Essex Boy who greets everyone with, “’Ello sweetheart!” or, “y’aright mate.” Part of me wishes my brain would just make up its mind! But I guess as long as people here continue to tell me my accent is ‘cool’, I suppose I can’t complain.

Jazza
-杰仁

Full of Melodrama

Well, it’s been a long time.

China decided to crush even the smallest hint of internet freedom over the celebrations for the 60th anniversary of Communist rule, meaning my apparent internet presence has been reduced to zero. Unfortunately normality was not restored after the celebrations as I had hoped, so alas; my life continues with a gaping wound where Facebook, Twitter, YouTube and BlogSpot used to reside. I have not, however, been as absent as I may seem. I am able to read all comments on both rhymingwithoranges and JazzainChina videos and get any Facebook messages emailed directly to me. So I have been aware of goings on, just unable to join in. It’s almost as if I’m a kid off school because he is sick, able to see the kids playing in the playground from my window but cut off from the outside world…

Now that’s melodrama if I’ve ever seen it. (In retrospect this melodrama continues…)

If I am one hundred per cent honest I am still having a rocky experience in China-land. Over the holiday I got pretty close to a nervous breakdown, was seriously considering dropping out and coming back to England, maybe taking up Japanese Studies instead.

Money has been one of the main burdens. I believe this transition would have been made much easier if my debit card were never stolen. The bank have insisted in sorting everything out through the post, I can’t tell them what to do with my money through email which, to be honest, is probably 100 times easier than China post anyway. I have been lucky in that so many of my friends have offered to lend me money – I am incredibly blessed.

Another issue has been the Chinese language itself. Needless to say, it is a challenging language. I feel like I am on a plateau at the moment and that that plateau isn’t very high up the mountain range at all. It is rare for me to get into any conversation more complicated than, “Where are you from?” “How long have you been studying Chinese?” “Do you like Chinese food?” I appreciate this is a stage one reaches when learning any language, I just haven’t experienced it for a long time. I suppose I got too comfortable being the guy who was good at languages. I suppose it’s good to be out of that comfort zone. Oh, and by the way, I moved back down to the B group of classes, but a higher one than the one before. I am much more content there, it’s for the best.

Finally, and probably most importantly, I have found myself becoming more and more disillusioned with China. I have been questioning why I chose this language, this culture, this people. When we did our cruise down the Yangtze I saw a China I was less than impressed with. Wonderful monasteries and temples turned into garish tourist attractions and ways to make a quick buck. There was one temple that even had a ghost train built into it – not a word of a lie. But the Chinese people seem to lap this up. They will readily buy the tat, take a picture of themselves making a peace sign next to the painting or relic, then move swiftly on as the tour guide tells them through the megaphone about the statue that was erected in 1994. This has probably got a lot to do with the people who we were touring with, I realise that there are swathes of people who love and appreciate their country’s culture; but I begin to fear that they are few and far between.

China is what I am going to make it. If I find myself struggling with the language, I need to find myself a language partner or do volunteer some shifts in the hostel a friend of mine runs. If I am having issues with money I can swallow my pride, take up my friends’ offers, borrow money and pay them back when I can. If I feel disillusioned about the Chinese people, the Chinese culture, then I go out and find the parts of China that I fell in love with in the first place. To be honest I have forgotten why I chose this subject in particular in the first place. I can have fun rediscovering the reason. I am lucky enough to know enough Chinese people that can help me with this – my flatmates for one.

I am a tough cookie, it’s a family trait. I am more than capable of getting through this, making the experience my own and growing because of it. I have various methods of keeping me sane. One is BBCiPlayer. Radio four is my saviour; the home of Women’s hour (don’t judge), The News Quiz, Just a Minute, From Our Own Correspondent and Chain Reaction to name but a few (speaking of which, someone should turn the concept of Chain Reaction into a YouTube channel). Along with various Guardian podcasts they make me feel like my damp country is just outside my room.

Spot has also dragged me up by my garters. Boxing, and soon swimming (oh how I have missed it) are like meditation for me. There is also a triathlon that I am planning on taking part in later this month; I really should start training for that. For me sport is the best way to relax, and maybe even pick up some new vocabulary… however useless in day to day life. 拳套!

I have some awesome friends as well, both here and scattered across the globe who have been quite simply delightful. If you have sent me the smallest message on Facebook, send a pointless email or even said, “Hi” to me on Skype to just be swiftly ignored (I rarely log out so get a lot of missed messages), then thank you.

This post has quite frankly been more for me than you, but kudos if you read all 1000ish words up to this point. Blogging is a wonderful form of therapy and I promise you my experiences here have by no means been as grim as I seem to make out. If you want to see happy, check out http://www.youtube.com/JazzainChina - for some reason I can only ever write when I am angsty.

As ever, thank you for reading. I am now going to listen to desert Island discs with Ellen MacArthur.

Jazza
-杰仁

Editing for Universal Consumption

I don’t think I am going to talk specifically about China here. If you want updates on my time in China I have set up a YouTube channel here.

I am getting to meet a lot of new people of all different hues whilst I am here. Being in an international department this is, I suppose, to be expected. I am making a conscious decision to try and avoid the British people (there are over twenty students from Sheffield University here and four of us from Manchester,) although I am conscious it is wonderful to have them as a fall back if I ever get sick of being the only Brit in the class. It is one of the hand-full of reasons I decided to move from the middle ranging B group; where all the Brits are, to the more challenging A group. I didn’t come half way across the world to blend in.

It’s wonderful. An Aussie girl and I are often told we have the same accent (really?) and I have been grilled about the Empire and the fact Pakistan was created by me and is therefore my fault; it’s good banter. Mary Poppins’ chimney sweep-like accents also seem to follow me wherever I go in the world.

“’Ello Guvna!”

Culture clashes do seem to be frequent though. An American from my class recounted an awkward moment when he was having a conversation with a German guy and a Polish girl. He was describing a night out where he had consumed a few too many alcoholic beverages, describing himself as, “Blitzed!” There was an awkward pause after which the German chuckled, “Haha, very funny joke.” Bless the three of them.

I myself am having a culture clash of my own. A close friend of mine from Manchester who is also studying here (read her blog here) has been very on the ball and bagged herself a man with outstanding efficiency. The two are an adorable couple, he being from Wisconsin and her from Durham; the two have their fair share of misunderstandings. I like the guy very much and regularly try out morsels of British wit on him…

People who know me well will be familiar with the fact that I will take the piss out of you, more or less constantly, if I like you and I believe you have the balls to handle it. I enjoy a to-and-fro of casual insults; it’s a way of getting to know people as well as their humour and is fantastic at demolishing any kind of bravado, pretensions or awkwardness.

I have come to the conclusion that this too, along with the Empire and ‘Chim-chiminey’, is a very British characteristic. So much so, that it has been suggested by Miss Durham that Mr Wisconsin may not be too keen on it.

Initially my thoughts have been, “Man up, strap on a pair.” But then I remember that the rest of the world does not function along the same social guidelines as The United Kingdom of Great Britain Land. I am also, frightfully British. I need to carry Earl Grey around with me whenever I know there won’t be a Tesco near-by – and let’s just say I am grateful to the fact that all British newspapers, as well as the BBC, are 100% free and available on the Interweb. Imagine having to use CCTV, CNN or even Fox for my periodical news nourishment, perish the thought!

However, there is a whole world out there that doesn’t read The Times every weekday except for a Tuesday (when The Guardian has a simply wonderful education supplement). Maybe, for both me and Mr Wisconsin, I should tone down the tsunami of sarcasm and banter that seems to erupt from my mouth every time I meet someone new.

I’m not changing, oh no, I am simply editing myself for universal consumption. After all, I still have the Brits to crawl back to every time I need someone to have a friendly, if heated, discussion with.

Rolling on...

Right, I’m finally here; I am finally no longer panicking about moving to China for the next year, I am finally not stressing about what to remember, what to pack, what to leave. I am finally just happy that I am going, that I have this opportunity.

I was scared the world would move on without me – nearly to the point that I thought I would come home next year and I would literally be replaced by an upgrade of me – just as political but with twice the cool. I then realised no one could equal me on cool. (jksloljks)

The last twenty four or so hours have been insane. So many texts, messages and general love coming my way – it has been inevitable that I have unintentionally not replied to peoples’ attempts at contacting me. If you are one of these people I apologise but I hope you will understand the intensity of the past week or so.

Summer in the City, the UK YouTube community’s baby, was last weekend. I helped organise, I had an amazing time, I welled up on the train home. I couldn’t have asked for a better (unofficial) send off. I loved every second; the selling, whether it were the publications (mine and Paul’s baby) or the musicians’ merch. or Johnny’s Tees on the Saturday night. It was an awesome way to meet new people – just wandering round the gathering and chatting to people as I convinced them their lives would not be complete without The SitC Pub/ Dave’s new album/ Johnny’s Dead Blob Tee etc.

One of the fantastic things about the weekend was the fact people from all over the planet came. We knew we had marketed it like that; as a global gathering, but I don’t think any of us organisers would actually let ourselves believe that anything like the number of foreigners would make the journey. Americans, Dutch, Belgians, Australians, French, German and for some reason an awful lot of Canadians came. We were this little cultural melting pot in the middle of London – it was just mind-blowing.

And the gig at the Luminaire: it was quite simply delightful. I had a massive grin on my face for the whole evening. I nearly cried when I saw Mhazz play her set – bearing in mind I have known her for close to two years, back when she was writing songs about me, Alex and Liam – I saw her as a grown up woman for a first time that night and it was wonderful. I have a habit of subconsciously adopting my friends, so I feel almost parental pride when they outdo themselves – it’s silly but contributed to a lot of the warm fuzzy feeling that night.

When Dave performed I sat on the stage and just swayed and sang – then panicked at his last song and ran to re-open the shop to sell all his wares. Tom and Greg weren’t too shabby either.

We are already looking towards SitC 2010, the Facebook group is up and it will be even bigger and better. I think this is why I was so freaked out about leaving for Nanjing – leaving all these prospects, so much stuff is happening now in my world. I am missing out on the RNLI project, SitC 2010 as well as other things. It’s a shame.

But then who the hell gets to go, study and live in China? I am blessed, whether it’s by Allah, God, Buddha or Lady Luck – roll on Nanjing, roll on China. I will speak to you guys soon.

- 杰仁

Climate Camp

I went to Climate Camp today, the beginnings of it anyway. I wrote this about it; it's a bit more jounalisty than what I am used to posting on here, but I still hope you enjoy it.

Climate Camp 2009 started at twelve, noon with six locations throughout London, revealed through text to people that had signed up to the event on the website. We started our journey outside the Bank of England where tattooed and dread-locked individuals mingled with the suited bankers of the city. Orange shirted stewards gave out leaflets on how to deal with police searches whilst journalists clicked away with their cameras and tried desperately to find out who the person in the highest authority was so they could interview them. The atmosphere was relaxed but with an air of apprehension about how events would pan out for the rest of the day; people swapping stories about which clause they were stopped under during the G8 protests and debating whether kettling would be used again at this demonstration.

After an hour of hanging about and a couple of awkward but essentially harmless encounters with Bobbies on the Beat, our leaders informed us that we would be taking the DLR towards the Cutty Sark. Our group weaved its way out of the city towards Greenwich – journalists ever present, close to outnumbering the activists.

We reached the common at the top of the hill, the towers of the city still menacingly close; a banner declaring, “Capitalism is Crisis” flying defiantly below them.

Tepees are being erected around us, the bold amongst the protestors climbing their peaks and waving at passersby and the patrolling police. There are certainly hopes that the police will learn from their mistakes during the G8 and give the campaigners the chance to express themselves freely, but each person we have spoken to remains wary.

Regardless, spirits are high with workshops and lectures planned throughout the duration of the camp making this more than just a chance to wave a few banners and grumble about the police. The happy campers will be able to learn how to reduce their carbon footprint; attending workshops on how to build wind turbines and compost waste, as well as ways to deal with the media and the police.

The high flyers in their dockland apartments overlooking the camp will no doubt be tutting to themselves and rolling their eyes at the campers’ naive attempt to change the world. But these activists mean business – and with compost toilets and copious amounts of vegan sausages, anything is possible.

The Low

Mum says I’m in a mood today. She is joking that it’s because it’s my brother’s birthday (Happy Birthday Zach!) and I’m jealous of the attention he is getting. Maybe it is the jealous little 10 year old in me rearing his blonde head, but I reckon it’s withdrawal symptoms of StickAid on Saturday night and Sunday morning.

I didn’t take part in the whole 24 hours but the period of time that I was there was so intense – I suppose it’s natural to be on a low afterwards.

We were raising money for Unicef, for some of the highlights then click here.

I was going to try and write something today, but failed miserably – it was going to be something about how my views on things are ever changing. I started to write it and, unsurprisingly, I was sounding like a bit of a moron.

I have become very unreliable when it comes to this blog even though writing has gone from something that I feared and despised in school to an art for that I genuinely enjoy partaking in. Flowery language and I have become the best of friends. But then I am conscious that if I do not practice, in the form of using the blog regularly, then I am not going to get better.

I am having the same problem with my languages. I really need to brush up on my Chinese, especially because I am going to be going there on the 3rd of September and will be tested and put in an appropriate class almost immediately. Maybe it is something about staying at my parents’ house. I seem to just stop whenever I come back here – too many distractions, too many people.

Summer in the City is in just under two weeks. I am more excited about this than anything else this summer, and is going to be a great send off only a few days before I leave for China. If you follow my Twitter then you will know I have been working on a short publication with Paul to accompany the gathering that will be on sale throughout the weekend. Have a quick butcher’s at the wonderful cover art that Paul made here.

So, I suppose after all I did manage to write something today – who knows if I will end up being able to do the NHS commentary I promised in my last video, we will see.

I hope your summer (or winter for all you southern hemispherians) is going swimmingly.

:)

Making Money

People around me are starting to make money. YouTube, after sometimes years of toiling, is finally paying off dividends for a number of my friends on the site. Albums are being released, companies and partnerships being forged, deals being signed; it’s all very exciting.

My family is dominated by Thatcherite, Essex-boys; which basically mean they all like making money. My Uncle is chest deep in the stock market, my Grandad owned his own business until he sold it for an astronomical sum when he retired, my Dad has had a string of projects in the security and safety industry and my brother is constantly thinking of ways to make an extra penny or two (his current venture is washing cars).

As per usual, I often relish being the controversial seat at my family’s dinner table. Probably because I enjoy the romanticism of the idea, I have always stood by the statement that “I don’t like making money.” In a sense this is true; the money world occupied by the men in my family scares the shit out of me and I am wonderfully stubborn about working because I enjoy my work rather than working for the size of the cheque at the end of each month. Although I appreciate this was a very naïve viewpoint, I stand by the fact I could never work in an office, nine to five. However, seeing my friends starting to make money… has made me think the money making itself isn’t so bad.

The money my Dad earned when I was growing up came from a job he was not passionate about, I am not sure how much one can get into selling fire alarms, so I suppose I associated money with boredom, offices and suites. But the money I am seeing friends of mine interact with is the opposite spectrum of that. It is exciting, creative and something they can get excited about (confused.com adverts may be the exception here).

I suppose the point is, maybe I too can earn money from this creativity malarkey. I have never really seen things like BlogTV, YouTube and this Blog, as well as articles and things I do with other sites and companies, as a money making opportunity. Maybe I should start to.

I am, however, sceptical as to my ability to do so. I occupy a very specific niche on YouTube and across the internet: political and social commentary. The sad truth is, debates (apart from presidential ones) do not have a tendency to rake in the views as, say, a purple man or hot new jeans. In fact, although my subscriber count is over 10k now, I rarely get over 5k hits on my videos – this does not bare well for my adsense, a system based on views.

When I was in New York, Tessa, a very good friend, mentioned that she could see me making some money from what I do. This perked me up. I am very proud of what I do across the internet, but I do hope that in the future I can make some money and maybe earn a living from what I do. I guess it’s different for someone making music or videos targeted at a viral market, so I shouldn’t compare myself to them.

I do, however, hope I can be included in this revolution that seems to be happening.