At the start of 2001, the twin towers stood confidently in lower Manhattan, Iraq was languishing in the back of the news pages (Afganistan was out of sight and out of mind) and Bush-the-younger could still get away with calling himself a “uniter, not a divider.”

The clearly-starting-to-teeter US economy was the main source of domestic anxiety, and our foreign policy was heavily focused on China.

Now Iraq, and the war on terror, have stolen the headlines for over three years. But our appetite for this is starting to wane, and the press is starting to look beyond the Middle East once again.

The May 9 issue of Newsweek featured the special report, China’s Century as its cover story. Around the same time, the June issue of the Atlantic Monthly hit newsstands, featuring the provocative headline, “How We Would Fight China” and a serious-looking chinese sailor on its cover.

The two reports make good companion pieces.

The centerpiece of the Newsweek report is Fareed Zakaria’s, Does the Future Belong to China? It’s a lightweight (well it’s Newsweek, so yeah) survey of the obvious, but still an interesting read. It spins post-1979 China as the remarkable result of nuanced and carefully-planned reforms carried out by leaders who smartly shifted Chinese policy away from communism without damaging Maoist nationalism.

The two pieces in the Atlantic are a little gloomier, as suggested by the cover headline. They focus on the chess (or go?) match an asian cold war would surely be, characterized by naval standoffs, mid-air confrontations and diplomatic catfights.

I began to imagine the plot of a war satire set fifteen years from now. Our next president, in his (or her?) second term, decides to respond to one embarassing standoff or another – and also put a halt to China’s rapidly-improving military capabilities – by waging a preemtive war. We’re several years into it, in the story I imagine, and it’s looking more and more like a stalemate.

Perhaps we’ve taken Shanghai and even Hong Kong – with the help of Japan, Australia and Singapore, but Europe has abandoned us, and the support of Singapore and the Aussies is starting to look pretty shaky.

At home in the US, things are more polarized than ever. California might as well be its own country.

On the ground in China, our troops don’t like what it feels like to be the agressors on foreign soil.

That’s the backdrop. Now I have to come up with a story.

Last week was the first week of the San Francisco International Arts Festival, and there are a lot of good things to see.

I saw three shows over the weekend, including one called Pandora 88 by a German duo calling themselves Fabrik Companie. The piece was a beautiful blurring of the line between theatre and dance, staged inside a box roughly 1 1/2 times the size of a refrigerator.

It began with the children’s games of tag, hide-and-seek and charades. Then it shifted into an outer-space motif that looked and felt exactly like old school video effects I remember from TV shows I loved as a child – Zoom, Sesame Street…

Toward the end, the piece became heavier and more dramatic. Like growing up.

In its final moments, one of the characters discovered a way out, and with the help of his friend he escaped the confines of the box, through a small hole in the ceiling. He looked around nervously for a moment and then reached down to help his friend.

His friend declined, and the stage went dark.

Since I’ve been back in San Francisco, I’ve completely neglected my blog. One posting every two or three weeks is not what I’m aiming for. It’s not like I’m lacking material. What I’m lacking is the proper state of mind.

As a foreigner in foreign lands, my mind was in a constant and hightened state of discovery. By virtue of the fact that I was new there, everything there seemed new to me. Even things I can empirically say weren’t new at all.

Despite a demanding client and a gruelling schedule, I was able to write something nearly every day.

The thing is, I’m still more or less a rookie when it comes to San Francisco living, and I experience new things here all the time. So, like I said, I’m not lacking material.

As evidence, I present a short list of the things I did during my first week back (a whole month ago now). All of them absolutely new to me (except Zeitgeist, an old favorite)…

Thursday (the night I arrived), I went to a Laughing Squid party at Albion Castle.

Friday, I met Blake for beer on the legendary back patio at Zeitgeist.

Saturday, I went to The Ramp with Amy for a big greasy breakfast of corned beef hash and eggs.

Tuesday, I met Blake and Jeff for a coupla pints and a hearty shepherd’s pie at The Liberties Pub.

Thursday was Cesar’s going away party at Lime.

Friday, I went to a benefit show at SOMArts Christy presented one of the solos from a piece she staged back in December. The dancer was a hip-hop specialist named Skorpio.

Plenty of material. I just need to find right mind.

I’ve been back in San Francisco for more than a week now. I’ve mainly been reconnecting with friends, eating a lot of Mexican food and trying to catch up on my sleep. And neglecting my blog.

The other day, I stepped into Urban Outfitters to browse t-shirts and jackets, and after six months in Singapore, I was completely unable to wrap my mind around the irony oozing from every shelf in the store. Between Jesus action figures, Everyone Poops and white-trash retro, everything was just a little too cool for itself.

Last night, I saw Maroon 5 at the HP Pavilion, along with throngs of teenage girls and their parents. There were a few small groups of people my own age. We were the people holding cups of beer.

Maroon 5 has one hit song, and I heard it every night I was in any club in Singapore. I mention the show because the music snobs amongst my friends will make fun of me, but I am immune to this now.

Singapore is a city without irony. It has other kinds of class systems, but you can’t be a cultural snob in Singapore.

After I’d been there a few months, I listened to one person after another, recently arrived from San Francisco (or New York, London, etc.) moan about fashion or architecture or music. I watched them roll their eyes as a cover band launched into the latest hit, and the joyful throng exploded onto the dance floor.

Before I went to Singapore, I’d been struggling to divest of my inner snob. I was hating the haters, if you will. I walk in several circles of friends, and I’d become so tired of hearing one circle judge the other because of its taste in music, television, clothes, cars…

For me, it was actually beautiful and sort of liberating to be in a place where a cultural snob can’t survive. He’d go blind from eye-rolling.

…before the last chord of Purple Rain fades, the band begins to play Hotel California, and the western mind implodes from the effort it takes to comprehend.