You’ve been bitten by a venomous centipede. Now what?

For some reason, I never thought I’d have to Google “what to do for venomous centipede bites.” Unfortunately, when you’re living in southern China, you end up searching for a lot of unusual requests online.

Also unfortunately, a lot of information on these enormous centipedes – scolopendra subspinipes or any of its Southeast Asian variants, including the Chinese red-headed centipede – is not available in English. Thus I found myself in something of a quandary last summer, one evening around midnight, when after dinner out (read: a meal consisting more of báijiǔ than actual shíwù) I felt a pair of tiny forcipules sink deep into my left foot.

A relative of the Chinese Red-Head, the Vietnamese Centipede. Frankly, I'd rather not have either one anywhere near me. (Image courtesy of http://animal-world.com.)

A relative of the Chinese Red-Head, the Vietnamese Centipede. Frankly, I’d rather not have either one anywhere near me. (Image courtesy of http://animal-world.com.)

Though I won’t repeat on here what was yelled loudly and emphatically at the time, I’d had previous encounters with the Chinese red-head (Scolopendra subspinipes mutilans). Living on the ground floor of the school’s dorms, the bottoms of our doors were katy-barred with small planks of wood so as to keep out large centipedes, insects, assorted beasties, and what-have-you. Earlier that summer, we’d even seen one of the seven-inch centipedes in question – trapped by some quick-thinking cafeteria workers down the row in an emptied jug of cheap Chinese booze.

(At the time, I felt sorry for the poor bottled creature, and had attempted to let it free. I was subsequently snapped at for letting a poisonous insect back into the school grounds. Where I come from, insects are not inherently life-threatening.)

Following a little online research borne out of curiosity, I learned that bites from these giant scolopendridae could be devastatingly painful – and occasionally deadly, should one be so unfortunate as to get envenomed on the head.

OH GOD! OH WHY! Here it comes, full-speed. Not only are they fast, they're hyper-perceptive of their surroundings. (Image courtesy of http://bit.ly/XrtyWQ.)

OH GOD! OH WHY! Here it comes, full-speed. Not only are they fast, they’re hyper-perceptive of their surroundings. (Image courtesy of http://bit.ly/XrtyWQ.)

“Shit! These things are running around the dorms,” I remember thinking at the time, still luxuriating in the myriad of large, varied, and exotic insects China had to offer, “and I tried to free one.” I felt horribly guilty, having potentially put a fellow Yongzhou No. 4 High School worker at harm.

But karma works in weird ways. Sitting at my computer that fateful eve, blasting music (as per usual), my involuntary pet centipede decided that hiding under my computer desk no longer constituted acceptable lodging. Chomping into my left metatarsals, my ill-fated, six-inch, hundred-legged friend made a break for it…and I went straight into Full-On Panic Mode, watching a terrified, writhing creature detach itself from my skin and run for the proverbial hills.

Let’s pause here to really drink in that image.

Fellow expats can attest that there’s a moment – in a country where you can’t speak the language, read the signs, or recognize the venomous prehistoric bugs – that you reach something of an enlightened Zen state when worst comes to worst. As venom coursed through my panicked, Western-medicined veins, I entertained the thought that maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

Yet as the pain set in, I was out for blood (or whatever fluids circulate in the “centipedoidal anatomy”). Because HOLY CHRIST DOES THAT SMART. I found the little fucker making his way underneath my unused fridge, and spent the next 20 minutes smashing it into bite-size, normal-leg-numbered segments. It really did take 20 minutes, as the mutilans subspecies seems to have a unique ability to zombify/Lazarus itself.

This person is a dumb-ass. Case closed. Do not consider anything with fangs your "friend." (Image courtesy of http://bit.ly/YKwX40.)

This person is a dumb-ass. Case closed. Do not consider anything with fangs your “friend,” even as a baby. (Image courtesy of http://bit.ly/YKwX40.)

While our school’s Foreign Affairs Officer called an ambulance at the ripe hour of 1 a.m., I hobbled the half mile to the front gate and waited with immense trepidation. (“You need an ambulance!” said the FAO, over the phone. “I can’t speak Chinese,” I replied, rolling my eyes inaudibly. “Oh. Maybe I will call for you.” Wait, maybe?!)

When the good folks online say the bite may incur:

  • “‘Rippling pain” (mine lasted throughout the left leg for some 18 hours, though some say it may take 2-3 days for the pain to fade);
  • “Redness” (oh, and will it be beet-red);
  • “Focalized inflammation” (roughly a week after the initial bite, the numerous muscles in my foot became infected and swelled it to the size of a pomelo, requiring additional Traditional Chinese Medicine [TCM] snake-bite pills to reduce the inflammation and necrotized tissue);
  • “Abnormal skin tingling, tickling, itching, or burning sensations” (okay, mostly just a lot of itcthing);
  • “Acute itching” (but seriously, the itchiness); and,
  • “A non-amplifying localized death of living cells” (spoiler alert: the top of my left foot turned black for about a week)

…they aren’t kidding. About a month after the whole ordeal of bite, followed by inflammation, followed by awkward daily outpatient treatment for post-bite inflammation, followed by PTSD-esque nightmares involving squiggly creatures, I came to understand quite well why the cafeteria ladies down the row had entrapped their snaky intruder as they did.

The victorious centipede of comic lore, the losing gladiator, and my very red foot, post-fanging.

The Crimson Centipede of comic lore, the losing gladiator, and my very red foot, post-fanging. I keep hoping for a Spiderman-like transformation.

The incident also helped me realize, though, the role Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) still plays in modern-day China, and why Western medicine will never fully monopolize the vast Chinese pharmaceuticals market. After all, if it weren’t for the magical snake-bite pills the doctor in Yongzhou prescribed me, I may well have left China without a left foot. A mere “10 pills, three times a day,”and I was bouncing back.

(That’s not to say the green, globulous TCM mass they spread on my back to “reduce fever” is as effective as, say, taking a bunch of Tylenol. It has its time and place. As do centipede bites.)

And yet, a few months later, I never thought I’d have to Google “what to do for appendicitis.” But when you’re living in southern China, you end up searching for a lot of unusual requests online. In the age of a fast-developing Middle Kingdom, though, where East increasingly meets West, you end up with a lot of interesting stories to tell later on.

The People's Air!

A popularly circulated image on Sina Weibo (prior to its “harmonizing“) and the Shanghaiist, Beijing’s iconic Mao Zedong portrait contends with the capital city’s continuing air pollution epidemic. Be it sandstorms, factories, construction, or meteorological misfortune, Weibo user @yanyutong’s tongue-in-cheek-in-mask reference is apparently too controversial for Beijing’s choking victims residents.

(It’s not that bad. So long as you don’t mind blowing your nose and seeing black.)

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Shanghai’s “pork soup” problem

“Officials say the water quality has not been affected and they are investigating where the pigs came from.”

For those wondering, no: This is not a story about piping-hot 馄饨汤 (pork dumpling soup). It is about a river. And the pigs in question? Long past their expiration date.

On Friday evening, reports of 900 1,200 pig carcasses dumped in the Songjiang section of the Huangpu River (just outside Shanghai) made the news, shocking residents of China’s second-largest city. According to Beijing Cream, city health officials determined “the pigs do not pose a health hazard, and the risk of E. coli is not much higher than normal.” The thought of ingesting bloated, fermenting swine is one thing – though Cthulu help the 22 million residents actually drinking or using tap water in Shanghai.

(The fact that this situation has heightened the E. coli risk to “not much higher than normal” is another matter all together.)

Image

Retrieval and disposal of the more than 1,000 pig carcasses continues. (Image courtesy of CRJ Online and ministryoftofu.com)

Reports also indicate that officials “are investigating where the pigs came from,” as noted in the Independent (U.K.). Don’t you hate when 900 1,200 porcine bacon-makers mysteriously appear and suddenly die in your city’s major waterway? But thanks to coverage from the Ministry of Tofu, there’s no need to sugar-coat this sweet-and-(mostly)-sour pork:

“It is reported that since January, over 20,000 pigs have died in the neighboring rural villages. The mass death events have overwhelmed pig farmers as well as villages living in the area.”

Of the 50 million tons (110,231,000,000 lbs.) of pork produced in China each year, one must factor in a number of animals who just won’t make it, due to biological or disease-related reasons. In its reporting, the Ministry also noted that “Jiaxing Daily, a state-run newspaper circulated in Zhejiang province, disclosed Saturday…that 10,078 pigs died in January and 8,325 in February.” Just this month, “an average number of 300 pigs are killed each day.”

(While it’s unknown how many are slaughtered for meat and how many are “put out of their misery,” it’s safe to say that the recent conflagration in the Huangpu is probably not the best way to deal with an excess of unpalatable swine carcasses.)

But you have to hand it to Shanghai officials for doing their damnedest to make sure the “When pigs fly!” story stays believable. Reports the Independent:

“A statement posted Saturday on the city’s Agriculture Committee’s website says they haven’t found any evidence that the pigs were dumped into the river or of any animal epidemic.”

Clearly, all evidence points to a Noah’s Arc 2.0-type situation here. Luckily, Shanghai residents and Sina Weibo users alike aren’t buying the official line, and as reported by the Ministry, “are not only concerned about food safety and water quality being compromised by this incident, but questioning what caused so many pigs to die as well. Others worry that the government has been covering up the issue in the past few months.”

And pork is a porcine issue in meat-hungry China. Thanks to decades of famine and scarcity, a meal without meat in the modern-day Middle Kingdom doesn’t cut it. (Trust me: It’s impossible to eat around the meat. It is omnipresent.) Reports the Guardian (U.K.):

“I’ve heard people talking about eating meat in ‘revenge,'” [Cornell University sociologist Mindi] Schneider said. “It was so limited before. Now it’s like: ‘Look at this progress, we can eat as much meat as we want.'”

Apparently that means breeding, growing, and slaughtering enough pork to satisfy one-fifth of the world’s population. (Not that Americans are any more meat-conscious: The average American eats 276 lbs. of pork per year, compared to 132 lbs. by the average Chinese person.) If anything, this incident should bring to light the unsustainable nature of pork production and/or drinking water treatments in China’s cities.

But then again, who in Shanghai would turn down a nice hot bowl of 馄饨汤, straight from the faucet?

No one wants to “Learn from Lei Feng”

On March 5, I wrote about “Learn from Lei Feng Day,” in which we the People were instructed to take note of Mr. Lei’s selfless altruism, patriotism, and loyalty to the Chinese Communist Party (even in death). No qualms, as the dude was basically a nationalistic – if not fabricated – bad-ass. (With a ballin’ hat to boot.)

But apparently Chinese audiences weren’t in the mood for a hearty helping of party propaganda on this glorious holiday. According to the Hollywood Reporter:

“Screenings of ‘Young Lei Feng,’ a biopic about a revolutionary long immortalized in Chinese official discourse for his reportedly selfless contributions to the Communist Party, were called off at cinemas in the cities of Nanjing and Xi’an because no tickets were sold. Ironically, the cancellation came on the very day the government designated as ‘Lei Feng Day.’ “

Still from "Young Lei Feng," which coincidentally flopped on "Learn from Lei Feng Day." (Image courtesy of weibo.com/cajing)

Still from “Young Lei Feng,” which coincidentally flopped on “Learn from Lei Feng Day.” (Image courtesy of weibo.com/cajing)

To add insult to injury, writes the Reporter, propaganda-esque films “have always been a hard-sell, and [film venue managers] expected the film to be taken off screens soon as a raft of more entertaining and profitable releases…are released towards the end of the week.” What would you rather spend a week’s worth of income ( usually ¥60 RMB, or $9.50) on: “Young Lei Feng,” or the current Hollywood blockbuster?

“With the advent of the Internet and the emergence of a very sophisticated and commercialized entertainment industry…Chinese audiences have long distanced themselves from propaganda fare which previous generations might have embraced out of either genuine affection or a lack of choice.”

Welcome to visual-stimulation-hungry and free-market-competitive China: Where (increasingly) disposable income meets modern capitalistic consumer desires. (In all honesty, though, I probably would have paid to see Lei’s film. For the lulz.)

In the meantime, perhaps the CCP’s art directors can “Learn from ‘Lost in Thailand,’ ” China’s largest-grossing domestic film ever, before March 5, 2014 rolls around. For a movie not actually about China, it was a smash hit (never mind that it was basically “The Hangover 2” in Mandarin Chinese).

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