Some of my posts are in Chinese, which some of you poor 洋鬼 out there can't read. It's very easy, actually. You have to remember that Chinese characters are built up from pictographs, so the trick is, look at them real fast, and if you look fast enough, it's like watching a movie.
Saturday, November 29, 2003
Friday, November 28, 2003
烏來是山地鄉,但也有平地人住在此。 如果想知道烏來居民是泰雅族人或者漢人,不看五官、不聽鄉音,如何分辨?
談到飛鼠。 如果他馬上說,”我們今晚去打!” 是泰雅。如果說,”肉很硬,不好吃,” 是唐漢。
如果喝酒先灑幾滴祭祖,是泰雅。否則是唐漢。
跟他約明天下午兩點。 如果他三點之前到,是唐漢。如果忘到九霄雲外,跟朋友上山去了,是泰雅。
跟他約明天下午兩點,說有個賺大錢的機會。如果他兩點十分之前到,是唐漢。如果忘到九霄雲外,跟朋友上山去了,是泰雅。
如果他常勸你『多跟老人家聊天,聽老人的話,可以學到很多東西』,是泰雅。否則是唐漢。
穿膠鞋,頭上綁毛巾,是泰雅。戴斗笠是唐漢。
問他聖誕節怎麼過。 如果反應熱絡,是泰雅。 反之,是唐漢。
問他過年怎麼過。 如果反應熱絡,是唐漢。 反之,是泰雅。
如果熟人騎摩托車時看到你,用歌唱高呼你的名字,是泰雅。如果騎過去,好像沒看到你,是唐漢(客家人之外)。
跟他提到部落的某一個人(隨便哪一個)。 如果他說,"他是我親戚! 他表嫂的妹婿娶了我小叔的老婆的姐姐," 是泰雅。如果他說,"他是酒鬼," 是唐漢。
中元普渡拿著香、很虔誠在溪邊拜溺斃幽靈,是唐漢。中元普渡照常在溪裡游泳, 是泰雅。
談到颱風。 如果他說,"上一個颱風很棒,我家正在風口,一個晚上沒睡,因為要看著風呀雨的,很好看!"是泰雅。如果說,"風那麼大,很討厭,只好在家裡睡大頭覺," 是唐漢。
襁褓帶嬰孩,抱在胸前,是泰雅。背在背上,是唐漢。(這條慢慢不準)。
隨便拔一個葉子,問他,這是甚麼? 如果他詳細說這種植物生長在甚麼環境、有哪些特性、哪些作用,是泰雅。 如果他只教你怎麼吃,是唐漢。
跟他說英語。 如果他勉強跟你湊幾句,甚或用流俐的英語交談,是泰雅。如果他羞澀地表示不敢講,,是唐漢。(這條限外國人使用。)
跟他談起狗。 如果興致勃勃,是泰雅。如果興趣淡淡,是唐漢。
如果說閩南人不講信用,是泰雅。 如果說番仔不講信用,是唐漢。
說你想吃山豬肉。 如果他說,"那是保育類,不能吃‧…不過你真的想吃的話,我知道哪邊有,我們去抓," 是泰雅。 如果馬上開個價錢,一斤多少,是唐漢。
開山刀插在背後腰間,是泰雅。長方刀掛在大腿上,是唐漢。
說話時常叫你的名字,是泰雅。否則唐漢。
說到某長輩,直稱名字,是泰雅。否則唐漢。
如果遇到人生難題,不知如何處置時說,"去問長輩",是泰雅。如果問神卜杯,是唐漢。
稱讚烏來的風景。 如果他抬頭挺胸,一直誇烏來山水之美,是泰雅。 如果用一種很疑惑的眼神看你,完全不知道你在講甚麼,是唐漢。
年輕人戴眼鏡是唐漢。否則泰雅。
到他家。如果他跟你坐外面,是泰雅。如果他請你到客廳坐,是唐漢。
跟他談起烏來的溫泉業者。 如果破口大罵,是泰雅。如果只有抱怨,是唐漢。
牆上祖先照片有紋面,是泰雅。貢桌上有祖先牌位,是唐漢。(這條還用我講嗎?)
問他煮麻油雞時水與酒的比例。如果他詳談他祖傳的配方,是唐漢。如果他很困惑的問,"麻油雞要加水嗎?" 是泰雅。
談到飛鼠。 如果他馬上說,”我們今晚去打!” 是泰雅。如果說,”肉很硬,不好吃,” 是唐漢。
如果喝酒先灑幾滴祭祖,是泰雅。否則是唐漢。
跟他約明天下午兩點。 如果他三點之前到,是唐漢。如果忘到九霄雲外,跟朋友上山去了,是泰雅。
跟他約明天下午兩點,說有個賺大錢的機會。如果他兩點十分之前到,是唐漢。如果忘到九霄雲外,跟朋友上山去了,是泰雅。
如果他常勸你『多跟老人家聊天,聽老人的話,可以學到很多東西』,是泰雅。否則是唐漢。
穿膠鞋,頭上綁毛巾,是泰雅。戴斗笠是唐漢。
問他聖誕節怎麼過。 如果反應熱絡,是泰雅。 反之,是唐漢。
問他過年怎麼過。 如果反應熱絡,是唐漢。 反之,是泰雅。
如果熟人騎摩托車時看到你,用歌唱高呼你的名字,是泰雅。如果騎過去,好像沒看到你,是唐漢(客家人之外)。
跟他提到部落的某一個人(隨便哪一個)。 如果他說,"他是我親戚! 他表嫂的妹婿娶了我小叔的老婆的姐姐," 是泰雅。如果他說,"他是酒鬼," 是唐漢。
中元普渡拿著香、很虔誠在溪邊拜溺斃幽靈,是唐漢。中元普渡照常在溪裡游泳, 是泰雅。
談到颱風。 如果他說,"上一個颱風很棒,我家正在風口,一個晚上沒睡,因為要看著風呀雨的,很好看!"是泰雅。如果說,"風那麼大,很討厭,只好在家裡睡大頭覺," 是唐漢。
襁褓帶嬰孩,抱在胸前,是泰雅。背在背上,是唐漢。(這條慢慢不準)。
隨便拔一個葉子,問他,這是甚麼? 如果他詳細說這種植物生長在甚麼環境、有哪些特性、哪些作用,是泰雅。 如果他只教你怎麼吃,是唐漢。
跟他說英語。 如果他勉強跟你湊幾句,甚或用流俐的英語交談,是泰雅。如果他羞澀地表示不敢講,,是唐漢。(這條限外國人使用。)
跟他談起狗。 如果興致勃勃,是泰雅。如果興趣淡淡,是唐漢。
如果說閩南人不講信用,是泰雅。 如果說番仔不講信用,是唐漢。
說你想吃山豬肉。 如果他說,"那是保育類,不能吃‧…不過你真的想吃的話,我知道哪邊有,我們去抓," 是泰雅。 如果馬上開個價錢,一斤多少,是唐漢。
開山刀插在背後腰間,是泰雅。長方刀掛在大腿上,是唐漢。
說話時常叫你的名字,是泰雅。否則唐漢。
說到某長輩,直稱名字,是泰雅。否則唐漢。
如果遇到人生難題,不知如何處置時說,"去問長輩",是泰雅。如果問神卜杯,是唐漢。
稱讚烏來的風景。 如果他抬頭挺胸,一直誇烏來山水之美,是泰雅。 如果用一種很疑惑的眼神看你,完全不知道你在講甚麼,是唐漢。
年輕人戴眼鏡是唐漢。否則泰雅。
到他家。如果他跟你坐外面,是泰雅。如果他請你到客廳坐,是唐漢。
跟他談起烏來的溫泉業者。 如果破口大罵,是泰雅。如果只有抱怨,是唐漢。
牆上祖先照片有紋面,是泰雅。貢桌上有祖先牌位,是唐漢。(這條還用我講嗎?)
問他煮麻油雞時水與酒的比例。如果他詳談他祖傳的配方,是唐漢。如果他很困惑的問,"麻油雞要加水嗎?" 是泰雅。
The Plain English Campaign has awarded Defense Secretary Rumsfeld its Foot in Mouth Award for this masterpiece:
"Reports that say something hasn't happened are interesting to me, because as we know, there are known unknowns; there things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns -- the ones we don't know we don't know."
John Lister, spokesman for the campaign which strives to have public information delivered in clear, straightforward English, said: "We think we know what he means. But we don't know if we really know."
http://www.plainenglish.co.uk/footinmouth.html
"Reports that say something hasn't happened are interesting to me, because as we know, there are known unknowns; there things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns -- the ones we don't know we don't know."
John Lister, spokesman for the campaign which strives to have public information delivered in clear, straightforward English, said: "We think we know what he means. But we don't know if we really know."
http://www.plainenglish.co.uk/footinmouth.html
Thursday, November 27, 2003
Wednesday, November 26, 2003
Assault on English
Jimmy Carter has written a novel. I will spare you some agony by not providing a link to the online excerpt. It is written by a man who has spent his life trying to understand government writing, bureaucratese, and Washingtonese. Every turgid sentence shows the scars of his struggles.
This dreadful prose is in print for one, and only one, reason: it is written by a President.
A terrifying thought has slammed into mind: will this inspire the Bushes to try their hands?
Actually, it would probably be pretty funny.
Jimmy Carter has written a novel. I will spare you some agony by not providing a link to the online excerpt. It is written by a man who has spent his life trying to understand government writing, bureaucratese, and Washingtonese. Every turgid sentence shows the scars of his struggles.
This dreadful prose is in print for one, and only one, reason: it is written by a President.
A terrifying thought has slammed into mind: will this inspire the Bushes to try their hands?
Actually, it would probably be pretty funny.
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
You think it's just barking, don't you? You hear dogs making a racket, and you think they're just barking. Well, let me tell you, there's more to it than that.
From years of living in the mountains, my ears have opened to the sounds of nature. Suddenly I find I can understand what the dogs are saying.
You might hear Yumin suddenly start yapping, then the dogs downhill chorus, arf arf arooo arf. It's not that simple, let me tell you.
What Yumin said to the evening winds is: “My feeder is trying to teach me how to shake. He says shake and I'm supposed to shake paws with him. Anybody have any opinions on that?”
The dogs downhill frantically advise him, “Yumin, don't do it! Look at him with your big puppy eyes and gnaw on his ankle or something, but don't do it! You get started down that road, there's no turning back! Don't do it, Yumin!”
Hobaq howls out in his mournful voice, "Beware! Beware!"
Hozing down at Yutas’ place tells the night, “I learned how to shake. How stupid I was! Then I had to learn how to lie down, and roll over.”
“You're lucky,” Luqa chimes in. “I knew a fellow once who learned how to sit down, lie down, and heel. Then you know what his feeder did? Made him jump through a hoop!”
“You're kidding!” Yumin replied.
All the dogs join in. “No, no, it's true. So don't do it, Yumin!”
Hobaq howls out in his mournful voice, "Beware! Beware!"
Tlahuy comments, “When I was a puppy, Feeder tried for eight months to teach Bengax and me how to shake. We sat and made big eyes and looked at him and wagged our tails, but no way we would shake paws! He finally learned his lesson, and gave up.”
Bengax said, “Remember the time he told me to shake and I lifted my paw like I was going to shake and scratched his knee instead!”
Tlahuy: “Oh, yeah, his expression was priceless. Achievement, immediately followed by disappointment.”
Bengax said, “You have to be firm, Yumin. Let them know who's in charge. Otherwise, who knows what you'll have to do!”
The Fus' ugly little Pomeranian started yapping from the living room. “At least you all are outside and free. How about me, stuck here indoors when they sing karaoke? Torture, pure torture. And if that isn't enough, they expect me to act happy when they put this little red vest on me in the winter. Oh, to be outside!”
“Ha, ha, ha,” the neighborhood dogs all laughed together. “You come outdoors? The first eagle would make a meal of you, ugly little wretch. If not the eagle, then the first snake!”
Some dog to the north changed the topic. “Say, Tlahux, did I see your feeder out digging the other day?”
“Yes,” Tlahuy replied, “He planted a vine so he'll have fresh vegetables to eat. Isn't he funny?”
”You haven't dug it up yet?”
“No, I thought I'd wait till some of you came over and we could all do it together, you know, put on the baby, make a party kind of ~~” That's when I rushed out and told them to quiet down.
So now you know what's going on when you hear the neighborhood dogs making a racket. They may be plotting death and destruction for your garden. And now you finally know why your dogs just can't learn simple tricks.
Who is training who?
From years of living in the mountains, my ears have opened to the sounds of nature. Suddenly I find I can understand what the dogs are saying.
You might hear Yumin suddenly start yapping, then the dogs downhill chorus, arf arf arooo arf. It's not that simple, let me tell you.
What Yumin said to the evening winds is: “My feeder is trying to teach me how to shake. He says shake and I'm supposed to shake paws with him. Anybody have any opinions on that?”
The dogs downhill frantically advise him, “Yumin, don't do it! Look at him with your big puppy eyes and gnaw on his ankle or something, but don't do it! You get started down that road, there's no turning back! Don't do it, Yumin!”
Hobaq howls out in his mournful voice, "Beware! Beware!"
Hozing down at Yutas’ place tells the night, “I learned how to shake. How stupid I was! Then I had to learn how to lie down, and roll over.”
“You're lucky,” Luqa chimes in. “I knew a fellow once who learned how to sit down, lie down, and heel. Then you know what his feeder did? Made him jump through a hoop!”
“You're kidding!” Yumin replied.
All the dogs join in. “No, no, it's true. So don't do it, Yumin!”
Hobaq howls out in his mournful voice, "Beware! Beware!"
Tlahuy comments, “When I was a puppy, Feeder tried for eight months to teach Bengax and me how to shake. We sat and made big eyes and looked at him and wagged our tails, but no way we would shake paws! He finally learned his lesson, and gave up.”
Bengax said, “Remember the time he told me to shake and I lifted my paw like I was going to shake and scratched his knee instead!”
Tlahuy: “Oh, yeah, his expression was priceless. Achievement, immediately followed by disappointment.”
Bengax said, “You have to be firm, Yumin. Let them know who's in charge. Otherwise, who knows what you'll have to do!”
The Fus' ugly little Pomeranian started yapping from the living room. “At least you all are outside and free. How about me, stuck here indoors when they sing karaoke? Torture, pure torture. And if that isn't enough, they expect me to act happy when they put this little red vest on me in the winter. Oh, to be outside!”
“Ha, ha, ha,” the neighborhood dogs all laughed together. “You come outdoors? The first eagle would make a meal of you, ugly little wretch. If not the eagle, then the first snake!”
Some dog to the north changed the topic. “Say, Tlahux, did I see your feeder out digging the other day?”
“Yes,” Tlahuy replied, “He planted a vine so he'll have fresh vegetables to eat. Isn't he funny?”
”You haven't dug it up yet?”
“No, I thought I'd wait till some of you came over and we could all do it together, you know, put on the baby, make a party kind of ~~” That's when I rushed out and told them to quiet down.
So now you know what's going on when you hear the neighborhood dogs making a racket. They may be plotting death and destruction for your garden. And now you finally know why your dogs just can't learn simple tricks.
Who is training who?
Monday, November 24, 2003
While I was sitting on the subway last night, for some reason an old memory suddenly popped into mind.
Just a little incident that happened when I was 17 or 18. The Tri 9 driver and I had just finished delivering pizzas to Dong Tam, my favorite little fire base on the Mekong Delta. That was our last delivery for the day, so we were heading back to Saigon when we saw some action off the side of the road. It was early afternoon, hours and hours before dark, so we decided, naturally, to stop and watch for a bit.
The plain is crisscrossed by little streams and spattered with patches of jungle amongst the rice paddies. About a hundred meters from the road, we saw two light ARVN helicopters circling above one of those bits of jungle. High above them a HUI hovered, probably directing the action. From time to time somebody on the ground shot a burst at the closer helicopters. Sounded like a machine gun. Then the choppers would circle around, get in position, and whoosh! shoot rockets down into the jungle, then BOOM and clouds of dust, followed by silence. Shortly the machine gun would open fire again, and invite another rocket.
As we watched, an old farmer plodded by, barefoot, pant legs stuffed up into his crotch, carrying a hoe over his shoulder: pretty much your standard issue Mekong Delta peasant. We asked him, “What's going on?” Without breaking stride or showing any interest, he answered, “Viet Cong.”
We watched until the shooting from the ground stopped and the choppers stopped firing rockets. Then we got in the truck and headed back for the bakery.
Mulling over this on the subway, I was thinking, in retrospect, it might not have been so wise to stand there by the road watching. If the men on the ground had made a run for it, they might not have appreciated an audience, or the chopper's rockets might not have been able to distinguish between participants and spectators. Never mind, I survived. God protects fools.
Just about then, my musings were interrupted by the lady sitting next to me. She was on her cell phone, discussing which restaurant to eat at, going on at great length and repetition about how delicious the food is at such and such a restaurant, but the last time they went there was a mistake in the bill, they almost got charged for a bowl of rice they didn't eat. In excruciating detail, she gave a blow by blow account of how she and her friends claimed they did not eat that extra bowl of rice and what the lady in the restaurant said and we said and she said and I said and she said and we said and she said and finally we didn't have to pay for that bowl of rice.
A physicist has pointed out that the name of a tiny little bone in one of your toes goes on for half a dozen syllables, but the name of the event that created the universe is The Big Bang, three simple words. Maybe when you have nothing to say, you need a lot of words.
Or maybe, if I'm going to keep writing this blog, I should delete that last comment.
Just a little incident that happened when I was 17 or 18. The Tri 9 driver and I had just finished delivering pizzas to Dong Tam, my favorite little fire base on the Mekong Delta. That was our last delivery for the day, so we were heading back to Saigon when we saw some action off the side of the road. It was early afternoon, hours and hours before dark, so we decided, naturally, to stop and watch for a bit.
The plain is crisscrossed by little streams and spattered with patches of jungle amongst the rice paddies. About a hundred meters from the road, we saw two light ARVN helicopters circling above one of those bits of jungle. High above them a HUI hovered, probably directing the action. From time to time somebody on the ground shot a burst at the closer helicopters. Sounded like a machine gun. Then the choppers would circle around, get in position, and whoosh! shoot rockets down into the jungle, then BOOM and clouds of dust, followed by silence. Shortly the machine gun would open fire again, and invite another rocket.
As we watched, an old farmer plodded by, barefoot, pant legs stuffed up into his crotch, carrying a hoe over his shoulder: pretty much your standard issue Mekong Delta peasant. We asked him, “What's going on?” Without breaking stride or showing any interest, he answered, “Viet Cong.”
We watched until the shooting from the ground stopped and the choppers stopped firing rockets. Then we got in the truck and headed back for the bakery.
Mulling over this on the subway, I was thinking, in retrospect, it might not have been so wise to stand there by the road watching. If the men on the ground had made a run for it, they might not have appreciated an audience, or the chopper's rockets might not have been able to distinguish between participants and spectators. Never mind, I survived. God protects fools.
Just about then, my musings were interrupted by the lady sitting next to me. She was on her cell phone, discussing which restaurant to eat at, going on at great length and repetition about how delicious the food is at such and such a restaurant, but the last time they went there was a mistake in the bill, they almost got charged for a bowl of rice they didn't eat. In excruciating detail, she gave a blow by blow account of how she and her friends claimed they did not eat that extra bowl of rice and what the lady in the restaurant said and we said and she said and I said and she said and we said and she said and finally we didn't have to pay for that bowl of rice.
A physicist has pointed out that the name of a tiny little bone in one of your toes goes on for half a dozen syllables, but the name of the event that created the universe is The Big Bang, three simple words. Maybe when you have nothing to say, you need a lot of words.
Or maybe, if I'm going to keep writing this blog, I should delete that last comment.
Sunday, November 23, 2003
Saturday, November 22, 2003
Friday, November 21, 2003
Background: Tlahux and Bengax are running dogs. Brave, short-legged beagle Yumin will never keep up with them. They have long legs and have grown up racing up and down steep mountains. When they were just a few months old, practically as soon as they were big enough to go outdoors, they amazed me by clambering up and down a sheer drop of over two meters, well over six times their height then.
We were walking down the road the other night when we passed an concrete embankment, taller than me, vertical. A cat was sitting on top of it, probably thinking it was safe. What it neglected to note was that next to it, there was a ladder leaning against the wall, almost vertical. Quick as a flash, Bengax whizzed up the ladder and went after the cat, which recovered from its surprise fast enough to scramble up a tree.
I had never seen a dog climb a ladder before.
We were walking down the road the other night when we passed an concrete embankment, taller than me, vertical. A cat was sitting on top of it, probably thinking it was safe. What it neglected to note was that next to it, there was a ladder leaning against the wall, almost vertical. Quick as a flash, Bengax whizzed up the ladder and went after the cat, which recovered from its surprise fast enough to scramble up a tree.
I had never seen a dog climb a ladder before.
MY EYES ARE OPENED
My friend Roger, now in Texas, has sent me a very valuable source of news. It is
full of information of which I was previously, grievously, unaware. Of course, I don't watch Fox or CNN, so this may not be news to you people, but by golly, this sure explained things for me. Right there on the front page, there are big headlines:
ONE MONTH AFTER THEIR GAY WEDDING SHOCKED THE WORLD
SADDAM & OSAMA ADOPT SHAVED APE BABY
Now I know it must be true, they can’t be making this up, because right there on the front page, they have a photograph!! Of Osama, Saddam, and the shaved ape baby.
Thanks to Roger. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't even have known that Saddam and Osama got married (who proposed to whom, do you think?). No wonder Mr Bush attacked Iraq! It just goes to show that you shouldn't doubt those in authority, because very often, they have information that we common citizens learn only much later, after the fact. But I'm glad to get that cleared up. I bet they were engaged long before 9/11, which lays responsibility clearly with Iraq. Good thing we spent all that money attacking them!
There are two more important headlines on the first page:
FOUND: HAIR FROM GOD'S BEARD!
DNA TESTS PROVE IT'S FOR REAL
The existence of God has hereby been proven. Now isn't that important? I mean, if they've got DNA tests, they can't be faking. Also, you can tell they're sincere because they use an exclamation point.
And the third vital headline:
BUSH TO MAKE SQUARE DANCING COMPULSORY FOR ALL AMERICANS
Sincerely, friends, I have to express a certain sense of disappointment in some of you. How could you have neglected to inform me of this significant news? All Americans, it says. Do you think they will send a teacher to Wulai? Or will I have to go down to the city?
I'm sure you will all want to rush right out and buy a copy of this invaluable journal for yourselves, because inside it is full of other important news (for example, when the Apollo astronauts went to the moon, before they took photos for us to see, they had to clear up the litter from ET picnics.) Go right to your newsstand and get a copy of Weekly World News. Your eyes too will be opened!!!
My friend Roger, now in Texas, has sent me a very valuable source of news. It is
full of information of which I was previously, grievously, unaware. Of course, I don't watch Fox or CNN, so this may not be news to you people, but by golly, this sure explained things for me. Right there on the front page, there are big headlines:
ONE MONTH AFTER THEIR GAY WEDDING SHOCKED THE WORLD
SADDAM & OSAMA ADOPT SHAVED APE BABY
Now I know it must be true, they can’t be making this up, because right there on the front page, they have a photograph!! Of Osama, Saddam, and the shaved ape baby.
Thanks to Roger. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't even have known that Saddam and Osama got married (who proposed to whom, do you think?). No wonder Mr Bush attacked Iraq! It just goes to show that you shouldn't doubt those in authority, because very often, they have information that we common citizens learn only much later, after the fact. But I'm glad to get that cleared up. I bet they were engaged long before 9/11, which lays responsibility clearly with Iraq. Good thing we spent all that money attacking them!
There are two more important headlines on the first page:
FOUND: HAIR FROM GOD'S BEARD!
DNA TESTS PROVE IT'S FOR REAL
The existence of God has hereby been proven. Now isn't that important? I mean, if they've got DNA tests, they can't be faking. Also, you can tell they're sincere because they use an exclamation point.
And the third vital headline:
BUSH TO MAKE SQUARE DANCING COMPULSORY FOR ALL AMERICANS
Sincerely, friends, I have to express a certain sense of disappointment in some of you. How could you have neglected to inform me of this significant news? All Americans, it says. Do you think they will send a teacher to Wulai? Or will I have to go down to the city?
I'm sure you will all want to rush right out and buy a copy of this invaluable journal for yourselves, because inside it is full of other important news (for example, when the Apollo astronauts went to the moon, before they took photos for us to see, they had to clear up the litter from ET picnics.) Go right to your newsstand and get a copy of Weekly World News. Your eyes too will be opened!!!
Thursday, November 20, 2003
OBSERVATION
You can learn a lot by observing nature. Of course the Tayal are experts. Tribal elders can tell the time by listening to bird calls! No kidding! Tribal youngsters tell the time by checking their cell phones.
I've lived in Wulai for almost seven years now, and I have developed an almost uncanny ability for predicting the weather, especially in the winter, and in particular in November. Out of the goodness of my heart, I have decided to divulge unto you the secrets of nature I have learned for predicting the winter weather here in Wulai.
If the bird called the tkrat flocks in the qesu tree in the late afternoon, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the moon has a ring of clouds around it about twice the diameter of the moon, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If a crow flies from east to west, and then turns north, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the second star in the belt of Orion is shining brightly, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If squirrels gather in high branches of trees to chatter, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the moon is covered with clouds, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If a crow flies from north to south, and then turns west, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the wind blows from the south, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the kind of earthworm called sbisu crawls uphill, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the temperature drops right after dark, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the moon is shining brightly, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If flying squirrels race along the bamboo from north to south, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the temperature rises right after dark, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the wind blows from the north, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If a rainbow appears around the moon, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the Seven Sisters constellation is covered with clouds before midnight, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If squirrels gather in low branches of trees to chatter, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the sun is out, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the temperature stays steady right after dark, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the bird called the sibegay flies into the tluy tree before noon, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the full moon comes up in the east, it's going to rain tomorrow.
Let's see, I think that about covers it. I am sure you are all awed by my amazing powers of observation, but let me remind you that this is the fruit of years' of experience.
You can learn a lot by observing nature. Of course the Tayal are experts. Tribal elders can tell the time by listening to bird calls! No kidding! Tribal youngsters tell the time by checking their cell phones.
I've lived in Wulai for almost seven years now, and I have developed an almost uncanny ability for predicting the weather, especially in the winter, and in particular in November. Out of the goodness of my heart, I have decided to divulge unto you the secrets of nature I have learned for predicting the winter weather here in Wulai.
If the bird called the tkrat flocks in the qesu tree in the late afternoon, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the moon has a ring of clouds around it about twice the diameter of the moon, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If a crow flies from east to west, and then turns north, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the second star in the belt of Orion is shining brightly, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If squirrels gather in high branches of trees to chatter, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the moon is covered with clouds, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If a crow flies from north to south, and then turns west, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the wind blows from the south, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the kind of earthworm called sbisu crawls uphill, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the temperature drops right after dark, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the moon is shining brightly, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If flying squirrels race along the bamboo from north to south, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the temperature rises right after dark, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the wind blows from the north, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If a rainbow appears around the moon, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the Seven Sisters constellation is covered with clouds before midnight, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If squirrels gather in low branches of trees to chatter, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the sun is out, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the temperature stays steady right after dark, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the bird called the sibegay flies into the tluy tree before noon, it's going to rain tomorrow.
If the full moon comes up in the east, it's going to rain tomorrow.
Let's see, I think that about covers it. I am sure you are all awed by my amazing powers of observation, but let me remind you that this is the fruit of years' of experience.
Monday, November 17, 2003
In Praise of Bamboo
written in 1998
Bamboo is truly a wonderful material. You can use it for so many things, and it is so easy to prepare. The Chief's friend, about his age, a flatlander (Han Chinese, not aborigine) takes his mountain knife in both hands, plants his feet, and chops down a bamboo thicker than your wrist with one blow. Huicheng's friend in the mountains there north, a sturdy young Han farmer named Ah-tsuan, does it one-handed with one mighty swipe. Yaya (Mother, the Chief's wife) uses one hand and two strikes. The Chief does it with a light flick of the wrist, effortlessly.
One day I heard some sort of noise, and went out to investigate, lest it be bamboo rustlers closing in. It turned out the Chief and Yaya were washing the spare water tower, which is about 25 yards from here, towards their place. The water tower is like a great metal bottle, about eight feet tall, with hoses coming in from the spring, and pipes leading down to the faucets. The two old folks were perched up on top of the tower. I did what I could to help without getting in the way, scrubbing the outside, handing them the hoses. Then Chief told Yaya to get in and scrub the insides, but from the 'bottle cap' it's a drop right down to the bottom, which is, again, about eight feet, and Yaya did not feel like dropping straight down eight feet (these old ladies get so finicky). After some discussion, Chief went and prepared a bamboo pole (this is what inspired the discussion of the utility of bamboo; he had a twenty foot pole cleaned and ready to use within five minutes, including time for walking over and selecting it) and Yaya slid down that, fireman fashion. I hovered around helpfully outside as she scrubbed the inside; Chief wandered off to pluck some bamboo shoots. Then the problem arose: Yaya couldn't. Arise, I mean. She couldn't climb back up the bamboo pole, so she was trapped down there as surely as any genie caught in a bottle. (You may cluck your tongue disapprovingly about the effete younger generation. Only 63 and she can't shinny up a bamboo pole?) I called out encouragement, but I was just as happy the tower walls are opaque so she couldn't see me smiling. It was ludicrous. I felt like calling out, “Yaya, don't worry, we'll feed you three times a day!”
Finally the Chief strolled back with a bag full of bamboo shoots. “Is she finished yet?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Where is she?”
A muffled voice issued from the water tower, “I can't get out” and they discussed the topic carefully in Tayal. Eventually, Chief climbed up on top of the tower and dragged her out by the wrist.
Children, do you know what your grandparents are doing while you're in school?
written in 1998
Bamboo is truly a wonderful material. You can use it for so many things, and it is so easy to prepare. The Chief's friend, about his age, a flatlander (Han Chinese, not aborigine) takes his mountain knife in both hands, plants his feet, and chops down a bamboo thicker than your wrist with one blow. Huicheng's friend in the mountains there north, a sturdy young Han farmer named Ah-tsuan, does it one-handed with one mighty swipe. Yaya (Mother, the Chief's wife) uses one hand and two strikes. The Chief does it with a light flick of the wrist, effortlessly.
One day I heard some sort of noise, and went out to investigate, lest it be bamboo rustlers closing in. It turned out the Chief and Yaya were washing the spare water tower, which is about 25 yards from here, towards their place. The water tower is like a great metal bottle, about eight feet tall, with hoses coming in from the spring, and pipes leading down to the faucets. The two old folks were perched up on top of the tower. I did what I could to help without getting in the way, scrubbing the outside, handing them the hoses. Then Chief told Yaya to get in and scrub the insides, but from the 'bottle cap' it's a drop right down to the bottom, which is, again, about eight feet, and Yaya did not feel like dropping straight down eight feet (these old ladies get so finicky). After some discussion, Chief went and prepared a bamboo pole (this is what inspired the discussion of the utility of bamboo; he had a twenty foot pole cleaned and ready to use within five minutes, including time for walking over and selecting it) and Yaya slid down that, fireman fashion. I hovered around helpfully outside as she scrubbed the inside; Chief wandered off to pluck some bamboo shoots. Then the problem arose: Yaya couldn't. Arise, I mean. She couldn't climb back up the bamboo pole, so she was trapped down there as surely as any genie caught in a bottle. (You may cluck your tongue disapprovingly about the effete younger generation. Only 63 and she can't shinny up a bamboo pole?) I called out encouragement, but I was just as happy the tower walls are opaque so she couldn't see me smiling. It was ludicrous. I felt like calling out, “Yaya, don't worry, we'll feed you three times a day!”
Finally the Chief strolled back with a bag full of bamboo shoots. “Is she finished yet?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Where is she?”
A muffled voice issued from the water tower, “I can't get out” and they discussed the topic carefully in Tayal. Eventually, Chief climbed up on top of the tower and dragged her out by the wrist.
Children, do you know what your grandparents are doing while you're in school?
Thursday, November 13, 2003
I wrote this for Nguoi Viet (the Viet Namese newspaper in California)
Gavin Menzies in Taipei
Chinese are so tactful.
Gavin Menzies appeared in Taipei Tuesday (November 11) at the publishing house that is putting out the Chinese translation of his book 1421: The Year China Discovered the World. Menzies served as a submarine captain in the British navy, but has had no training in academic research, so in the writing of this book, his problems are manifold.
First, although he repeats loud and often that he spent fifteen years and traveled through a hundred countries to write his book, he never bothered to learn even rudimentary Chinese, which creates some difficulties for him when he wishes to deal with Chinese records ― not to mention his thorough ignorance of China.
Second, his method is to set up a goal, fasten all possible ‘evidence’ to it, full speed ahead, damn the torpedoes, and one more impertinent word out of you, sailor, and I'll have you keel-hauled. Any stone engraved in any language on any coast is taken as proof that the Chinese fleet visited that spot; never mind that he does not make any attempt to translate what might be written on those stones, or explain why a Chinese imperial fleet was writing in Indian or other languages, rather than Chinese. If somebody's legends say they were visited by people wearing white robes, in Menzies’ eyes that is proof positive that the Chinese visited, because Chinese wear white robes, don't they? (only in mourning). If the legends say they were visited by people wearing red robes, that too is taken as proof positive that the Chinese visited, because in certain ceremonies, Chinese monks wear red robes, don't they? Yes, and it could have been a wedding procession, now that you mention it, because Chinese brides wear red, too. Just goes to show how the evidence mounts up! If a word in a central American Indian language sounds like a similar Japanese word, chalk it up as proof that the Chinese were there (never mind that Chinese and Japanese are not even in the same language family); if the Mayans had a musical instrument similar to something found in Burma and Laos, that too is taken as proof of a Chinese voyage, because any fool knows that Burma, Laos, and China are all in Asia. Further evidence is seen in local legends that tell of visits by people with their hair plaited in long queues, and although Menzies knows the stereotypical Chinaman with a long ponytail, he is oblivious to the fact that the ponytail was forcibly imposed on Han Chinese by conquering Manchus almost 250 years after 1421. Chronology is never a problem that vexes Menzies.
So finally the book has been translated into Chinese, and the author has appeared in Taipei for a book promotion. I was quite curious to see how the book would be dealt with.
The promotion started with about fifty in attendance, at least half of these reporters. The Master of Ceremonies, a well-known scholar named Hu, set the tone for the promotion by assuring us that no matter whether the book makes any sense, it has a certain value because it stimulates our imagination.
The publisher went to some pains to gather leaders in their fields for the panel: a psychologist who had served as Minister of Education and now is Vice President of the great research institute, Academia Sinica; a general who is a noted military scholar; an oceanographer from the US Naval Research Laboratory. All these men have international reputations, and are fluent in English, but, reasonably enough, as this is Taiwan and they were introducing the Chinese translation of a book about China, the promotion was held in Mandarin.
The scholars all went to great lengths to explain that the author is an amateur who is to be commended for his exertions and his romantic imagination. Of course the book is controversial, and of course we don't agree with him, but he earns credit for the temerity of his suppositions. The book may be read as a historical novel, or as science fiction, and maybe it will stimulate someone who knows something to look into these matters more deeply, and with some accuracy. It was pointed out that the man might be allowed a certain leeway, since he does not know a single word of Chinese. The translator very discreetly stated that none of Menzies' evidence would stand up in a court of law. Even the publisher went out of his way to explain that no matter how controversial the book may be, you have to admire Menzies’ gumption.
One of the professors began in English as a courtesy to the author, but apologized and said he would continue in Chinese. At first, Mr Bao, who translated the book, provided Menzies with a running translation, but he soon stopped, so the author did not have the slightest idea of what was being said about his book.
This became extremely obvious when Mr Menzies himself took the lectern and began his remarks by saying, “I am glad there is such little controversy about my book.” The people in the audience who understood English immediately smothered guffaws, and waited eagerly to see how Bao would translate this. He pulled through bravely: “I am glad that so many of you have offered valuable comments on my book.” Bao's translation of the talk was good, but even he had difficulty giving voice to some of the more ludicrous assertions, hemming and hawing for a diplomatic translation.
From his talk, we learned that Menzies is apparently unaware of the difference between New Year on the western and on the Chinese calendars; that one of his sources for research was a talk given by a tour guide; and that in fifteen years’ research on China, he has learned so little about the Chinese language that he cannot even produce reasonable renditions of place names such as Beijing. (It’s not hard; bay, then jing is like the first syllable of jingoism. Close enough: a lot closer than he got!)
He played up records of discoveries of “Chinese villages” across the Atlantic coast during the first European voyages to America. I wanted to ask two questions. What are the aborigines of America called? What were sufferers of Downs’ Syndrome once called? The American aborigines were called Indians because Columbus, an experienced voyager, had no idea what a South Asian Indian looked like, but he had planned to go to India. Even the sailors on the Bounty called the Tahitians ‘Indians.’ Sufferers of Downs’ Syndrome were once called mongoloids because people thought that is what Mongols looked like. In the days before printing and television, people had only vague ideas of what foreigners looked like. The explorers were searching for the Northwest Passage to China, they found a village, so they assumed they were in China. But I kept quiet, as Menzies had the floor.
The floor was later opened to questions. The first question asked was, the Ming fleets went to Africa in search of a giraffe for the emperor, what would have been their motive in going to America? Menzies informed us that first they wanted to spread “Confucian harmony” throughout the world. This answer was greeted with studied silence. Perhaps Menzies has mistaken Confucianism for evangelical Christianity. After all, the Rites (in the 13 Classics) says, “In proper behavior, there is only coming to learn, there is no such thing as going forth to teach.” A ruler's virtue was supposed to attract others from afar: to send ships to spread “Confucian harmony” would be tantamount to announcing to the world that he had no virtue.
The second motive Menzies proposed for this arduous voyage was that they wanted to spread crops, such as taking sweet potatoes from Africa to Asia (I think it was sweet potatoes, anyway. I was busy trying to figure out how transporting crops from Africa to Asia constituted a motive for travel to America). He told us about how much evidence he presented on his website.
Because of that comment, I took the floor next (speaking Chinese like everybody else. The man has a translator.) I explained that I bought the English version of this book on-line as soon as it was available, and read it with great, and then dwindling, hopes. I was so disappointed by his poor respect for facts and slapdash logic that, in March 2003, I went to the discussion area of the 1421 website. There I found that many others had similar doubts. Many participants in the discussion pointed out factual errors, logical fallacies, and utter nonsense in the book. Finally, the participants begged Menzies to come to the discussion area and respond to some of these criticisms. Some time later, he finally did; he said we are all wrong, he is right. Shortly thereafter he deleted all criticisms of his book from the website.
Mr Menzies’ response to this was, “It's my website. I can do as I please.” This brought a laugh. Several voices called out, “Aye aye, captain!” But they spoke Chinese, so this was lost on him. It was only after I went home and decided to take a look at the 1421 website that I realized that not only the refutations had been expunged, but the entire discussion area had been eradicated.
In response to a further question from the floor about his accuracy, Menzies admitted, very humbly, that yes, “I did make mistakes. I made two mistakes. First, I was too conservative, I said they had a hundred ships, but actually they had a thousand ships. Second, I was too conservative, I knew the Chinese fleet visited Europe but I did not say so, but I have proof.”
I was thinking: do you think I could pilot a submarine without training? And you seem to feel that dealing with hundreds of years of Chinese records is easier than piloting a submarine. Much less that his book flies in the face of established conclusions from geology, archeology, linguistics, and half a dozen other disciplines. But by then I knew to hold my tongue.
The master of ceremonies brought the promotion to a close as quickly as possible, saying, It's a good book, but you may want to read it as science fiction. But the man is a naval captain, after all, so he will brook no criticism.
Gavin Menzies in Taipei
Chinese are so tactful.
Gavin Menzies appeared in Taipei Tuesday (November 11) at the publishing house that is putting out the Chinese translation of his book 1421: The Year China Discovered the World. Menzies served as a submarine captain in the British navy, but has had no training in academic research, so in the writing of this book, his problems are manifold.
First, although he repeats loud and often that he spent fifteen years and traveled through a hundred countries to write his book, he never bothered to learn even rudimentary Chinese, which creates some difficulties for him when he wishes to deal with Chinese records ― not to mention his thorough ignorance of China.
Second, his method is to set up a goal, fasten all possible ‘evidence’ to it, full speed ahead, damn the torpedoes, and one more impertinent word out of you, sailor, and I'll have you keel-hauled. Any stone engraved in any language on any coast is taken as proof that the Chinese fleet visited that spot; never mind that he does not make any attempt to translate what might be written on those stones, or explain why a Chinese imperial fleet was writing in Indian or other languages, rather than Chinese. If somebody's legends say they were visited by people wearing white robes, in Menzies’ eyes that is proof positive that the Chinese visited, because Chinese wear white robes, don't they? (only in mourning). If the legends say they were visited by people wearing red robes, that too is taken as proof positive that the Chinese visited, because in certain ceremonies, Chinese monks wear red robes, don't they? Yes, and it could have been a wedding procession, now that you mention it, because Chinese brides wear red, too. Just goes to show how the evidence mounts up! If a word in a central American Indian language sounds like a similar Japanese word, chalk it up as proof that the Chinese were there (never mind that Chinese and Japanese are not even in the same language family); if the Mayans had a musical instrument similar to something found in Burma and Laos, that too is taken as proof of a Chinese voyage, because any fool knows that Burma, Laos, and China are all in Asia. Further evidence is seen in local legends that tell of visits by people with their hair plaited in long queues, and although Menzies knows the stereotypical Chinaman with a long ponytail, he is oblivious to the fact that the ponytail was forcibly imposed on Han Chinese by conquering Manchus almost 250 years after 1421. Chronology is never a problem that vexes Menzies.
So finally the book has been translated into Chinese, and the author has appeared in Taipei for a book promotion. I was quite curious to see how the book would be dealt with.
The promotion started with about fifty in attendance, at least half of these reporters. The Master of Ceremonies, a well-known scholar named Hu, set the tone for the promotion by assuring us that no matter whether the book makes any sense, it has a certain value because it stimulates our imagination.
The publisher went to some pains to gather leaders in their fields for the panel: a psychologist who had served as Minister of Education and now is Vice President of the great research institute, Academia Sinica; a general who is a noted military scholar; an oceanographer from the US Naval Research Laboratory. All these men have international reputations, and are fluent in English, but, reasonably enough, as this is Taiwan and they were introducing the Chinese translation of a book about China, the promotion was held in Mandarin.
The scholars all went to great lengths to explain that the author is an amateur who is to be commended for his exertions and his romantic imagination. Of course the book is controversial, and of course we don't agree with him, but he earns credit for the temerity of his suppositions. The book may be read as a historical novel, or as science fiction, and maybe it will stimulate someone who knows something to look into these matters more deeply, and with some accuracy. It was pointed out that the man might be allowed a certain leeway, since he does not know a single word of Chinese. The translator very discreetly stated that none of Menzies' evidence would stand up in a court of law. Even the publisher went out of his way to explain that no matter how controversial the book may be, you have to admire Menzies’ gumption.
One of the professors began in English as a courtesy to the author, but apologized and said he would continue in Chinese. At first, Mr Bao, who translated the book, provided Menzies with a running translation, but he soon stopped, so the author did not have the slightest idea of what was being said about his book.
This became extremely obvious when Mr Menzies himself took the lectern and began his remarks by saying, “I am glad there is such little controversy about my book.” The people in the audience who understood English immediately smothered guffaws, and waited eagerly to see how Bao would translate this. He pulled through bravely: “I am glad that so many of you have offered valuable comments on my book.” Bao's translation of the talk was good, but even he had difficulty giving voice to some of the more ludicrous assertions, hemming and hawing for a diplomatic translation.
From his talk, we learned that Menzies is apparently unaware of the difference between New Year on the western and on the Chinese calendars; that one of his sources for research was a talk given by a tour guide; and that in fifteen years’ research on China, he has learned so little about the Chinese language that he cannot even produce reasonable renditions of place names such as Beijing. (It’s not hard; bay, then jing is like the first syllable of jingoism. Close enough: a lot closer than he got!)
He played up records of discoveries of “Chinese villages” across the Atlantic coast during the first European voyages to America. I wanted to ask two questions. What are the aborigines of America called? What were sufferers of Downs’ Syndrome once called? The American aborigines were called Indians because Columbus, an experienced voyager, had no idea what a South Asian Indian looked like, but he had planned to go to India. Even the sailors on the Bounty called the Tahitians ‘Indians.’ Sufferers of Downs’ Syndrome were once called mongoloids because people thought that is what Mongols looked like. In the days before printing and television, people had only vague ideas of what foreigners looked like. The explorers were searching for the Northwest Passage to China, they found a village, so they assumed they were in China. But I kept quiet, as Menzies had the floor.
The floor was later opened to questions. The first question asked was, the Ming fleets went to Africa in search of a giraffe for the emperor, what would have been their motive in going to America? Menzies informed us that first they wanted to spread “Confucian harmony” throughout the world. This answer was greeted with studied silence. Perhaps Menzies has mistaken Confucianism for evangelical Christianity. After all, the Rites (in the 13 Classics) says, “In proper behavior, there is only coming to learn, there is no such thing as going forth to teach.” A ruler's virtue was supposed to attract others from afar: to send ships to spread “Confucian harmony” would be tantamount to announcing to the world that he had no virtue.
The second motive Menzies proposed for this arduous voyage was that they wanted to spread crops, such as taking sweet potatoes from Africa to Asia (I think it was sweet potatoes, anyway. I was busy trying to figure out how transporting crops from Africa to Asia constituted a motive for travel to America). He told us about how much evidence he presented on his website.
Because of that comment, I took the floor next (speaking Chinese like everybody else. The man has a translator.) I explained that I bought the English version of this book on-line as soon as it was available, and read it with great, and then dwindling, hopes. I was so disappointed by his poor respect for facts and slapdash logic that, in March 2003, I went to the discussion area of the 1421 website. There I found that many others had similar doubts. Many participants in the discussion pointed out factual errors, logical fallacies, and utter nonsense in the book. Finally, the participants begged Menzies to come to the discussion area and respond to some of these criticisms. Some time later, he finally did; he said we are all wrong, he is right. Shortly thereafter he deleted all criticisms of his book from the website.
Mr Menzies’ response to this was, “It's my website. I can do as I please.” This brought a laugh. Several voices called out, “Aye aye, captain!” But they spoke Chinese, so this was lost on him. It was only after I went home and decided to take a look at the 1421 website that I realized that not only the refutations had been expunged, but the entire discussion area had been eradicated.
In response to a further question from the floor about his accuracy, Menzies admitted, very humbly, that yes, “I did make mistakes. I made two mistakes. First, I was too conservative, I said they had a hundred ships, but actually they had a thousand ships. Second, I was too conservative, I knew the Chinese fleet visited Europe but I did not say so, but I have proof.”
I was thinking: do you think I could pilot a submarine without training? And you seem to feel that dealing with hundreds of years of Chinese records is easier than piloting a submarine. Much less that his book flies in the face of established conclusions from geology, archeology, linguistics, and half a dozen other disciplines. But by then I knew to hold my tongue.
The master of ceremonies brought the promotion to a close as quickly as possible, saying, It's a good book, but you may want to read it as science fiction. But the man is a naval captain, after all, so he will brook no criticism.
Thursday, November 06, 2003
November 6, 2003
I have thought about writing a blog a while. As it happens, today I have time to set this up. All I lack is inspiration for anything to write, so I will paste in something I wrote in August, about the bus to the city from the mountains: BUS TALK.
On the Wulai bus line, there are several ways to pay your fare. You can put your coins in the box, slide a magnetized bus card through the slot, flash your computerized card in front of the sensor, or let the driver punch your pass. I always hand the drivers my pass; usually they make a gesture like they punched it and hand it back to me unscathed.
The other day when my bus pulled in at Wulai, the driver, Hua, motioned to me. “Come on, Yugan, sit up front so we can chat.” He saved me the first seat on the right row. I settled in. I wanted to ask Hua if his bus was still haunted.
An old lady got on and asked how much a ticket back to Taipei would be: NT$64. She hesitated, torn between putting all those coins in the box, and using up her magnetized bus ticket.
"How's your bus, Hua?” I asked, then realized it might be better to bring the topic up when the bus was less crowded, especially since the Ghost Month just started.
"Which way is cheaper?” the old lady asked Hua, pointing her card at the coin box.
"Grandma, you may as well use up your card, because it's only good until the end of September,” he answered.
"Oh, no, it says right here on my card that it's good until November.”
"Yes, Grandma, but where have you been? For the last six months, they've been telling everybody they're phasing out the magnetized cards, and you can't use them after the end of September.”
"Oh, no, this is the card the government gave me, you know they give bus cards to old folks.”
“Yes, Grandma, but after September 31, you won't be able to use that kind of card anymore. You've got to get a computerized card instead.”
An old man said, “It's been in the papers, on the radio, and on television.” Having said his piece, he went down and sat in the back of the bus.
"But this is the card the government gave me, and it says right here that it's good until November.” She stuck the card in Hua's face as he was trying to pass a motorcycle on a curve.
“Yes, Grandma, but at the end of September, the bus company i
I have thought about writing a blog a while. As it happens, today I have time to set this up. All I lack is inspiration for anything to write, so I will paste in something I wrote in August, about the bus to the city from the mountains: BUS TALK.
On the Wulai bus line, there are several ways to pay your fare. You can put your coins in the box, slide a magnetized bus card through the slot, flash your computerized card in front of the sensor, or let the driver punch your pass. I always hand the drivers my pass; usually they make a gesture like they punched it and hand it back to me unscathed.
The other day when my bus pulled in at Wulai, the driver, Hua, motioned to me. “Come on, Yugan, sit up front so we can chat.” He saved me the first seat on the right row. I settled in. I wanted to ask Hua if his bus was still haunted.
An old lady got on and asked how much a ticket back to Taipei would be: NT$64. She hesitated, torn between putting all those coins in the box, and using up her magnetized bus ticket.
"How's your bus, Hua?” I asked, then realized it might be better to bring the topic up when the bus was less crowded, especially since the Ghost Month just started.
"Which way is cheaper?” the old lady asked Hua, pointing her card at the coin box.
"Grandma, you may as well use up your card, because it's only good until the end of September,” he answered.
"Oh, no, it says right here on my card that it's good until November.”
"Yes, Grandma, but where have you been? For the last six months, they've been telling everybody they're phasing out the magnetized cards, and you can't use them after the end of September.”
"Oh, no, this is the card the government gave me, you know they give bus cards to old folks.”
“Yes, Grandma, but after September 31, you won't be able to use that kind of card anymore. You've got to get a computerized card instead.”
An old man said, “It's been in the papers, on the radio, and on television.” Having said his piece, he went down and sat in the back of the bus.
"But this is the card the government gave me, and it says right here that it's good until November.” She stuck the card in Hua's face as he was trying to pass a motorcycle on a curve.
“Yes, Grandma, but at the end of September, the bus company i
I'm cheating. this continues the story of November 6, Bus Talk
"Yes, Grandma, but at the end of September, the bus company is going to remove these readers from the buses, so you won't be able to use your ticket any more.”
“I don't believe you. You Aborigines are always telling jokes.”
“That's fine, but Grandma, let me tell you, you shouldn't put coins in the box, you should use up your ticket while you can, because after September, I won't have this reader on my bus.”
“But it says right here that this card is good until November.”
“Okay, fine, Grandma, when we get into Taipei, you take a bus number 644, and you go to Mayor Ma's office, and ask him for one of these readers. You can take it home and slide your card through the slot for as long as you please, but after September 31, you aren't going to see these readers on any of the buses, so you'll have to use a computerized card.”
“You mean I won't be able to use my magnetized card on the bus in October?”
“That's right, Grandma.”
“But it says right here that it's good until November.”
An old man from the middle of the bus joined in. “Won't do you any good. If you can't finish off your card, you may as well give it to your neighbor to use.”
“My neighbor? No, they never remember to shut the first floor door, I don't want to give them my card.”
“You may as well give it to somebody, because it won't do you any good.”
“But it says right here that it's good until November.”
Another old lady leaped into the fray. “Yes, the magnetized tickets are being phased out. I think you ought to go protest!”
Hua looked at me and we both rolled our eyes.
“Where do you think I should go protest?”
“Well, Taipei City Government, of course.”
“No, try the Bureau of Transportation.”
“No, I think it should be the Taipei City Government.”
“No, no, you're all wrong, because Wulai is in Taipei County, not Taipei City, so it's the Bureau of Transportation you want, not the City Government.”
“But the bus runs into Taipei City.”
“The bus company is Hsintien Bus Company, right? And Hsintien is Taipei County, not Taipei City, so it's the Bureau of Transportation you want.”
“Well, I certainly am going to do something about it. Why, just last month, I was on a bus with my sister, and I had her ticket and she had my ticket…” Hua had long lost interest in the conversation. We reached Turtle Mountain, where two little sixth grade girls got on the bus, asking, “Hua, when are we going to play basketball again?”
“so she gave the driver my magnetized ticket, but he said it was all used up.”
“I don't have a day off this week, so it'll have to be next week.”
“He said, ‘You can't use that ticket, it's all used up.’”
“Can your daughter come play with us again?”
“My sister said, ‘It can't be all used up, it's my sister's ticket.’”
“Sure, I think so, it's summer vacation, so she doesn't have much to do.”
“He said, ‘I don't care whose ticket it is, it's all used up, so you can't use it, you have to use a new ticket, or put cash in the box.’”
“Where do you think we can play?”
“So I said, ‘That's my ticket, my sister's ticket is right here.’”
“Well, silly, where do you live?”
“The driver said, ‘I don't care whose ticket you use, just so the bus company gets two fares.’”
“Turtle Mountain, you know that.”
“My sister said, ‘So if you don't care whose ticket I use, I'll use my sister's ticket.’”
“And there are no basketball courts in Turtle Mountain?”
“Then the driver got very impatient and said, ‘I told you, you can't use that ticket, and actually, according to government laws and bus company regulations, since it's all used up, I can confiscate it!’”
“We have a perfectly good basketball court. ”
“So I said, ‘There's no need for you to confiscate it, because the government gave me this ticket. You know we old folks get free bus tickets.’”
“Okay, so I'll drive my daughter down and she can play basketball with you in Turtle Mountain.”
“Right, we get twenty free rides a month.”
“What's the old lady bickering about?”
“So I said, ‘It says right here that this ticket is good until November, so you can't confiscate it!’ So he didn't. But you're right, I really do think I should go protest.”
“Don't call her an old lady, call her Grandma, show some respect for your elders.”
“Bureau of Transportation, no doubt about it.”
“How can I show respect, when you've got an intellectual age of a nine year old?”
“No, you have to talk to Mayor Ma about it.”
“Yeah, Hua, when we talk to you, we have to use simple words so you can understand.”
“Mayor Ma may run for President, so he will want to help people so you vote for him in the election.”
“It's not my intellectual age, it's showing respect for Grandma here, who is our elder.”
“How many times do I have to explain, this is the Hsintien Bus Company, and Hsintien is in Taipei County.”
“Okay, but why don't we go play basketball in Wulai?”
“Yes, but the line runs in to Taipei City, doesn't it? Taipei City Government.”
“Who would drive you there?”
“Otherwise, just give your card to your neighbor.”
“We could take a bus.”
“No, I think I can use it all up by November.”
“Whatever. You phone my daughter and make arrangements with her.” By this time, the bus had reached the edge of the city. Hua pulled over his microphone, and with great relief in his voice, announced, “We have reached the Hsintien subway terminal. All who wish to take the subway may transfer here.”
I got off the bus in back of Grandma. As she got off, she showed Hua her card: “See, it says right here that this is good until November.”
“Yes, Grandma, anything you say,” Hua said. Then he looked at me and we both rolled our eyes heavenward. But I never did get to ask about the haunting.
"Yes, Grandma, but at the end of September, the bus company is going to remove these readers from the buses, so you won't be able to use your ticket any more.”
“I don't believe you. You Aborigines are always telling jokes.”
“That's fine, but Grandma, let me tell you, you shouldn't put coins in the box, you should use up your ticket while you can, because after September, I won't have this reader on my bus.”
“But it says right here that this card is good until November.”
“Okay, fine, Grandma, when we get into Taipei, you take a bus number 644, and you go to Mayor Ma's office, and ask him for one of these readers. You can take it home and slide your card through the slot for as long as you please, but after September 31, you aren't going to see these readers on any of the buses, so you'll have to use a computerized card.”
“You mean I won't be able to use my magnetized card on the bus in October?”
“That's right, Grandma.”
“But it says right here that it's good until November.”
An old man from the middle of the bus joined in. “Won't do you any good. If you can't finish off your card, you may as well give it to your neighbor to use.”
“My neighbor? No, they never remember to shut the first floor door, I don't want to give them my card.”
“You may as well give it to somebody, because it won't do you any good.”
“But it says right here that it's good until November.”
Another old lady leaped into the fray. “Yes, the magnetized tickets are being phased out. I think you ought to go protest!”
Hua looked at me and we both rolled our eyes.
“Where do you think I should go protest?”
“Well, Taipei City Government, of course.”
“No, try the Bureau of Transportation.”
“No, I think it should be the Taipei City Government.”
“No, no, you're all wrong, because Wulai is in Taipei County, not Taipei City, so it's the Bureau of Transportation you want, not the City Government.”
“But the bus runs into Taipei City.”
“The bus company is Hsintien Bus Company, right? And Hsintien is Taipei County, not Taipei City, so it's the Bureau of Transportation you want.”
“Well, I certainly am going to do something about it. Why, just last month, I was on a bus with my sister, and I had her ticket and she had my ticket…” Hua had long lost interest in the conversation. We reached Turtle Mountain, where two little sixth grade girls got on the bus, asking, “Hua, when are we going to play basketball again?”
“so she gave the driver my magnetized ticket, but he said it was all used up.”
“I don't have a day off this week, so it'll have to be next week.”
“He said, ‘You can't use that ticket, it's all used up.’”
“Can your daughter come play with us again?”
“My sister said, ‘It can't be all used up, it's my sister's ticket.’”
“Sure, I think so, it's summer vacation, so she doesn't have much to do.”
“He said, ‘I don't care whose ticket it is, it's all used up, so you can't use it, you have to use a new ticket, or put cash in the box.’”
“Where do you think we can play?”
“So I said, ‘That's my ticket, my sister's ticket is right here.’”
“Well, silly, where do you live?”
“The driver said, ‘I don't care whose ticket you use, just so the bus company gets two fares.’”
“Turtle Mountain, you know that.”
“My sister said, ‘So if you don't care whose ticket I use, I'll use my sister's ticket.’”
“And there are no basketball courts in Turtle Mountain?”
“Then the driver got very impatient and said, ‘I told you, you can't use that ticket, and actually, according to government laws and bus company regulations, since it's all used up, I can confiscate it!’”
“We have a perfectly good basketball court. ”
“So I said, ‘There's no need for you to confiscate it, because the government gave me this ticket. You know we old folks get free bus tickets.’”
“Okay, so I'll drive my daughter down and she can play basketball with you in Turtle Mountain.”
“Right, we get twenty free rides a month.”
“What's the old lady bickering about?”
“So I said, ‘It says right here that this ticket is good until November, so you can't confiscate it!’ So he didn't. But you're right, I really do think I should go protest.”
“Don't call her an old lady, call her Grandma, show some respect for your elders.”
“Bureau of Transportation, no doubt about it.”
“How can I show respect, when you've got an intellectual age of a nine year old?”
“No, you have to talk to Mayor Ma about it.”
“Yeah, Hua, when we talk to you, we have to use simple words so you can understand.”
“Mayor Ma may run for President, so he will want to help people so you vote for him in the election.”
“It's not my intellectual age, it's showing respect for Grandma here, who is our elder.”
“How many times do I have to explain, this is the Hsintien Bus Company, and Hsintien is in Taipei County.”
“Okay, but why don't we go play basketball in Wulai?”
“Yes, but the line runs in to Taipei City, doesn't it? Taipei City Government.”
“Who would drive you there?”
“Otherwise, just give your card to your neighbor.”
“We could take a bus.”
“No, I think I can use it all up by November.”
“Whatever. You phone my daughter and make arrangements with her.” By this time, the bus had reached the edge of the city. Hua pulled over his microphone, and with great relief in his voice, announced, “We have reached the Hsintien subway terminal. All who wish to take the subway may transfer here.”
I got off the bus in back of Grandma. As she got off, she showed Hua her card: “See, it says right here that this is good until November.”
“Yes, Grandma, anything you say,” Hua said. Then he looked at me and we both rolled our eyes heavenward. But I never did get to ask about the haunting.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)