O Captain, My Captain
I first met Keith when he was a baby to the world of Shanghai. When he left in September, he was a gigolo with a patch of stubble on his face. Keith was snatched away from us in his Shanghai prime, and while I will do all that I can to bring him back to where he belongs, I can’t help but feel that the end of an era has closed. Ribald Keith has left Shanghai.
Damn visa expiration! Oh well, at least we got off one humungous week of partying before he left. Knowing that the end was near, Mike, Chace, and myself steeled ourselves for the inevitable damage to our livers. For one week in September, ever single night was devoted to immersing in the fruits of Shanghai as if it were our last opportunity. It was as if we all had a second job to go to after work. I would get drunk at work just thinking about how much I had the night before and how much I was going to have that very night.
I’ve made many entries about exploits at various bars and clubs, and since my drunken stories are most likely entertaining to no one but myself and the participants of those very events, I won’t get into specifics of how stupid and moronic we consistently tend to act. However, perhaps we can use Keith’s farewell week as an education for those of you who don’t really know what partying in Shanghai is like, since every night out tends to follow a very discernable pattern:
1) Enter club
2) Greet friends with manly handshake;, sometimes followed by a similarly manly hug (entails pounding on the back with fists). Women friends are greeted with the double-cheek kiss; unfamiliar partners are also roundly introduced, but this act mostly serves to enhance the image of the one bringing the newcomer, since in a half hour all names will be forgotten amidst a furious drunkenness anyway.
3) Smokers light up to establish cool factor while the bottle of whisky, or in our case, the bottles of beer are retrieved
4) Usher or Outkast gets played; we all look at each other and scream “OH SHIT!” since all of the ring-tones on our cell phones are either “Hey Ya!” or “Yeah!.” We are dual syllabic at best. Dancing commences
5) After the fourth or fifth drink, we start taking pictures of each other. Interesting, since the next digital photo of two or three guys putting their arms around each other is most likely going to be the ten thousandth.
6) Mike starts drinking with every girl there, regardless of look or age. Oddly enough, he has a sixth sense about which female has neglected to shave her underarms, and proceeds to point them out to the rest of us.
7) One by one, we start retiring to the couch, the world spinning about us. The first one to sit usually has to bear the weight of the rest of us who, predictably, think it’s funny to start sitting on each other and/or giving each other lap dances.
8) We see Tina, and then we start to dance with her. She wrinkles her nose and gives us “The Hand.” We look at each other and laugh, not believing that once again we’re asked to talk to her hand. We keep drinking
9) We start hugging all the new people we just met that night without knowing any of their names.
10) Leave club
11) Go to Bi Feng Tang and stuff our bellies in wholesome dim sum goodness
Anyway, Keith’s second to last night in Shanghai followed this protocol to perfection. We bounced from Pegasus to Guandi with our eyes closed. Wilkie was also celebrating his first night in town, and before we knew it we were drenched in beer and bittersweet tears as we said goodbye to Keith and he to Shanghai. No more 10 RMB beers at Bi Feng Tang before clubbing. No more drinking at Lawson’s convenience store before clubbing. No more 50 RMB beers at Malone’s when we couldn’t get to a Bi Feng Tang or a Lawson’s in time. No more cruising down Yan’an in a cab with 3 RMB cans of Suntory in our pockets. Notice a trend?
Au revoir, bon voyage mon amie. Wir wollen dir nie vergessen. Shang Hai Ai Ni. Come back soon and we’ll knock back a few and listen to Usher. The world will be as we know and love it.
Damn visa expiration! Oh well, at least we got off one humungous week of partying before he left. Knowing that the end was near, Mike, Chace, and myself steeled ourselves for the inevitable damage to our livers. For one week in September, ever single night was devoted to immersing in the fruits of Shanghai as if it were our last opportunity. It was as if we all had a second job to go to after work. I would get drunk at work just thinking about how much I had the night before and how much I was going to have that very night.
I’ve made many entries about exploits at various bars and clubs, and since my drunken stories are most likely entertaining to no one but myself and the participants of those very events, I won’t get into specifics of how stupid and moronic we consistently tend to act. However, perhaps we can use Keith’s farewell week as an education for those of you who don’t really know what partying in Shanghai is like, since every night out tends to follow a very discernable pattern:
1) Enter club
2) Greet friends with manly handshake;, sometimes followed by a similarly manly hug (entails pounding on the back with fists). Women friends are greeted with the double-cheek kiss; unfamiliar partners are also roundly introduced, but this act mostly serves to enhance the image of the one bringing the newcomer, since in a half hour all names will be forgotten amidst a furious drunkenness anyway.
3) Smokers light up to establish cool factor while the bottle of whisky, or in our case, the bottles of beer are retrieved
4) Usher or Outkast gets played; we all look at each other and scream “OH SHIT!” since all of the ring-tones on our cell phones are either “Hey Ya!” or “Yeah!.” We are dual syllabic at best. Dancing commences
5) After the fourth or fifth drink, we start taking pictures of each other. Interesting, since the next digital photo of two or three guys putting their arms around each other is most likely going to be the ten thousandth.
6) Mike starts drinking with every girl there, regardless of look or age. Oddly enough, he has a sixth sense about which female has neglected to shave her underarms, and proceeds to point them out to the rest of us.
7) One by one, we start retiring to the couch, the world spinning about us. The first one to sit usually has to bear the weight of the rest of us who, predictably, think it’s funny to start sitting on each other and/or giving each other lap dances.
8) We see Tina, and then we start to dance with her. She wrinkles her nose and gives us “The Hand.” We look at each other and laugh, not believing that once again we’re asked to talk to her hand. We keep drinking
9) We start hugging all the new people we just met that night without knowing any of their names.
10) Leave club
11) Go to Bi Feng Tang and stuff our bellies in wholesome dim sum goodness
Anyway, Keith’s second to last night in Shanghai followed this protocol to perfection. We bounced from Pegasus to Guandi with our eyes closed. Wilkie was also celebrating his first night in town, and before we knew it we were drenched in beer and bittersweet tears as we said goodbye to Keith and he to Shanghai. No more 10 RMB beers at Bi Feng Tang before clubbing. No more drinking at Lawson’s convenience store before clubbing. No more 50 RMB beers at Malone’s when we couldn’t get to a Bi Feng Tang or a Lawson’s in time. No more cruising down Yan’an in a cab with 3 RMB cans of Suntory in our pockets. Notice a trend?
Au revoir, bon voyage mon amie. Wir wollen dir nie vergessen. Shang Hai Ai Ni. Come back soon and we’ll knock back a few and listen to Usher. The world will be as we know and love it.