COMMUNICATION UNIVERSITY OF CHINA

Aileen, a China native, a regular character in this saga, attends the Communication University of China. She wants to be a reporter here, and, ironically, also wants to do a Masters in the States. I gave a convincing commercial selling the Ball State experience. Education redefined. She wanted to know Ball State’s ranking. I blinked. Twice. I looked her dead in the eyes. I paused. I gave her a ranking. NUMBER ONE.

I mentioned interest in visiting her college campus. She invited me to sit in on one of her classes. A guest professor from Syracuse University was visiting to give an all English lecture on media regulations in the States. Perfect. He wore a red tie. Subtle touch.


I was excited to get a glimpse at a Chinese perspective on communication studies. The glimpse was too brief and briefly insightful. (I will report on the few significant classroom observations this Fall when I give my presentation. Maybe. Be there.) I was particularly interested in how the class, not the American professor, would approach a discussion on regulation. China regulation in the media, across platforms, is quite evident and extensive.

As a recent, random example, I went to a Beijing theater to check out IRON MAN 2, a needed escape, and some choice dialogue sections were censored throughout. The audio would be distorted, sounding like a natural ‘glitch’ at first, but the ’glitch’ reoccurred in distinct scenes throughout, making this ’glitch’ more than accidental.


To get to the university, I decided to ditch the bicycle and tackle the subway system. It was time to taste the underground. As has become necessary, I put on my protective shell before leaving my brother’s place. My protective shell consists of an MP3 player, some headphones, and album after album of candy flavored, comfort music. Inside this shell, I can conquer the shifty unknown with some serious bravado in my step. Today’s highlights were Our Lady Peace’s “Clumsy”, Hot Hot Heat’s “Elevator”, and David Bowie’s “The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust”. A dated, albeit solid mix.


Riding in the subway, my claustrophobia beeped and beeped. I wanted to swing my arms like a mental Orangutan gone totally berserk, clear some space. The subway swelled with busy people close enough to give me a kiss on the cheek. One particular girl almost did. I could see it in her eyes. My nostrils were invaded by the occasional fleet of rotten sweat. But, the hour long trip cost less than a dollar and I sat in air conditioning for the first time since arriving in Beijing. Artificial cold air hugged my face and I cherished its embrace.