I have had ten days of vacation from Chinese classes. Since I do not have a real job, I have had the most free time in Taiwan since arriving here last year. It is nice. I have gotten to know some Russian people, and as a consequence want to go to Russia. I have become acquainted with a few new Taiwanese friends as well, but I cannot want to go to Taiwan because I am here, right now.
On the 25th of Merry Christmas I will go to Taipei and will come back on the 27th of Merry Christmas.
On the evening of the 31st I will leave for the base of Mt. Snow. On the 2nd of January I will hopefully be at the top for a moment, and come back to Tainan on the 3rd. If all goes according to plan, I will be furthest away from the deleterious effects of sea-level gravitational forces since birth.
In my free time I am reading some books:
1. The Generalissimo (still working on this one)
2. The Time Traveler's Wife (first non-textbook Chinese book!)
3. State and Society in the Taiwan Miracle
4. The "One China" Dilemma
5. Zen Buddhism and Psychoanalysis
It rained yesterday, and it was a nice winter rain, not a crazy summer rain.
My friend/Taiwanese patron Saint is going to let me live in his apartment for free starting in January.
This is a good place to stop. Expect some (gorgeous) photographs from the top of Taiwan soon.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
拜托
Today I was riding my bike, avoiding the usual life threatening obstacles: other bicycles, scooters, cars, buses, people. I had my eyes on a lady on a scooter, waiting on my side of the road, presumably wanting to cross. After a while on the roads in Taiwan, I have learned to anticipate the illogical. Sure enough, just as I was about to pass her, the lady began to accelerate into the road, directly in front of me.
This was not so remarkable. I glanced over my shoulder, swerved, and avoided her.
What surprised me were the words that slipped from my mouth. "拜托." It was the first time I had said them, and I was not sure what they meant. Just getting home, I have looked them up. "Give me a break!" was the definition I found (specific to Taiwan). I do not know how accurate this translation is, or how those words lodged themselves in my head, but it seems I used the phrase in a semi-appropriate situation, without any conscious effort.
Kind of incredible what our brains do.
This was not so remarkable. I glanced over my shoulder, swerved, and avoided her.
What surprised me were the words that slipped from my mouth. "拜托." It was the first time I had said them, and I was not sure what they meant. Just getting home, I have looked them up. "Give me a break!" was the definition I found (specific to Taiwan). I do not know how accurate this translation is, or how those words lodged themselves in my head, but it seems I used the phrase in a semi-appropriate situation, without any conscious effort.
Kind of incredible what our brains do.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Humor in Argentina
In response to an article titled "Living With the Crisis."
To the Editor:
I welcome that the issue of the economic crisis is gradually disappearing from the pages of The New York Times International Weekly that is published in Clarin in Buenos Aires. At one point, during the recent months, many of your articles were related in one way or another to the crisis.
I have lived 43 years in Argentina; all my life I have experienced an economic crisis. However, I live a happy and fulfilling existence. Maybe Americans should try to understand that economics are not the only important issue in life.
--Héctor Horacio Otero
Buenos, Aires
To the Editor:
I welcome that the issue of the economic crisis is gradually disappearing from the pages of The New York Times International Weekly that is published in Clarin in Buenos Aires. At one point, during the recent months, many of your articles were related in one way or another to the crisis.
I have lived 43 years in Argentina; all my life I have experienced an economic crisis. However, I live a happy and fulfilling existence. Maybe Americans should try to understand that economics are not the only important issue in life.
--Héctor Horacio Otero
Buenos, Aires
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
This just in...
Opinion »
Editorial: Where the Dust Blows and Settles
To reduce problems caused by dust storms, the world needs to improve agricultural practices and reduce desertification.
_____
Awesome, New York Times. Thanks for the insight.
Editorial: Where the Dust Blows and Settles
To reduce problems caused by dust storms, the world needs to improve agricultural practices and reduce desertification.
_____
Awesome, New York Times. Thanks for the insight.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Rugged
During Matt's visit in January and February we sometimes discussed Taiwan and China and how things compared. At one point I asked him how he would characterize Taiwan in one word. I think he did it in several, but I had an [pre-meditated] answer ready: rugged. Judging from Matthew's reaction I believe he thought that was a silly summation. But I have lived here longer than he stayed here which results in an asymmetry of information. I have more than he does, and I am right.
But it is interesting, Taiwan's ruggedness. Five hundred years ago this place was given the name Ilha Formosa, which was eventually shortened to plain Formosa. In fact, many people still call it that, including locals. Formosa came from Portuguese which came from Latin and means beautiful. But beautiful and rugged might be construed as opposite, which is a problem for my argument. How could the one word characterization of "the beautiful island" be rugged?
I am just going to claim the Portuguese were being silly when they gave Taiwan that name. They saw the unnamed island from afar and, not caring to stick around, thought of a title that would make their seafaring fables more interesting to audiences back in Portugal. (This is my personal take on the history.)
This is not to say Taiwan is ugly. It isn't. But I am positive the Portuguese had beheld islands seemingly more deserving of that name while on their voyages.
So then, why is it rugged? The short answer is out of necessity. Taiwan is comprised mostly of mountains. They rise from nothing to thousands of meters like cliffs. In fact, Taiwan is home to the highest mountain in East Asia, YuShan, at some 3,950 meters. This mountain rises from the ocean floor to its highest peak, an altitude gain of 8,000 meters, in just about 100 kilometers.
There are so many mountains because underneath the island exists a kind of haphazard mess of tectonic plates and belts and terranes. This complex, chaotic "system" leads, of course, to many, many earthquakes. (There have been three or four in the few weeks I have been back on the island. During the last one I was watching a movie in my room and only after thirty seconds of constant rumbling wondered whether I should get up from my bed.)
And then, of course, there are the typhoons. Taiwan is not the only country that has to deal with the buggers, but they can be a serious burden. The last big one, Morakot, produced 1.4 meters of rain in 24 hours and 2.7 meters within 72 hours. This, in conjunction with Taiwan's mountains, was a perfect recipe for mudslides which wiped out bridges, eroded foundations under roads, washed away entire towns, flooded cities and destroyed several tea crops. Aside from the rain typhoons bring, it can get quite windy.
According to locals there are in fact four seasons here. Perhaps this is true, but summer absolutely dominates, and spring and fall could not be more than several weeks. Unfortunately, the typhoons and the blistering hot sun are packed into the same unrelenting season: summer. Most Taiwanese wear jackets and long sleeves in 35 degree Celsius weather, when the humidity is between 85 and 100 per cent in order to save their skin. And why bother to repaint the outside of your house if it is just going to blister and peel away from all the elements within a year?
The paint is not the only thing that gets neglected, though. All these natural elements - mountains, earthquakes, typhoons, sun, etc. - not only define the natural landscape, but are so prominent and ever present that they delimit the infrastructure and aesthetics of the cities. Upon my arrival in Taiwan I was struck how tile dominated the cityscape. Well, it turns out it is probably more attractive than concrete, the only viable alternative. Other materials such as wood just would not hold up. The strength of nature here simply demands that she be heeded.
Plants and animals, as well as architects, must adapt. The elements have exactly the same effect in the countryside, and upon my first trip into the mountains I was very disappointed. Compared to my native Washington the scenery simply did not compare. The shrubbery and trees were dark, dense, universally green and brown, and nearly indistinguishable. Like the white square tiles on the outsides of the buildings, the plants covering the mountains seemed to have one purpose: survival.
Becoming increasingly aware of this universal trait, I began to seek it out. I found it in buildings and flowerpots, mountains and trees, but also in society and people, particularly the elder generation. Old men riding rusted motorcycles without shoes and missing teeth, carrying large canisters of propane to and fro. An elder lady who opens every day for business - no weekends, no holidays; typhoon or no, customers or not. The person who collects the trash in a trailer attached to a single speed bicycle - one time I literally could not see her because of all the garbage bags enveloping her. She had become a part of the moving pile of rubbish.
Of course the construction of Taiwanese society has not blossomed solely from earthquakes and typhoons, but the effects I think are indubitable.
The thing is, while rugged and beautiful often have quite different meanings, in the case of Taiwan I see beauty not despite, but because of the ruggedness. One morning during those very few weeks that constitute spring, I was waiting at a stoplight when I noticed the trees were full of little yellow flowers. Literally overnight they had blossomed. They were not dominant. They were more like an accent to the background of green, but they stood out. They were bright, pristine, and fragile. And they were ephemeral.
Were it not for the constant rugged norm, I may not have noticed them, but that morning they really struck me. And they were not alone. In the coming days other flowers came and went as well, and I saw them too in a new light.
The man made creations, also, have a subtle beauty that I have slowly come to realize. I do not think it is intentional, but rather by necessity there is a lack of showiness in the design of most things. Taipei 101 aside, many buildings fall into the background noise, and the focus turns to what they contain (and do not contain). Everyone has the same iron door, and the same concrete walls and the same tile flooring. But some restaurants have good food and some do not. Nobody frowns if you go to dinner at a place with fluorescent lights, cockroaches at the front door, foldable chairs and unadorned walls; everyone smiles, however, if the food tastes good. Atmosphere is created by people and fills a space that might otherwise be taken by golden chandeliers and silk tablecloths. (There is of course something nice about intricate woodwork and grand staircases, but there can be a hidden beauty in the lack thereof as well.)
And the people. I know the man on the rusted motorcycle was missing teeth only because his smile was so large, talking to me in Taiwanese and not minding that I did not understand his words because his message was already clear. The lady that is open every day does not seem the least bit upset about it. On the contrary, whenever I go there to eat she seems joyed to be able to serve me. Yes, the people are the most rugged of all. Taiwan has been tossed from country to country, more recently endured its own social and political trials, deals with more than its fair share of natural disasters, and yet sincerity and generosity persist among the vast majority of the people I have encountered here.
Taiwan is rugged. To survive on this island requires toughness and a strong constitution, it demands effort and endurance. But it is because of this ruggedness that the Portuguese were silly, not wrong. They could not know, from a passing glance, the beauty this island contains. The necessity of ruggedness on the island demands that hubris be pushed aside: the beauty here is modest, slow to emerge, and demands patience from the observer. But it is also long lasting and powerful. I imagine the name Ilha Formosa will stick for quite some time.
But it is interesting, Taiwan's ruggedness. Five hundred years ago this place was given the name Ilha Formosa, which was eventually shortened to plain Formosa. In fact, many people still call it that, including locals. Formosa came from Portuguese which came from Latin and means beautiful. But beautiful and rugged might be construed as opposite, which is a problem for my argument. How could the one word characterization of "the beautiful island" be rugged?
I am just going to claim the Portuguese were being silly when they gave Taiwan that name. They saw the unnamed island from afar and, not caring to stick around, thought of a title that would make their seafaring fables more interesting to audiences back in Portugal. (This is my personal take on the history.)
This is not to say Taiwan is ugly. It isn't. But I am positive the Portuguese had beheld islands seemingly more deserving of that name while on their voyages.
So then, why is it rugged? The short answer is out of necessity. Taiwan is comprised mostly of mountains. They rise from nothing to thousands of meters like cliffs. In fact, Taiwan is home to the highest mountain in East Asia, YuShan, at some 3,950 meters. This mountain rises from the ocean floor to its highest peak, an altitude gain of 8,000 meters, in just about 100 kilometers.
There are so many mountains because underneath the island exists a kind of haphazard mess of tectonic plates and belts and terranes. This complex, chaotic "system" leads, of course, to many, many earthquakes. (There have been three or four in the few weeks I have been back on the island. During the last one I was watching a movie in my room and only after thirty seconds of constant rumbling wondered whether I should get up from my bed.)
And then, of course, there are the typhoons. Taiwan is not the only country that has to deal with the buggers, but they can be a serious burden. The last big one, Morakot, produced 1.4 meters of rain in 24 hours and 2.7 meters within 72 hours. This, in conjunction with Taiwan's mountains, was a perfect recipe for mudslides which wiped out bridges, eroded foundations under roads, washed away entire towns, flooded cities and destroyed several tea crops. Aside from the rain typhoons bring, it can get quite windy.
According to locals there are in fact four seasons here. Perhaps this is true, but summer absolutely dominates, and spring and fall could not be more than several weeks. Unfortunately, the typhoons and the blistering hot sun are packed into the same unrelenting season: summer. Most Taiwanese wear jackets and long sleeves in 35 degree Celsius weather, when the humidity is between 85 and 100 per cent in order to save their skin. And why bother to repaint the outside of your house if it is just going to blister and peel away from all the elements within a year?
The paint is not the only thing that gets neglected, though. All these natural elements - mountains, earthquakes, typhoons, sun, etc. - not only define the natural landscape, but are so prominent and ever present that they delimit the infrastructure and aesthetics of the cities. Upon my arrival in Taiwan I was struck how tile dominated the cityscape. Well, it turns out it is probably more attractive than concrete, the only viable alternative. Other materials such as wood just would not hold up. The strength of nature here simply demands that she be heeded.
Plants and animals, as well as architects, must adapt. The elements have exactly the same effect in the countryside, and upon my first trip into the mountains I was very disappointed. Compared to my native Washington the scenery simply did not compare. The shrubbery and trees were dark, dense, universally green and brown, and nearly indistinguishable. Like the white square tiles on the outsides of the buildings, the plants covering the mountains seemed to have one purpose: survival.
Becoming increasingly aware of this universal trait, I began to seek it out. I found it in buildings and flowerpots, mountains and trees, but also in society and people, particularly the elder generation. Old men riding rusted motorcycles without shoes and missing teeth, carrying large canisters of propane to and fro. An elder lady who opens every day for business - no weekends, no holidays; typhoon or no, customers or not. The person who collects the trash in a trailer attached to a single speed bicycle - one time I literally could not see her because of all the garbage bags enveloping her. She had become a part of the moving pile of rubbish.
Of course the construction of Taiwanese society has not blossomed solely from earthquakes and typhoons, but the effects I think are indubitable.
The thing is, while rugged and beautiful often have quite different meanings, in the case of Taiwan I see beauty not despite, but because of the ruggedness. One morning during those very few weeks that constitute spring, I was waiting at a stoplight when I noticed the trees were full of little yellow flowers. Literally overnight they had blossomed. They were not dominant. They were more like an accent to the background of green, but they stood out. They were bright, pristine, and fragile. And they were ephemeral.
Were it not for the constant rugged norm, I may not have noticed them, but that morning they really struck me. And they were not alone. In the coming days other flowers came and went as well, and I saw them too in a new light.
The man made creations, also, have a subtle beauty that I have slowly come to realize. I do not think it is intentional, but rather by necessity there is a lack of showiness in the design of most things. Taipei 101 aside, many buildings fall into the background noise, and the focus turns to what they contain (and do not contain). Everyone has the same iron door, and the same concrete walls and the same tile flooring. But some restaurants have good food and some do not. Nobody frowns if you go to dinner at a place with fluorescent lights, cockroaches at the front door, foldable chairs and unadorned walls; everyone smiles, however, if the food tastes good. Atmosphere is created by people and fills a space that might otherwise be taken by golden chandeliers and silk tablecloths. (There is of course something nice about intricate woodwork and grand staircases, but there can be a hidden beauty in the lack thereof as well.)
And the people. I know the man on the rusted motorcycle was missing teeth only because his smile was so large, talking to me in Taiwanese and not minding that I did not understand his words because his message was already clear. The lady that is open every day does not seem the least bit upset about it. On the contrary, whenever I go there to eat she seems joyed to be able to serve me. Yes, the people are the most rugged of all. Taiwan has been tossed from country to country, more recently endured its own social and political trials, deals with more than its fair share of natural disasters, and yet sincerity and generosity persist among the vast majority of the people I have encountered here.
Taiwan is rugged. To survive on this island requires toughness and a strong constitution, it demands effort and endurance. But it is because of this ruggedness that the Portuguese were silly, not wrong. They could not know, from a passing glance, the beauty this island contains. The necessity of ruggedness on the island demands that hubris be pushed aside: the beauty here is modest, slow to emerge, and demands patience from the observer. But it is also long lasting and powerful. I imagine the name Ilha Formosa will stick for quite some time.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Power in Numbers
Due to a recent overflow of really nice comments on my previously thought unread blog, I am considering a trip to Seattle. This makes my stomach turn a bit.
I am also working on a post about the typhoon you may have heard of, but that may never materialize at this rate.
Till then.
(And happy birthday, Olivia!)
I am also working on a post about the typhoon you may have heard of, but that may never materialize at this rate.
Till then.
(And happy birthday, Olivia!)
Thursday, August 6, 2009
One year later
I second guessed myself after uploading the massive picture of me to this website. But, then, after further thought, I came to the conclusion anyone looking at this probably wants to see my big smiling face in as many places as possible. Next step is a background-collage of yours truly.
Yes, so. One year later. Hard to believe as any other year, in some ways; easier in others. I have learned a lot, in any case. That is good, I think. It is evidence that I am still alive, for one thing. Here is a short list.
1. People are actually not very good drivers in Taiwan.
2. Taiwan is not the same place as Seattle, Wash.
Really, I had to work hard to shorten that list up.
Unintentionally, I have also learned a lot about children. I will leave my school, for the most part, at the end of this month. That will be a bit bittersweet: recently the kids have all been saying "Teacher Jonathan!" as I walk in the door every day. Just like them, the little devils.
I want to apply to schools. This process is impeded by a number of things, however: GRE; professors not responding to e-mail requests for excellent letters of recommendation. In the mean time I am just working on making my Chinese as sharp as possible. I remind myself that is why I am here, from time to time.
And, in keeping with tradition the last five years, I will be making my annual move. I will be forced to say goodbye to the living room and kitchen I enjoy now, but I will be happy to have a tub-less shower again. Something more authentic about them. I will also be across the street from my favorite restaurants. Furthermore, I will have a small balcony on which I am fantasizing growing plants and suntanning. The latter is in hopes of obscuring the currently too obvious farmer tan.
And you know, that is really about it. This is the fringe of my life. The core is teaching and learning. I will have more time in the near future and less money. One might hope I could muster some more insightful comments after this year, but I think it all seems pretty normal now. Ask me about it when I get back, and have something to compare it to.
Yes, so. One year later. Hard to believe as any other year, in some ways; easier in others. I have learned a lot, in any case. That is good, I think. It is evidence that I am still alive, for one thing. Here is a short list.
1. People are actually not very good drivers in Taiwan.
2. Taiwan is not the same place as Seattle, Wash.
Really, I had to work hard to shorten that list up.
Unintentionally, I have also learned a lot about children. I will leave my school, for the most part, at the end of this month. That will be a bit bittersweet: recently the kids have all been saying "Teacher Jonathan!" as I walk in the door every day. Just like them, the little devils.
I want to apply to schools. This process is impeded by a number of things, however: GRE; professors not responding to e-mail requests for excellent letters of recommendation. In the mean time I am just working on making my Chinese as sharp as possible. I remind myself that is why I am here, from time to time.
And, in keeping with tradition the last five years, I will be making my annual move. I will be forced to say goodbye to the living room and kitchen I enjoy now, but I will be happy to have a tub-less shower again. Something more authentic about them. I will also be across the street from my favorite restaurants. Furthermore, I will have a small balcony on which I am fantasizing growing plants and suntanning. The latter is in hopes of obscuring the currently too obvious farmer tan.
And you know, that is really about it. This is the fringe of my life. The core is teaching and learning. I will have more time in the near future and less money. One might hope I could muster some more insightful comments after this year, but I think it all seems pretty normal now. Ask me about it when I get back, and have something to compare it to.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
It is all about the tea
Many thanks are owed to family and friends for redirecting a substantial amount of tea back to Taiwan and more specifically, to me.
I could write at length of my tea travails, but suffice it to say any expectations I may have had that good tea would be difficult to come by have been far exceeded. Over time I found myself drinking less tea, not enjoying the tea I was drinking nearly as much, and wondering if I was crazy to have ever liked it as much as I once had or if over consumption had simply taken its inevitable toll.
And then the box came.
Actually it was a letter, and it was in our mailbox for more than a month before I received it (I do not have a key to our post). But that letter was my ticket to better days and I toted it to the post office where I waited patiently in what seemed to be old school desks while they searched for what seemed to be a very long time for my box.
I affixed it to my bicycle and rode home very quickly.
Actually, I was quite nervous. My gradual disengagement with tea was not due to any lack of effort on my part. My searches for better tea stretched from Taipei to Tainan; searches for better water sources led me to mountains, through canyons, and to different purifying stations around the city. Different tea utensils and preparation methods were tried, and failed to deliver. As I opened my package I was preparing myself for the worst. How could it be that this tea from Seattle really made all the difference?
I sat down and heated the water. I rinsed everything and put the leaves in the tea pot. Finally, I filled the pot with water and put the lid on.
Interesting, I thought. The replacement of the tea pot lid did not cause the water in the pot to overflow, as almost always happened since my arrival. Due to lack of practice as well as my bad nerves, my first steeping was on the lighter side of perfect. My first reaction was muted and I was thankful I had numbed my expectations beforehand. But of course, poured more water in.
And, of course, it really was all about the tea. It was like being released from prison, or waking up from a bad dream in which the world had gone to nuclear war. It was as if my gradual appreciation of good tea, built over time and tastings, were being crammed into a period of eight or nine seconds, from the first scent to the aftertaste.
I steeped it a third time, with an irrepressible smile.
...
(In fact, after more thorough scrutiny, I am convinced that were I to collect data the (lack of) water overflow phenomenon would be statistically significant.)
I could write at length of my tea travails, but suffice it to say any expectations I may have had that good tea would be difficult to come by have been far exceeded. Over time I found myself drinking less tea, not enjoying the tea I was drinking nearly as much, and wondering if I was crazy to have ever liked it as much as I once had or if over consumption had simply taken its inevitable toll.
And then the box came.
Actually it was a letter, and it was in our mailbox for more than a month before I received it (I do not have a key to our post). But that letter was my ticket to better days and I toted it to the post office where I waited patiently in what seemed to be old school desks while they searched for what seemed to be a very long time for my box.
I affixed it to my bicycle and rode home very quickly.
Actually, I was quite nervous. My gradual disengagement with tea was not due to any lack of effort on my part. My searches for better tea stretched from Taipei to Tainan; searches for better water sources led me to mountains, through canyons, and to different purifying stations around the city. Different tea utensils and preparation methods were tried, and failed to deliver. As I opened my package I was preparing myself for the worst. How could it be that this tea from Seattle really made all the difference?
I sat down and heated the water. I rinsed everything and put the leaves in the tea pot. Finally, I filled the pot with water and put the lid on.
Interesting, I thought. The replacement of the tea pot lid did not cause the water in the pot to overflow, as almost always happened since my arrival. Due to lack of practice as well as my bad nerves, my first steeping was on the lighter side of perfect. My first reaction was muted and I was thankful I had numbed my expectations beforehand. But of course, poured more water in.
And, of course, it really was all about the tea. It was like being released from prison, or waking up from a bad dream in which the world had gone to nuclear war. It was as if my gradual appreciation of good tea, built over time and tastings, were being crammed into a period of eight or nine seconds, from the first scent to the aftertaste.
I steeped it a third time, with an irrepressible smile.
...
(In fact, after more thorough scrutiny, I am convinced that were I to collect data the (lack of) water overflow phenomenon would be statistically significant.)
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
May was never cool to begin with
Blogees, I am heretofore committing myself to brevity and conciseness in the hope that posting will not induce such a feeling of guilt as a result of detracting from the time I have to write silly pictures on paper over and over again in the hope that they may suddenly, spontaneously, and in an orderly fashion, find a resting place in the memory banks of my brain. Yes, brevity and conciseness.
Today brought a, as far as I know, specifically Taiwanese phenomenon to a new level of phenomenal. A quick introduction is in order.
Pot is illegal. This is true in most places, so not a big deal. But it is really illegal here. And under martial law illegal things are more illegal than they are in say, Seattle. Taiwan is now under constitutional law, but this legacy of strict prohibition seems to live on - more or less.
Despite its prohibition, the old Mary Jane seems to have captured the imagination of old and young alike. The emblematic leaf is found on shopping bags, bumper stickers, store signs, and the like. It is often on clothing.
Here is one photo:
Now, I must not assume everybody is ignorant of what this silhouette is. The product is, in fact, attainable if you look hard enough. But when the occasional old person becomes a walking advertisement, one starts to wonder.
My general conclusion has been that it is seen as a cool American/Western thing, is widely associated with Bob Marley, and does not necessarily indicate a political or social stance. This is not dissimilar to the clothing worn by some middle aged fathers and other young teenage girls, covered in large block letters to the tune of "FUCK". I think the benefit of the doubt is in order here.
However, the marijuana phenomenon, while having laid low for several months, resurfaced today at the school where I teach. I walked in through the sliding glass door to be greeted by an over-sized t-shirt with an over-sized pot leaf printed on the front, accompanied by an "I love marijuana; it's good for me," something or other.
This is an interesting intersection of culture. This particular lady spent a combined nine years in both Canada and the States. I know she knows what pot is. And, yet, she seemed to take advantage of the fact that people here do not know what pot is/pretend to not know what pot is/do not care what pot is/do not really know what is going on... by wearing a giant pot leaf to class. But, it was just that, no one noticed - or they did not care. At all. I mean, I don't know. Would a big beer bottle be appropriate? I think heroine needles are too far, right? Are white lines of cocaine on a black background permissible? I am finding myself having to recalibrate norms.
And at first, for about a minute, I tried to ignore it, in the same way I would almost not notice it if somebody was wearing that shirt in downtown Seattle. But the fact that we were in a kids' English school made this difficult, and the combination of drugs, children, illegality, ignorance, and knowledge would not let me be, and so now this "phenomenon" is back on my mind again, and I really do not get it. So, whammo, blog post. Any ideas?
Today brought a, as far as I know, specifically Taiwanese phenomenon to a new level of phenomenal. A quick introduction is in order.
Pot is illegal. This is true in most places, so not a big deal. But it is really illegal here. And under martial law illegal things are more illegal than they are in say, Seattle. Taiwan is now under constitutional law, but this legacy of strict prohibition seems to live on - more or less.
Despite its prohibition, the old Mary Jane seems to have captured the imagination of old and young alike. The emblematic leaf is found on shopping bags, bumper stickers, store signs, and the like. It is often on clothing.
Here is one photo:
Now, I must not assume everybody is ignorant of what this silhouette is. The product is, in fact, attainable if you look hard enough. But when the occasional old person becomes a walking advertisement, one starts to wonder.
My general conclusion has been that it is seen as a cool American/Western thing, is widely associated with Bob Marley, and does not necessarily indicate a political or social stance. This is not dissimilar to the clothing worn by some middle aged fathers and other young teenage girls, covered in large block letters to the tune of "FUCK". I think the benefit of the doubt is in order here.
However, the marijuana phenomenon, while having laid low for several months, resurfaced today at the school where I teach. I walked in through the sliding glass door to be greeted by an over-sized t-shirt with an over-sized pot leaf printed on the front, accompanied by an "I love marijuana; it's good for me," something or other.
This is an interesting intersection of culture. This particular lady spent a combined nine years in both Canada and the States. I know she knows what pot is. And, yet, she seemed to take advantage of the fact that people here do not know what pot is/pretend to not know what pot is/do not care what pot is/do not really know what is going on... by wearing a giant pot leaf to class. But, it was just that, no one noticed - or they did not care. At all. I mean, I don't know. Would a big beer bottle be appropriate? I think heroine needles are too far, right? Are white lines of cocaine on a black background permissible? I am finding myself having to recalibrate norms.
And at first, for about a minute, I tried to ignore it, in the same way I would almost not notice it if somebody was wearing that shirt in downtown Seattle. But the fact that we were in a kids' English school made this difficult, and the combination of drugs, children, illegality, ignorance, and knowledge would not let me be, and so now this "phenomenon" is back on my mind again, and I really do not get it. So, whammo, blog post. Any ideas?
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Silliest simplification ever:
麵 --〉面
The character for noodles is the same as the character for face.
No offense to Matt for knowing simplified, though.
The character for noodles is the same as the character for face.
No offense to Matt for knowing simplified, though.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Taiwan, Part 6
My eardrums still have not completely adjusted to the sudden bursts of firecrackers and fireworks throughout the day. My body sometimes jerks and my mind sometimes, depending on the proximity of the GUNpowder, thinks gun.
I learned today that the increase in frequency of these explosions is tied to the birthdays of the gods. Pithily, birthdays equate to explosions.
It must have been a birthday then, of an important god, in Shan Hua, because I could not hear anything. I could not hear anything on the way to the birthday celebration, because it was quiet. I could not hear anything at the birthday celebration because it was loud. I cannot remember when, where, or how the transition took place - the transition from "on the way" to the party to "at" the party. It seems like it was just a simple turn of a corner, or less. Perhaps the transition just coincided with the widening of the alley into a kind of temple-square. Or maybe I do not remember because it was just too abrupt.
Floods of people. Symbol being banged next to my head. Fireworks. Fireworks. Drum being beat from all sides. People cheering. Costumed performers with ridiculous makeup and clothing performing in the window in the temple. Somebody pushing me, no. Somebody running into me. He's trying to break the chair. No, they are just jumping with the chair, pretending to try to break it. No, maybe they are just jumping. Symbol. Gong. Drum. People. Firework. Fireworks. Debris from fireworks. Large carriage moving very quickly being carried by large procession, seemingly coming from the middle of the crowd. Another. Another. Running into people, knocking people. Knocking themselves. They dropped it. Oh, they caught it. That is good. Fireworks. Gong. Drums. More carriages, more chairs, more firework debris. I need to get out of the way because if I do not I will be struck dead by the religious ceremony.
I brisked to the man with the soft serve machine. He looked half asleep. It was late, so I guess it was excusable, possible. His machine, situated just seven or eight feet from where I had been struck dumb by everything, seemed to be straddling the transition between the god-birthday-party-hell and the quiet, peaceful country that existed just outside that place. I bought a chocolate one and decided to make the trek back to the party again. Two or three steps and I had returned.
Gong. Fireworks. Carriage. Firework debris. Beam from carriage knocking people. Chair breaking-pulling-dancing men. Oh.
A man caught my eye, or rather mine his. He had already been staring at me, it seemed. Glaring, I think. Maybe it was misconstrued. It seemed like glaring, though. I thought it might have something to do with my ice cream cone from the outside. Maybe they were not allowed to be here, in the holy place. I took my cue - it was the most unfriendly glance I have received since I have been here - and made the trip back to the border safety zone, less than a second away.
And then I left.
In all, I probably spent two or three minutes there. It was one of the most bizarre, unnerving, unsettling experiences I could imagine. It seemed the world was ready to implode into the center of that crowd, from which everything seemed to be emanating. There was a pull and push tension in the physical actions of everything, as well as the atmosphere. And I was eating an ice cream cone trying to observe. And yet, a small number of strides brought me back to near complete serenity. So I stayed there.
I learned today that the increase in frequency of these explosions is tied to the birthdays of the gods. Pithily, birthdays equate to explosions.
It must have been a birthday then, of an important god, in Shan Hua, because I could not hear anything. I could not hear anything on the way to the birthday celebration, because it was quiet. I could not hear anything at the birthday celebration because it was loud. I cannot remember when, where, or how the transition took place - the transition from "on the way" to the party to "at" the party. It seems like it was just a simple turn of a corner, or less. Perhaps the transition just coincided with the widening of the alley into a kind of temple-square. Or maybe I do not remember because it was just too abrupt.
Floods of people. Symbol being banged next to my head. Fireworks. Fireworks. Drum being beat from all sides. People cheering. Costumed performers with ridiculous makeup and clothing performing in the window in the temple. Somebody pushing me, no. Somebody running into me. He's trying to break the chair. No, they are just jumping with the chair, pretending to try to break it. No, maybe they are just jumping. Symbol. Gong. Drum. People. Firework. Fireworks. Debris from fireworks. Large carriage moving very quickly being carried by large procession, seemingly coming from the middle of the crowd. Another. Another. Running into people, knocking people. Knocking themselves. They dropped it. Oh, they caught it. That is good. Fireworks. Gong. Drums. More carriages, more chairs, more firework debris. I need to get out of the way because if I do not I will be struck dead by the religious ceremony.
I brisked to the man with the soft serve machine. He looked half asleep. It was late, so I guess it was excusable, possible. His machine, situated just seven or eight feet from where I had been struck dumb by everything, seemed to be straddling the transition between the god-birthday-party-hell and the quiet, peaceful country that existed just outside that place. I bought a chocolate one and decided to make the trek back to the party again. Two or three steps and I had returned.
Gong. Fireworks. Carriage. Firework debris. Beam from carriage knocking people. Chair breaking-pulling-dancing men. Oh.
A man caught my eye, or rather mine his. He had already been staring at me, it seemed. Glaring, I think. Maybe it was misconstrued. It seemed like glaring, though. I thought it might have something to do with my ice cream cone from the outside. Maybe they were not allowed to be here, in the holy place. I took my cue - it was the most unfriendly glance I have received since I have been here - and made the trip back to the border safety zone, less than a second away.
And then I left.
In all, I probably spent two or three minutes there. It was one of the most bizarre, unnerving, unsettling experiences I could imagine. It seemed the world was ready to implode into the center of that crowd, from which everything seemed to be emanating. There was a pull and push tension in the physical actions of everything, as well as the atmosphere. And I was eating an ice cream cone trying to observe. And yet, a small number of strides brought me back to near complete serenity. So I stayed there.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
A political aside
Maybe I am desensitized because I am not living in America - but I do not think so.
$220 million has been paid out in bonuses since AIG received bailout money totaling $170 billion. I hear people are upset, feeling it is unreasonable that executives that put a financial institution (slash national economy slash world economy) into a financial free fall should be getting bonuses for their hard work. I understand Obama and his administration do not have much choice but to address this situation in some way - but it is dumb that they do not have this choice.
It is dumb because $220 million/$170 billion = .0013 or 0.13%. So 0.13% of the bailout money is going into the pockets of people that probably made bad decisions by buying credit-default swaps (does anyone know what these are yet?) and sent AIG, a company so important and so large that it is deemed "too big to fail" by the U.S. government, into a nosedive.
But, big deal. What does that 0.13% buy the U.S.? Well, probably a few things, but the most important is a big label that says "We respect contract law (even in times of financial duress and/or crisis)."
It seems unlikely anyone will be able to get this money back: the stimulus bill stipulates bonus contracts written before February of this year need be honored. But the fact they are trying might (should) scare potential investors and intellect - especially those looking on from abroad (where half of the recipients of this bonus money are living) and who have a choice where to put their money and skills. Governments attempting to intervene and renegotiate, void or bypass private contracts made long ago sends strong signals, perhaps beneficial in terms of short term political clout, but what about long term financial-economic-political integrity?
Like I said, it seems the people over on the east coast have little choice but to respond to public outrage, and it seems the CEO of AIG has little choice but to pay a visit to congress to justify these bonuses while the question of how to effectively utilize the other 99.87% of the bailout money is subordinated. Yes, they have little choice; it is just the public that ought think for a minute.
$220 million has been paid out in bonuses since AIG received bailout money totaling $170 billion. I hear people are upset, feeling it is unreasonable that executives that put a financial institution (slash national economy slash world economy) into a financial free fall should be getting bonuses for their hard work. I understand Obama and his administration do not have much choice but to address this situation in some way - but it is dumb that they do not have this choice.
It is dumb because $220 million/$170 billion = .0013 or 0.13%. So 0.13% of the bailout money is going into the pockets of people that probably made bad decisions by buying credit-default swaps (does anyone know what these are yet?) and sent AIG, a company so important and so large that it is deemed "too big to fail" by the U.S. government, into a nosedive.
But, big deal. What does that 0.13% buy the U.S.? Well, probably a few things, but the most important is a big label that says "We respect contract law (even in times of financial duress and/or crisis)."
It seems unlikely anyone will be able to get this money back: the stimulus bill stipulates bonus contracts written before February of this year need be honored. But the fact they are trying might (should) scare potential investors and intellect - especially those looking on from abroad (where half of the recipients of this bonus money are living) and who have a choice where to put their money and skills. Governments attempting to intervene and renegotiate, void or bypass private contracts made long ago sends strong signals, perhaps beneficial in terms of short term political clout, but what about long term financial-economic-political integrity?
Like I said, it seems the people over on the east coast have little choice but to respond to public outrage, and it seems the CEO of AIG has little choice but to pay a visit to congress to justify these bonuses while the question of how to effectively utilize the other 99.87% of the bailout money is subordinated. Yes, they have little choice; it is just the public that ought think for a minute.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
I am very handsome
I know this is true because the old man who stands behind the counter that is positioned perpendicular to the long line of food from which I was slowly selecting things said so. I trust him because he was able to look at me for a long time while I was thinking about whether I really wanted to add food made from rice to my plate because it was heavy and would add a lot of weight and therefore cost me more. But food made from rice is not very nutritiously valuable and I was going to be eating a bowl of rice anyhow. I was thinking about this for a long time, and he was staring at me for the same amount of time. I also trust him because he said it many many times. I laughed because I was embarrassed or something along the lines of embarrassed and that prompted him to ask me if I understood what he was saying. I told him I understood and he seemed satisfied and that is another reason I trust him and know I am handsome.
Sometimes other people also tell me I am handsome but I do not have as good a reason to believe them because they do not have the opportunity to stare at me while I am thinking about what I am going to eat for lunch.
And I think the lowest point in Tainan is under the railroad tracks. There is a tunnel that goes under the railroad tracks so that you can go from one side of the train station to the other. I have not confirmed this is the lowest point, but seven months of observation makes me think it is. If it is the lowest point it is fitting because this is also the low point of Tainan, or the place in Tainan most similar to Hell. It is more similar to Hell and is the low point of Tainan for a few reasons.
1) It is always 4-5°C hotter in the tunnel than it is not in the tunnel.
2) It almost always smells bad in the tunnel.
3) When Dante went to Hell, which is why we know it exists, he went down, not up.
4) The people that live in the tunnel, like the people that live in Hell, just want stuff from you.
5) The people that live in the tunnel are ugly.
6) People pee in the tunnel.
When I go pee I usually go in my own toilet in my own bathroom and I aim for little pieces of poo that are stuck to the sides because our toilet is an anomaly. It is an anomaly because most toilets in Taiwan are recessed into the floor and you have to squat to use them, which is fine because I have learned how do this without peeing on myself which happened the first few times. The second most common type of toilets in Taiwan are standard Western toilets that people sit on to use, or if you are a man you can use them standing up if you do not want to go poo. These have a reservoir of water which comes out from the top of the bowl of the toilet when it is flushed so that the entire inner bowl of the toilet is cleaned with water. Our toilet looks like a Western toilet but it is not because when it is flushed the water from the reservoir enters the bowl beneath the waterline of the water that is already in the toilet bowl, and swirls and replaces the old water.
Most of the time this leaves little pieces of poo stuck to the sides of the inner toilet bowl because it is hard to have all the poo not hit the sides a little bit. When I go pee I try to clean the toilet bowl sides because they are gross but it is even grosser when I have to clean the toilet with a sponge which no one else seems to like to do.
Maybe the place where all the toilet water goes is actually the low point of Tainan, or the place in Tainan most similar to Hell.
But I do not live there because I am very handsome.
Sometimes other people also tell me I am handsome but I do not have as good a reason to believe them because they do not have the opportunity to stare at me while I am thinking about what I am going to eat for lunch.
And I think the lowest point in Tainan is under the railroad tracks. There is a tunnel that goes under the railroad tracks so that you can go from one side of the train station to the other. I have not confirmed this is the lowest point, but seven months of observation makes me think it is. If it is the lowest point it is fitting because this is also the low point of Tainan, or the place in Tainan most similar to Hell. It is more similar to Hell and is the low point of Tainan for a few reasons.
1) It is always 4-5°C hotter in the tunnel than it is not in the tunnel.
2) It almost always smells bad in the tunnel.
3) When Dante went to Hell, which is why we know it exists, he went down, not up.
4) The people that live in the tunnel, like the people that live in Hell, just want stuff from you.
5) The people that live in the tunnel are ugly.
6) People pee in the tunnel.
When I go pee I usually go in my own toilet in my own bathroom and I aim for little pieces of poo that are stuck to the sides because our toilet is an anomaly. It is an anomaly because most toilets in Taiwan are recessed into the floor and you have to squat to use them, which is fine because I have learned how do this without peeing on myself which happened the first few times. The second most common type of toilets in Taiwan are standard Western toilets that people sit on to use, or if you are a man you can use them standing up if you do not want to go poo. These have a reservoir of water which comes out from the top of the bowl of the toilet when it is flushed so that the entire inner bowl of the toilet is cleaned with water. Our toilet looks like a Western toilet but it is not because when it is flushed the water from the reservoir enters the bowl beneath the waterline of the water that is already in the toilet bowl, and swirls and replaces the old water.
Most of the time this leaves little pieces of poo stuck to the sides of the inner toilet bowl because it is hard to have all the poo not hit the sides a little bit. When I go pee I try to clean the toilet bowl sides because they are gross but it is even grosser when I have to clean the toilet with a sponge which no one else seems to like to do.
Maybe the place where all the toilet water goes is actually the low point of Tainan, or the place in Tainan most similar to Hell.
But I do not live there because I am very handsome.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The puh-er makes me feel like I'm in Seattle...
It came in a round little paper covering, in the shape of a ball - only someone might have stuck their thumb into the center to create a sizable indent. But when it was given to me in a wonderful teahouse in Taipei, on account of drinking three servings of tea in one sitting, between two people, myself and Matthew Bowerman Clark, it was hard and no more thumb sticking would be possible. In fact after I carefully unwrapped it in the safety of my home in Tainan, I found myself stumped: no method to crumble this brick of heavily fermented plant matter came to mind. Eventually I left the couch for the kitchen and carried a knife and the tea to the table where I cut off some slivers, careful to not cut off slivers of my hand which well could have contaminated the tea. This worked, though not well, and I was able to sit down on the couch again.
The first sip - no... Before the first sip I smelled it. I smelled Seattle and the rain and the tree outside my home and Brenton and Matt fresh off the porch coming inside to join me. I smelled the bubbling sound of the teapot and the cold hard feeling of the table put by the window at the suggestion of Matt. And I smelled the tea.
And then I tasted these things in this little white cup that looks really very similar to the little green cups in Seattle on the hard table with the bubbling teapot and the rain, except that it is white.
And for a moment, a fleeting moment that comes more and more frequently these days, I was both in Seattle and in Tainan, or if I was not in both places I could not decide in which one place I was in.
The first sip - no... Before the first sip I smelled it. I smelled Seattle and the rain and the tree outside my home and Brenton and Matt fresh off the porch coming inside to join me. I smelled the bubbling sound of the teapot and the cold hard feeling of the table put by the window at the suggestion of Matt. And I smelled the tea.
And then I tasted these things in this little white cup that looks really very similar to the little green cups in Seattle on the hard table with the bubbling teapot and the rain, except that it is white.
And for a moment, a fleeting moment that comes more and more frequently these days, I was both in Seattle and in Tainan, or if I was not in both places I could not decide in which one place I was in.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
biiing bing bing bing, bingbingbingbing-bing-bingbing
when i came to taiwan, there were garbage trucks,
and they sung songs that were fresh to my ears.
now i know the songs are but one song,
and it is not worthy of admiration.
it is notable only for its appropriateness,
calling all to the streets to feed it,
so it can come back tomorrow and sing the same song.
ps
I hear christmas happened in some parts of the world, so merry that to all of you. i will wait till january 26th for taiwan's "christmas"
and they sung songs that were fresh to my ears.
now i know the songs are but one song,
and it is not worthy of admiration.
it is notable only for its appropriateness,
calling all to the streets to feed it,
so it can come back tomorrow and sing the same song.
ps
I hear christmas happened in some parts of the world, so merry that to all of you. i will wait till january 26th for taiwan's "christmas"
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