Chinese Medicine

At the end of another off-key karaoke, with Eminem's Without Me ringing in my ears, I relented to the urging of friends and tried a Chinese foot massage. This is no reflexology session. You are not asked whether you prefer eucalyptus- or lavender-scented essential oil. There is no musical fusion of surf and oboe. The manhandling is delivered by an attendant who may understand "ouch" and little more. Before you can back out, your shoes are gone, your ankles are seized, and your feet are plunged into scalding-hot water. With your eyes tearing from the pain, you're given a back and shoulder massage that is as relaxing as a flurry of kidney punches. Once parboiled, your feet are removed from the cedar basin, knuckles are driven hard into the soles of your feet, and your toes are pulled so viciously that they make the sound of a whip cracking. Whether I fell asleep or passed out from the pain, I was awoken after ninety minutes by the the clapping of hands under my nose. Torture. I have a follow-up tomorrow.