About once a week it happens. Some unremarkable stretch of pavement gets the royal treatment. A red carpet unrolls, masking the ubiquitous Yangqu dust. A red canopy rises. This is capped by a banner -- red cloth, white lettering, bold font. And then there are the girls. About 16 of them form two sides of a tunnel; all wear traditional dresses that are, you guessed it, red. Each rank is armed with cymbals, which they use. All day, in fact. The cadences are often unoriginal, but attention grabbing, and thus effective. If this weren't enough, it gets better. Nothing in China is done without fireworks. The musicians retreat, and the street is enveloped in a gunpowder rant that would make even Crazy Kaplan take cover. This frenzied eruption lasts a quarter of an hour. Then back to our cymbal serenade from 16 girls, who by now are quite deaf.
Why this exhibition? Advertising. It's often some grand opening or anniversary.
I went by one the other day (and beat them in who-wants-to-be-the-most-exciting-spectacle). Up close, I noticed something missing: smiles. These girls were bored. All this pageantry, all this gaiety; all pretend. I certainly don't blame them -- I'd be bored too. But it made me think: do we sometimes do this as Christians? We put on our costumes, set off our particular brand of fireworks, clang on cue, and we're even clever enough to fake a smile. But we're not really celebrating, we're advertising. It's just cosmetic joy.
