No.

(H/T Julia Lobyntseva)

Because it’s politically expedient to do so — proven by Ronald Reagan, Bill Clinton, etc., to work — Beijing conducted a drug investigation that recently culminated in a bust of street-level slingers in Sanlitun. This news doesn’t affect the vast majority of Beijingers, foreign or local, which is to say, there’s little reason any of us should cheer. If anything, we should cringe, knowing these “crackdowns” almost always disproportionately affect those on society’s fringes who are most powerless to defend themselves. It’s not a coincidence that highly publicized drug/prostitution stings never seem to target princelings or the monied owners of hotel brothels.

That’s what makes this blog post from Michael Wester, CEO of the Beijinger’s parent company, True Run Media, so surprising. Near the bottom of what starts as a straightforward news blog post, there’s this (all emphasis his):

The bust comes as welcome news to the vast majority of foreign residents of the city who choose to live within the letter of the law. Foreign drug dealers who seem to operate with abandon in certain areas of Sanlitun have been both an embarrassment and a downright hassle to foreign residents, whom the dealers often strike up friendly conversations with as an intro to offering drugs for sale.

What happens, exactly, after dealers offer their ware? Do they — facing rejection from those poor study-abroad students who don’t have 700 RMB in their pockets, to say nothing of the desire to get high when they can obliterate their minds on 10-kuai shooters and 15-kuai street beverages laced with a poison called alcohol — snarl and physically intimidate? Do the smiles that prefaced those friendly conversations turn into glowers of fury and menace? Need I remind, this is an area that frequently reeks of piss, drunkenness, and buffoonery, an area in which foreigners (law-abiding, surely!) pass out till the next afternoon. And we think our African friends are the problem?

That excerpted paragraph comes directly after this one:

The dealers will face the same penalties as local citizens, the report notes. China’s drug laws are notoriously strict, and dealing over 50 grams of methamphetamines can earn a suspect the death penalty.

No pause via quote or ellipses, no further questions, nothing to help us process the utter insanity that dealing 50-some grams of meth can lead to execution.

The bust comes as welcome news to the vast majority of foreign residents of the city who choose to live within the letter of the law.

Look… we’re reasonably confident Wester’s an upstanding citizen, a nice enough guy, and that we’re reading too much into all this. But he’s also the head of Beijing’s largest expat media empire. Has he risen so above expattery (have you seen the Beijinger’s forum?) that he can parrot, apparently without self-awareness, an apparatchik’s cliche? Living within “the letter of the law” doesn’t make a person decent: you can still be a judgmental prick.

And since when do we celebrate China’s haphazard application of laws? How many laws do the Beijinger’s readers break, those with fake gas-scooter licenses (which you can buy on the Beijinger’s classifieds!) and visas obtained through questionable qualifications?

Do you use a VPN? Ever gotten into a black cab? Drank in an unregistered bar? We wonder, too, about the Beijinger’s ISBN — does it permit them to run advertisements alongside content?

What if Law didn’t criminalize certain service providers and institutionalize racial profiling? What if it made buyers equally responsible by tying them to the same risk of draconian penalties? What if laws weren’t made by those who insist on “social stability,” as if that weren’t another term for homogeny, conservatism, and control?

Bringing the conversation back home: who’s doing more harm in Sanlitun? The drug dealers who honestly don’t care about pushing their product on those who don’t want it? Or the army of fake-booze distributors, the pickpockets, the black-out-drunkards, the police officers in the station around the corner who will do absolutely nothing about fistfights and stolen property but who’ll strong-arm the hell out of roadside vendors to ensure they receive their cut?

It’s something for all of us to think about the next time we’re tempted to deem someone else’s choices illegitimate and say they should be punished “according to the law.”

The Beijinger recently released a video of its big Bar and Club Awards bash from last Saturday. Perhaps you’ll find yourself in it.

Uploaded by SOHO China head Pan Shiyi, apparently. Which of the following screenshots best represents you?

A reminder to vote in our Bar and Club Awards. We’ll close it down on Sunday night.

One thing I learned about getting invited to a the Beijinger awards ceremony is you first have to leave Beijing. During my four-year tenure here, I never received an invite. Just three months after I made the move to Hangzhou, I was chosen to be an official nominator. Sure, why not.

Months later, as an Official Nominator for the Beijinger’s 10th Annual Reader Restaurant Awards, I got an invitation to the ceremony. Like, 18 hours before it started. Thanks for the heads up! It just so happened I was back in town for the first time in six months, so in your face, the Beijinger’s 10th Annual Reader Restaurant Awards!

My wife and I roll up to the front desk to register, and I draw a blank when they ask me, “Which restaurant?” I’m like, “All of them?” And then my brain turns back on for maybe the first time since the diaper changes and midnight feedings began, and I say the three magic words (plus one, in my mindhole) that open the doors wide open:

“I’m a NOMINATOR, Bitches.”

We’re in, underdressed and, really, with no good reason to be there. But that’s mostly the fun. We have almost nothing invested and intend to milk that extensively.

My wife is hungry, and I’m thirsty. Within minutes she has sampled all four finger foods. And the award for Best Finger Food at the Beijinger 2013 10th Annual Reader Restaurant Awards goes to:

• The Sausage/Pastry Thingies

Awards for Outstanding Finger Food go to:

• The Meaty Croissants
• Cream Puffs

Mini-quiche does not make the list. While my wife eats, I beeline for the alcohol. First stop, Grand Marinier Balls. These are a staple at every awards ceremony, a classic. They are good, but I’m more interested in the rack of fine draft beers. I struggle a little between Leffe and Chimay, but in the end, I choose wisely. Goblet of Chimay in hand, we continue touring.

Together we make friends with the fine people from Glacio, and enjoy scoop after scoop of the finest ice cream I’ve had in a while. There was a second ice cream company next to it, but it was unmemorable. We chased it down with a few espressos.

The actual awards were background noise for all the free stuff, obviously. I gain nothing from anyone winning, except maybe bragging rights for my favorite restaurants. But when Element Fresh nabs “Best Breakfast” and Chef Too doesn’t even get runner-up, let alone the Best Breakfast Ever award, I cease to care about the results.

In conclusion, yes, it was worth the price of admission and I will gladly enjoy more free stuff in the future. Thanks, the Beijinger!

Kevin is an Ultimate Frisbee player, blogger, drummer, and former Beijinger who now makes his home in Hangzhou with his wife and young son. This is what he looks like.

Years of occasionally reading the Beijinger has finally paid off: the magazine has published its funniest piece ever, and they didn’t even have to write it.

Take it away, boys:

We are back with a new short story contest…

Lord have mercy.

You have 140 characters to play with…

They had mercy!

Basically, theme is Beijing, tweet your short story, blah, blah. If you paid attention to last year’s “Six Words” gem like we did, you’ll know that this plays right into the hands of the capital’s expat writers. To wit:

1) They’re lazy.

2) They’re pretentious. Oh boy, if you ever get the chance, eavesdrop on the circle jerk that is the Beijing Writers Group on a Monday evening, held at the lion’s den of affected twaddle, the Bookworm, sometimes hosted by Jonathan Kos-Read.

OK, on with the show. The comments stream on one of the competition posts features contributions from social media users and emailers, dutifully compiled by BJer stalwart Iain Shaw. The question is, are these entries for realsies or is someone having a laugh?

Here’s the first. THE FIRST.

You guys looted it, he spat. We were weak then.
No, said I, I am Serbian. Where the US bombed your embassy.
A cuckoo sang over Yuanming yuan.

A cuckoo sang over Yuanmingyuan. Next up, “Boss-Town” with:

In the distance it echoes and approaches, contagious noise that lights the sky, waging war against “Nian”, the beast of peace and rest.

Been reading Yeats lately? That was quite terrible, but I’m afraid the competition is a little stiff. Let’s see what “MichaelNesbittH” has to say:

As the old woman from Gaomiaocun sat in the spring sun looking into the baby’s blue eyes, she realized that events of 50 years were both profound & an exercise in futility.

I’ll tell you what a profound exercise in futility is: reading these entries. Here’s Bill Bishop (@niubi) with what appears to be some sort of gaokao puzzle:

11pm. haircut. no scissors. police. squatting in room w 19 other men. wife. lawyer. ex wife.

Well, at least it had a narrative. And he didn’t try to make it rhyme. Unlike @IESGlobal:

He landed, felt stranded, but found his way, the same day. Ate baozi (not jiaozi), met a laowai, then said “bye-bye”

Remember – it was a baozi. Not a jiaozi. Crucial detail. Weibo user @richard76uk:

City full of excitement, fun, opportunities, full of cultural values, city of sin and city where west meet east.

Picture me making gurgling, drowning noises. TheBeijinger.com user Helga Tiger:

I Am Jack’s Black Lungs
I Am Jack’s Reduced Personal Space
I Am Jack’s Spit On The Ground
I Am Jack’s Excited Taste Buds

Hit the road, Jack. TheBeijinger.com user orangeleg:

A spaceship from the future lands in Beijing. Inside is someone who looks Chinese. But he speaks with no words and proffers only one message before he dies: “Less more need…”

OK, this guy was definitely huffing Tylenol, right? Later on, some Weibo user imagines the opening of a terrible Bond movie in which Bond appears to be dossing in a hostel:

11:30am. Central, Hong Kong. Top of tower. Mountains visible. IM pei eye level. Slurp water. Swivel chair. Deep breath. Door opening. Pause. “I’ve been expecting you.” chair swivel. “get out of my office.” back to hostel

I assume this will continue all week, and we’ll be watching all the way. We’ll even wank a few out ourselves, exempli gratia:

Clasping at chopsticks, pollution swirls in my veins, slanted faces look on… where is their democracy, democracy, democracy?

The Beijinger’s Beijing Stories contest will accept entries until midnight, March 7. More information here.

George Ding, the Beijinger’s backpage columnist, has provided us the latest example of why humor articles should never be translated. His recent column, “Why I’m Coming Back To China,” is an attempt at satire, and it wasn’t exactly well received by the Beijinger’s readers, some who didn’t get it (“Is George Ding thebeijinger’s racist-in-residence?”) and some who simply didn’t like it (“brilliant satire… for an LBH” [loser-back-home]).

But then it was punted across the cultural fence, posted to Caijing’s Sina Weibo, et al., and the vitriol has been multiplied. As sent in by a tipster this morning:

Caijing’s Weibo picked up on it and the reactions are not pretty, not pretty at all. Weibo also didn’t care to mention that George’s surname is Ding so of course the “white men are only here to take our women and jobs” reactions are all in evidence as well.

The Beijinger’s editors have noticed too. Seemingly overnight, the number of post views on Ding’s column jumped over 12,000, which is 12 times higher than the next highest non-Ding post. Iain Shaw writes:

The first bloggers who translated George’s piece into Chinese, Fei Xionghao (飞熊号) and Yao Hong’en (姚鸿恩), seem to have seen the humor. However, when Yao reposted his translation to web portal 163.com’s education channel, things started to get out of hand. Over 4,000 readers viewed the page, with over 200 comments posted, and many of those failing to realize that the “laowai loser” depicted in George’s piece was a fictional creation bearing no resemblance to George himself and – we really hope – little resemblance to any foreigner living in Beijing.

About that, though. Let’s look at Ding’s column. Read these sections without context, as if you were Chinese. Pretend you have no idea who George Ding is, or what he’s written before. Pretend you’re seeing it on a site — either 163’s education channel, Caijing, or the Beijinger — that is otherwise devoid of satire:

Another reason is that I couldn’t find a job worthy of my extensive resume. Most employers didn’t give a lick how much China experience I had, and those who did were surprised that I didn’t pick up Mandarin in the five years I spent in Beijing. As if a language made up of squiggles is that easy to learn. In the end, I couldn’t even get a job teaching English in the States, because apparently you need like a Ph.D or something.

And:

Honestly, I thought I’d feel more at home back home, but let’s just say that home wasn’t exactly where the heart is. In fact, being home is downright unbearable when your parents are constantly nagging you. When are you going to get a job? When are you going to move out of the basement? Did you take $40 from the cash drawer?

And:

If I’m being perfectly frank, I also missed not being the center of attention just because I was foreign. I hadn’t counted on the fact that going back to my home country meant that I was not going to be a foreigner at all.

Shaw, along with all of us, might wish there weren’t foreigners like this, but there absolutely are, and if you were being honest, you’d probably admit to knowing one or two of them. It’s a lousy type of laowai, for sure, and Ding — who I know personally — is absolutely not this type. But Chinese readers can hardly be blamed for getting upset at recognizing this characterization.

Ding’s mistake is not that he was joking, but that he didn’t take the joke far enough. In other words, he failed to accomplish the first aim of satire, to be “a sort of glass wherein beholders do generally discover everybody’s face but their own,” according to Jonathan Swift. We do see “our own” metaphorical face in his column, and it’s ugly and not funny. Readers aren’t asked to take the next vital step of refuting that reflection, and unfortunate as it may be, the author will not be saved by throwing up his hands and proclaiming, “Satire, everyone!”

By the way, I can tell you Ding is a genuinely nice guy who deserves none of the ad hominem attacks on his person. I’m sure if he did it again, he’d use a pseudonym, as satirists — most notably Swift — usually do (a name like “Butcher McGraves” would have helped drive home the joke). Also, he was kind enough to email me his response:

I guess I’m astonished first of all. I wrote the first piece as a joke, poking fun at all the “Why I’m Leaving China” pieces. I wasn’t trying to antagonize anyone. I’m writing for Kitto’s former magazine and I’ve written for Charlie Custer as well. I thought mine was worth a chuckle and didn’t think anyone would care, but that blew up into a discussion of my identity without my input.

The second piece was kind of “doubling down.” I wanted to see just how far I could push satire and test the gullibility of people. Again I never thought it would become a big deal. I even told my editors, I don’t think this will be as popular because it’s like telling the same joke twice.

I am astonished and a bit disconcerted by the reaction. Okay, Chinese readers, I get that satire might get lost in translation. But come on people, have some skepticism. Am I really going to feel self-conscious when cars stop for me or steal money from my parents’ petty cash drawer?

But I guess that’s the nature of the Internet and the dubious honor of being a small center of attention on it. I’ve learned a lot from this experience (this is the most attention I’ve ever gotten for my writing and I anticipate it’s only downhill from here) so I guess my ultimate emotion is gratitude. I’m grateful to everyone who read it, no matter what reaction they had. I’m grateful to those that understood and enjoyed my humor. I’m grateful for those that rushed to my defense. But most of all, I’m grateful to my friends for knowing and believing in who I truly am.

He can take solace though: he’s in good company, on both the Chinese and Western side.

POSTSCRIPT: I also got in touch with China Daily Show. Its official reply:

I’m not surprised people are annoyed –  this story is nearly six months old. Oh I get it, it’s a joke about the ageing print-media news model.

Thanks to everyone who came out tonight for the Beijinger’s Super Quiz to benefit Ping An Medical Foster Home. The event raised 28,000 yuan last year, and I’m sure the Beijinger will be around soon to tell you how we did this time around.

Congratulations to the winners, Girls with Low Self-Esteem, pictured above (host Jonathan White is on the far right). Raiders of the Lost Chuanr finished second, and Bus Wankers came in third.

All round tiebreakers were settled via chug-off. An example is after the jump.

If you’re in Beijing and like pub quizzes, the place to be this Sunday is the Hilton for the Beijinger’s 4th annual Super Quiz. (Disclosure: I run a quiz in Beijing, and will be presenting questions on Sunday for the third straight year.) Event organizers are asking interested parties to email or call ahead of time to reserve a spot, events@thebeijinger.com / 5820 7700 ext 866. It costs 1,000 for a team, limit of 10 people.

It’s the quiz of the year, for real. Prizes every round (winner of my round gets a free large pizza from Kro’s Nest), and the grand winner goes home with lots of liquor (or something equally awesome). All proceeds benefit the Ping An Medical Foster Home, so don’t feel bad if you don’t win. Hope to see some of you there.

The Beijinger’s New Festival Showcase at 2 Kolegas on Saturday mostly proved to be your standard gathering of drunken expats, except it produced one hell of a musical highlight: Residence A, a Beijing staple we featured in an Outro earlier this month, giving what I thought was the performance of the night around 8:30 pm. Reasonable music fans will disagree, and I admit I didn’t catch every act, but the energy was noticeably different with these guys on stage, to say nothing of musical phrasing and general ability.

Near the two-minute mark of the group’s final awesome performance, some shirtless drunken asshole got on stage and hopped around like a drunken asshole. That in itself was awful in the way that the antics of drunken assholes usually are, but then he tipped his half-finished bottle of Budweiser over lead singer Zhao Zhao’s head. If ever there was need for one of those cartoon umbrella handles that hook rascals off screen — sharply and with finality — this was it. UPDATE, 8/25, 12:06 am: We’ve been informed that the guy may be a friend of the band, so the possibility exists that this was one hell of a sweet publicity stunt.

Zhao Zhao, to his credit, never missed a beat, and neither did his companions. Six minutes later, after the song’s final note, they were fielding loud pleas for an encore. (Alas, the acts were already running late.) No one would have complained if they never left. Shortened Youku video for those in China after the jump; the full song – called 送春 (Delivering Spring) – is on YouTube, above.

Judging from the last few we’ve been to, the Beijinger knows how to throw a good party ­– it’s just a damn shame about the guests. Photo gallery at the bottom.

By Beijing Cream

Holding the party in the open air of Sanlitun Soho and suggesting “beachwear” as a dress code was clearly pivotal: the signal for Beijing’s really quite impressively large douchebag population to give full vent to their oeuvre of tics and mores. “Dress code? Dude… I was wearing this Hawaiian shirt with oversized aviators, four days’ beard growth and a jaunty pork-pie hat when I woke up!”

We arrive just after four. Upon entering the “gate,” there was a kind, red reminder for all foreigners that there is a crackdown going on for the next 100 years, that undercover police would be among the crowd and that the magazine would not be held responsible for any problems that ensued. Always the best way to get the party started.

As for that crowd: I have not seen so many ferocious wankers in one area since my school days. It was like gathering 200 Drake Moreaus in the same place, at the same time. I honestly would not have been surprised if the alleged Beijing “expat rapist” himself had suddenly shown up at the end as some kind of celebrity foreign guest, strutting on stage to cries of “Dude!” and “Hey, rape me!” to sing Shaggy’s “It Wasn’t Me.” Obviously, it helped – or didn’t, at all – that it was all taking place in broad daylight, on a sunny day, with about a hundred Chinese shoppers and security guards staring joylessly down onto the proceedings from above, so you could see the twattery in full Technicolor.

To make matters worse, someone had invested in about 6,000 beach balls, which kept being tossed and bounced around – so you’re standing there with your paper cup of ale when a cargo of orange-and-blue inflatable plastic comes and knocks off your pork-pie hat. Dude!

What’s more, there were some who considered this vibrant annoyance as the single greatest invention since the football phone, leading to a bunch of tattooed Eurotrash crawling on the ground, searching for more plastic balls, which, judging from the reactions of those hit with them, might have been filled with pure hate.

From above, due to the conflagration of Hawaiian shirts (many of which were the same ones given for free with the entry fee of 100 RMB), it looked like some great hipster deity had sneezed Sanlitun SOHO into being. This situation was made far worse by the presence of at least 1 in 18 thinking it would be hilarious to roll up their shirts and show their bellies in the summer heat, like they were proper Beijing migrant workers. This spell is quickly broken by the sight of these same expats trying to bounce a beach ball off the ladies walking around cleaning up all their trash.

But as I said at the start, the BJer does know how to party – perhaps unfairly, I imagine their CBD office to be a hive of inactivity, with work mainly geared toward drinking games and finding witty reasons to go home early – and seem to have their hands in the pockets of the right sponsors. Screw BMW… let’s have Chimay and T.G.I. Friday bankroll this fucker (the TGIF workers were particularly enthusiastic, given that they had been reduced to going around offering shit “chicken wings” to guests while wearing goofy caps and other heavy, black TGIF-branded garb and manfully grinning: for my mind, these underpaid folks practically made the party and should have been given an award of their own, for best example of grace under pressure).

There was a smorgasboard of booze – including Stella and Hoegaarden, administered by a patient staff surrounded by drunk, baying shit-munchers – as well as some vile Babycham-wannabe drink containing regurgitated cava chunks, served in a blue can, that tasted like a sommelier’s piss sample and was being enthusiastically swigged by various tits wearing plastic straws in the shape of goggles, the de rigeur method via which this swill is presumably imbibed, even at home. Chunks In Blue Can: “As drunk by douches” – I think that would work, actually. If you’re sipping wine from a can, you have to have some kind of mental disability already.

The free food was much less of an event, alas. Put simply, the best consolation any of the half-dozen restaurants that presented themselves could have taken was: “Fuck it, most of them were probably too shit-faced to remember anyway.” Not us. As mentioned, TGIF was serving piss-poor chicken wings, but that is their niche role in the catering trade; that’s no surprise and it won’t stop the great Beijing proletariat from pouring into their booths and ordering the hot wings by the bucket. New SOHO Indian restaurant Khajuraho won’t have done itself any favors, though, by proffering thimblefuls of basmati (despite their booth prominently displaying a whole morass of different rices) soaked in a sorry sub-continental excuse of a sauce, thus elbowing aside Ganges to chalk up a new level of average-ness for Indian in the capital.

Another big problem with the whole shebang was that Jonathan Kos-Read was there. And no one, not a single soul, punched him in the face or stabbed him in the heart or hurled santorum in his face or circumcised him or drank from his skull. What a letdown.

This Jonathan Kos-Read fan page on Facebook, sadly, has one member

While all this was not going on, there was some kind of awards ceremony going on in the background. Yeah, I’d forgotten about that part as well. Indeed, there was something both proud and pathetic about the on-stage antics, an endless parade of shortlists and prize-giving played out to a deafening chorus of we-don’t-give-a-flying-fuck from the crowd. They should just cut the booze off during this part in the future and instead rig the microphone to four giant Marshall speakers, all dialed up to 11, while the MC screams, “The award for best after-hours drinking goes to The Den, that’s right, THE DEN, DID YOU GET THAT, YOU FUCKING FREELOADERS?”

After a single minute of their meaningless prattle, the urge to scream back at the presenters to shut up and get on with it was extraordinary. But then, suddenly, you remember that this will lead to more mind-numbing exhibitions, dance-offs and bad hip-hop; thus, quelling your rage.

The awards. We should talk about them, right? Apparently, the Best Place to Bring a Date is Migas or (snigger) Bed Bar – so there’re two places to avoid like the fucking plague, right there. Best “cheap drinks” went to First Floor (huh? Not Smugglers?). Blue Frog, meanwhile, pulled a ton of awards (Best Daytime Drinking, Best Staff, Best Bar Food, Best Advertising in the Beijinger) all for Christ alone knows what reason. [Editor’s note: *rubs thumb and forefingers together meaningfully.] Beijing fuck-tunnel Vic’s won for the coyly phrased “Best Place to Find a Date” category but not, curiously, Best Place to Turn up With a Flamethrower and a Nailed Baseball Bat Having Had One Hell of a Bad China Day. They would really have won that one – look out for it at next year’s BJC Bar and Club Awards. There were also a bunch of other petty categories that made me want to throw up slightly in my mouth – Most Beautiful People? Fine, but how about Most Fugly People? We want to know where the city’s most desperate and loathsome denizens hang out (other than Vic’s). The Den – yeah, that works.

Anyway, if you need to see the rest, check here. There are 36 categories – yes, you heard that right, thirty-fucking-six – and I honestly cannot bring myself to cycle through any more. It was all so wearily familiar, like the excruciating local (shit, I meant expat) “rap acts” and other entertainments that might as well have been performing at home, in front of a mirror, wearing a tutu, for all the attention being paid to them. The only thing missing this year was edgy/sexy local nightlife blogger, something Boyce, who was apparently sulking this one out.

This part of the party – also known as “the whole point of the entire event” – was once again presented by local blonde Elyse Ribbons, for no other reason I suspect than because there’s an old marketing document in the Beijinger’s hard drive labeled “BJ Awards How-To-Do” dating back from 1998 and No. 4 on the list clearly says: “Hire Elyse Ribbons to present. If unavailable, hire anyone who speaks Chinese and isn’t fugly.” Fortunately, Elyse has, is and always will be available to get up on stage and irritate a crowd just by virtue of speaking Chinese and not being fugly. In fact, I guarantee that if, next year, they were to get someone else – Dashan, say, or Yang Rui – Elyse Ribbons would still wander on midway through like Ophelia and announce that The Rickshaw had won an award for Best Hot Wings.

So, in conclusion: same shit, different year. See you all next time!

Click to enlarge



Thanks to Lola for the Jonathan Kos-Read photoshop. See if you can find the head we used among these pictures.

From Saturday’s party at Sanlitun SOHO that preceded Beijing Cream’s Bar and Club Awards party. Video taken by Lola B. YouTube version for those not in China who want faster streaming after the jump.

We’ve complained about the snobbishness of Time Out’s food awards, and noted that City Weekend’s attempts to promote its awards can probably do without an Ashley Tisdale soundtrack. Where does that leave us?

Ah, yes, the Beijinger. Top dog for nine years, king of Beijing’s nightlife scene, like Hong Xiuquan reigning over Taiping Heavenly Kingdom. Voting is open until Wednesday in tbj’s thing, in 32 different categories, they tell us, but do we really need to know who has the best mix drink and the best bartender? We want the dirt, Beijinger. We want to commix with the salt of the earth, intoxicating ourselves in vomit and sex, the smell of. But the most “edgy” question you offer is hottest wait staff, and the people voting in that one may as well be voting for Best Den for Lechers. Other questions you fail to ask:

• Where should you avoid if you’re allergic to hipsters?
• What place is the go-to spot for those who don’t care about their inevitable alcohol poisoning?
• What’s a safe place for an ingénue to unwind free from leering eyes?
• Where’s the best place to find a mate, or a hooker?

Luckily, we’re here. Beijing Cream’s Bar and Club Awards feature 22 questions divided into five categories, plus a bonus question in a sixth category at the end. The ballot is embedded after the jump, where you can also take a look at the complete list of questions. Voting is open until Wednesday, May 16. We’ll give you plenty of reminders in the coming days.

CATEGORIES IN BOLD.

1st annual Beijing Cream Bar and Club Awards:

Dross

• Best Place to Watch English Teachers Try to Pick Up Local Girls
• Best Place for Asian Men to Hit On White Girls
• Safest Place for a Girl to Avoid Being Leered At
• Best Place to Slip Someone a Date Rape Drug and Wander Off

Repugnance

• Most Likely to Accidentally Find Yourself Trapped in a Conversation with Someone You Immediately Realize You Despise
• Place in Which You’re Most Likely to Hear the Phrase “You’ve Probably Never Heard of Them”
• Most Likely to Make You Feel Like You Got Fleeced
• Most Likely to Make You Feel You Got Fleeced, Raped and Left for Dead

Alcoholism

• Most Reliable Place to Get Shitfaced, Followed by Overwhelming Regret For Two Days
• Safest Place to Get Alcohol Poisoning, Because the Bathrooms are Nice
• Worst Place to Go if You’re Feeling Mildly Suicidal
• Most Likely to Physically Injure Oneself

Meta

• Why Even Call it Happy Hour if You’re Only Going to Lower Prices on Tsingtaos by 5 Kuai (i.e. The Tim’s Texas BBQ Award)
• Way Too Far For You to Care
• Absolutely, Positively Worst Music
• Least Likely to be Featured in Any Kind of Bar/Club Award
• Bar You Have Not Been to But is Actually Not Bad

Sex

• Club with Lighting Most Conducive to Concealing Physical Defects
• Most Likely to Leave You with Blue Balls (or the Female Equivalent)
• Where a Lay is Most Likely Followed by Postcoital Triste, Probably Because You Paid for a Hooker
• Best Place to Go If You’re the Type of Shameless Asshole to Take Advantage of Another’s Drunkenness
• Best Place to Find a Lay that Turns into Something More, For Better or For Worse

BONUS QUESTION (in the survey only)

Sometimes, the food at a restaurant simply sucks. Other times… it kills a patron’s dog?

The above review, submitted by the Beijinger user gava, was of Falahfel Arabic Restaurant (阿拉伯餐厅), which, as of this writing, has an average score of 3.9 out of 5 (25 votes), though it’s saddled with accusations of fake reviews. The full text of gava’s review:

We were dragged in there and didn’t want to eat so rather than upset our hosts,we slipped some in a plastic bag. On arrival home it was fed to the dog and now he is dead.

As voted by readers:

1. 500pm: blue sky with Chinese characteristics.*
2. First at bus stop, last on.
3. Stuck in traffic. Might be late.

And the other finalists:

4. Came for two years. Stayed forever …
5. Beijing, my love, you dusty concubine.
6. Doubt it’s really lamb. Still eating.
7. Great new restaurant. Closed next week.
8. Ring roads wrapped around red ruins.
9. Bro, Fengtai is the new Dongcheng.

The winners are Maaike Harmsen, Sean Fernando and Daniel Godfrey.

The Beiinger had a neat idea for a six-word contest last month, and in this month’s issue the editors have chosen their “50 best” entries. Leave it to the judges to spoil a good idea… OR MAKE IT AWESOME! We weren’t going to do this, but, well, here it is: below, unedited, the 20 worst of the Beijinger’s “50 best.” (And lest you think I’m just bitter that my entries weren’t chosen… you’re right. I’ve included my three submissions at the bottom for public ridicule.)

Love pollution. May I have another?

Taste of Beijing? 350 API, yuck!
who needs air, pollution is delicious
Got out, breathed in, threw up.
Lungs dying anyways. Why not smoke?
Grey skies get under your skin.
Beige skies, gray roofs, pink lights
Black sky; gray moon; red stars.
I love Beijing — it’s killing me

This one’s so good it doesn’tneedtobesixwords.

500pm: blue sky with Chinese characteristics

I get it. Chinese speak Chinglish.

hello new friend bag you want?

NO ONE SAYS “LOOKA LOOKA”

Lao wai looka looka yangrou chuanr

You missed an apostrophe.

Its been downhill since the Olympics

You misspelled apocalyptic. 

Lonely. Neon. Fetid. Post-Apocolyptic. Horse burgers.

Because Ni Hao means hello. Ahhh.

You had me at Ni Hao.

I don’t understand the lowercase i.

i just don’t understand other laowais

You seem confused: hipster or bro?

bro, fengtai is the new dongcheng

Horrible.

Subway snail, crushing crowds, glazed glances

Just plain bad.

Civilised Chaoyang? Spit Spit Beep Beep.
Ring roads wrapped around red ruins
Duffle coat resplendent while dumpling dependent

My submissions:

Accidentally lost my livelihood. Chai happens.
Peking Restaurant: world’s best, with caveats.
Mandarin is best shaken, not stirred.