For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool

Some of the Americans who spend time in China conclude that Chinese culture is ultimately destined to converge with that of the West, at least in all of the ways that matter. Others idealize and voice support for China's various brands of uniqueness - the passing of which they would rue to no end - even if they would never abide such practices themselves. This evening, as I consumed an elaborate meal centered on a large serving dish filled with chopped bullfrog, I meditated deeply on the likelihood of either eventuality. I came no closer to an epiphany on the matter, but the time did seem appropriate. Earlier in the day I had explored Hunan University's weight training facility, which would have borne a striking resemblance to its American brethren had it not also doubled as a junkyard for rusted and broken athletic equipment. Later on, I walked a few blocks to a nearby guitar shop, and when I expressed interest in purchasing a particular model, the otherwise uncommunicative salesman took it down from the wall and launched into a more than adequate rendition of "Hey Jude." He apologized for his spotty pronunciation, but he knew every word.