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?

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.

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.

老公

第一個老人：（站著站著就說）“哦！我跟你講，小狗不可以吃巧克力！”

第二個老人：（站著，看著另外兩個老人）“可以啊！”

第三個老人：（繼續給小狗吃巧克力）“哈哈哈！”

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.

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.

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.