I handed my purchase to the lady behind the counter. She looked vaguely confused, as if she couldn't understand why I would thrust merchandise at her. She looked around. The barcode scanner seemed to invoke memories. With some hesitance, she picked that up and pointed it, and eventually managed to scan the barcode. I gave her money with bated breath, wondering if she were up to the challenge. She popped open the cash register and looked at the till in mild befuddlement. From her expression, she had never seen US coins before. Slowly, consulting the cash register at every moment, she procured two dimes and a nickel for me. A quarter would have been beyond her capacity. I was roiling with impatience, but I dared not utter a word, for fear it would derail her and we would have to start all over from the top. Next came the ordeal of finding a plastic bag, and placing my goods in that. But there are three sizes of bags!

In Taiwan, a clerk will ring up your purchase while she is bagging the previous customer's goods and answering a third person’s questions. As often as not, she will be chatting on her cell phone all the while.

If you are used to check-out service in Taiwan, American clerks can be a trial.

Taipei is noisy, but it's just noise: people don't care that much if their motors are loud, if there is a backhoe tearing down a building, if someone has left a tv blasting away. It's unintentional.
New York is noisy, but it's invasive: a driver honking to get a move on, a policeman shouting at you to get a move on, a boom box invading your space. It's intentional.

a ride in a horse-drawn carriage is more romantic when the horse is downwind.

"I am so happy to see you take a picture with the bulls. I am Assyrian. I come here all the time to see the bulls. They always make me happy. But I always touch the bulls. They tell me, Don't touch! But I say, These are mine, maybe this man you see here is my great uncle!”
In the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Apparently Americans are enamored of raccoons. Young ladies paint black circles around their eyes before they go to prowl the mall.

Just simply couldn't wait...
a little fire to start things off.

「我出生在仰光，Rangoon。1969年排華，就離開了。如果那個時候到臺灣就好了，可是我們到中國大陸。那個時候是文革，所有學校都關了。因為文革，我們都沒有念書，天天打籃球、上街遊行。後來到香港，已經十八歲了，沒書念。在香港工作八年。我來美國是偷渡，從加拿大進來，所以我沒有文化，I have no education，我書只讀了四年。」

LIU has a new 材燒anagama kiln.
Anti\劉安悌 and Eileen.
Yuki is inside the kiln,排窯.

外間
雅之
Yuki Hokama

P F Chang's Chinese Bistro stands unique among the thousands of Chinese restaurants I have eaten in. The reception crew at the door was composed of two blondes and a black. The waiters and waitresses were mostly blonds with a few black people, the busboys all spoke Spanish, and in fact, Ling was the only oriental face in the whole place. I am sure we were the only people speaking Chinese at all. When we were shown to our seats, Ling pointed out that the boss couldn't possibly be Chinese, because the two gigantic horse statues decorating the dining area both had their heads down. (Later inquiry confirmed her suspicion; the boss is said to be American.) First time I have ever seen a wine list on a menu in a Chinese restaurant, or a list of pies and cakes for dessert. Ah yes, the traditional old Chinese apple pie… The 麻婆豆腐 looked and tasted like none I have ever eaten elsewhere: broccoli and dofu. This?

No bowls for the rice, just a plate. Chopsticks came with knife and fork. The lady at the next table, a supercilious expression under an ornate hairdo, swiftly shoveled her chopsticks into her purse. The waiter demanded them back, tapping on the table and insisting, "Where are the chopsticks?" Supercilious shook her head and looked away; husband looked embarrassed. Plastic chopsticks, for crying out loud!

It should be named P F Chang's American Bizarre.

Aboard the good ship P T Barnum,
from Bridgeport, Connecticut, to
Port Jefferson, Long Island.

with Ann, Sidney, Jean, and Eben, as Thor very carefully encircles us in his leash.

Sitting on the floor, Zach very casually places both feet behind his head, smiles contentedly, then looks at me with a puzzled expression and says, "I understand some people can't do this."

crowding Zoe off her chair.

Ann generously gave us her bedroom and backbreakingly comfortable feather bed to sleep in. At around 5 or 6, well before light, I became aware of a presence in the room. The wind was up. The bedroom door, which I had shut, was open, and there was something in the room, moving back and forth. I lifted my head from the pillow. A white blob was floating around the room about a meter off the ground. Nothing else was visible in the predawn dark: ectoplasm? the Ghost of Christmas Past? I dared not stir. I heard a slight sound: scritch scritch. The blob floated back and forth.

Fortunately, Ann had told me that sometimes she puts a cone on Thor's head to keep him from licking that sore on his front leg. He is not allowed upstairs, but high wind frightens him, so he seeks solace from Ann, whose bed we were occupying.

Without waking Ling, I crawled out of bed and tried to eject Thor. He was happy for the attention, but dug in his feet and refused to budge. I stood outside the door whispering, Thor! Thor! trying to lure him away. Ann, sleeping with Zoe, heard me and trundled downstairs with Thor, telling him to stay put.

He was back upstairs in ten minutes, but I had the door firmly shut.

We did a snow dance, but all we got was a little drizzle.

Amy brought Spencer and Avery.

Thor shows off the trophy he won when he chased that fat guy.

I was disappointed that it didn't snow, but at least we had a good Christmas Day snowball fight at Sticks and Stones, Tim's place.
Ann, Connecticut.

coal.

A Philosophical Rumination on Christmas

Everybody knows that if you are naughty, you get coal in your Christmas stocking. But have you ever pondered the significance of that lump of coal, or rather, its utilitarian value? See, coal is a hard substance. Placed in a stocking, it can be swung like a sap to make a very effective close-range weapon. If you use that to bludgeon the good kiddies, who have kept their noses clean and have not honed their fighting skills, you can take their gifts from them, so you get more, rather than less, Christmas loot than your peers.

Ho, ho, splat!

Cousins Ann and Eben,
and, of course, dear old Thor.

Christmas Eva at Ann's, Trumbull, Connecticut.

Just a few degrees above freezing: lovely weather for the beach!
Oyster Bay, Long Island, New York.

For the first time in 25 years, the transit workers in New York have gone on strike. I suspect they may have done this in honor of my visit.

With no subways, Ling and I bravely decided to drive into New York. Plans! We had great plans! We'll go to Central Park! Then we'll go to the MOM! Then SoHo for a look at the scene there, followed by dinner in Little Italy, and a romp to Rockefeller Center to see the Christmas lights! Merry plans! What did Robert Browning say?

We got to the city in good time. We quickly discovered how much New Yorkers love to honk their horns. Traffic was moving like ocean sediment. Ocean sediment, that is, with blaring horns. We switched lithely from this one way street to the next. Look! There's Fifth Avenue! Let's park! What? $18.95 for a half hour parking? Let's not park! More heavy traffic. Look! There's Madison Avenue! Let's park and take a look. No place to park. Look! There's Penn Station! Let's park and take a look! No place to park. Look! There's Madison Square Garden! Let's stay in the car and look! Look! There's more heavy traffic! Let's go to SoHo instead! Good idea! Where's SoHo? More one way streets, more ocean sediment, more honking horns. We gradually made our way across town, when suddenly, we saw a vision more miraculous than the star leading the wise men: a parking space! Ling quickly slipped the car into the space and we happily fed the meter quarters. I asked the man in the lock shop by the parking space how to get to SoHo. "Walk," he suggested helpfully, "You can go four blocks up this way to Hudson, then turn left on Hudson until you reach the Fountain of Youth, and turn right at Shangrila, and it's just past the unicorn stables.” Those weren't his exact words, but they might just as well have been. We kept an eye on the time, lest our parking meter die, but we did not reach SoHo. BUT! Our trip was not in vain! We DID manage to find a McDonald's so we could borrow the bathroom.

What a sense of accomplishment we bathed in as we happily munched on our fries. Thus invigorated, we launched forth again, and after battling traffic for only another hour, we did manage to find SoHo. After a happy trip through SoHo, we headed home. We circled the streets for an hour until we finally found the entrance to the bridge that would lead us to Long Island. Through some trickery, the exit led us off onto darkened streets. We could see the bridge receding into the distance behind and above us as we battled our way through a maze of one way streets.

Now I am going to say something that no New Yorkers will believe, but which I swear is the absolute truth. At a gas station I asked a taxi driver how to get to Long Island, and he could actually speak English!

There goes my reputation for truth and honesty, but I swear a taxi driver spoke good English and told me how to get on the road to Long Island. So after only two and a half hours circling through cordons of one way streets and honking drivers, we actually found ourselves on the expressway speeding cheerfully to the expressway to Long Island… so cheerfully, in fact, that we flew by our exit without noticing.

I stuffed my feet into my shoes a month ago to remove a poisonous snake from my back door, just in case the snake bolted towards my feet. The last time I had worn shoes before that was, oh, two or three years ago, when I wore my shoes to class for novelty's sake.

I took my shoes out of the closet in preparation for the big trip to New York – SNOW! Before sunrise this morning I put them on. I was pleased that I remembered how to tie the laces. I walked down to the road where my taxi picked me up at 4:50 and deposited me at the airport. After a speedy check-in, I happened to notice the sole was working off the big toe of the right shoe. Walking through Immigration, I left a trail of crumbling black plastic behind me, like Hansel and Gretel walking through the forest. By the time my passport was stamped, my soles were flapping, and by the time I reached the duty free shops, my right sole had fallen off entirely.

Hello, do you sell shoes?

No, but we can give you some tape.

The nice people gave me a fat role of tape, so I wrapped it around and around my shoes. Hardly elegant, but sturdy. In the Hong Kong airport, I spotted a store selling shoes. I wandered in. The clerk gave me a quick one-over, sniffed, and hid her head in her inventory, willing me to disappear: who let this hobo into the airport?

They let me onto the flight, though, and we commenced on the second longest commercial flight in the world: Hong Kong to New York, in nearly 16 hours. I shed black plastic all over the floor. Hardly elegant, but the tape wrapping my shoes together lasted long enough to get me around to the other side of the world. First thing I did when Ling picked me up at JFK was say, Let's go buy me some new shoes!

雖用上好鎢鋼作刀，不磨不利。既利而用之，猶須砥礪以維其鋒。為人亦如是。雖有上好天賦，不學不成材。心有倦逸，學無止境，必常進修以維其鋒。學而時習之，其斯之謂歟。

幾年前，一個朋友從紐約打電話來。她念Columbia，班上另一個臺灣留學生非常熱中臺獨。有一次這位臺獨女士在課堂討論中解釋臺灣不是中國的道理，說臺灣與中國大陸各方面不一樣，臺灣是臺灣，大陸是大陸，不一樣，講的美國同學差不多心服口服。一個美國同學想進一步了解，問，「日本有和服、茶道、優劇、相撲，各式各樣具有日本特色的文化；韓國人的衣服又不同，有跆拳道，各式各樣具有韓國特色的文化。請問，代表臺灣特有的文化是甚麼？」臺獨女士愣住了，想了半天，講不出一樣臺灣特有的文化來。…﹝…頂多是絕大多數漢人不認同的原住民文化，偏偏越是熱中臺獨的人，越可能瞧不起原住民。﹞低頭很久，終於說，「沒有。」

可是我朋友就想，對了，政治人物那麼愛講本土文化，到底甚麼是臺灣特有文化？我說，「歌仔戲。」她回，「那個我又不愛看。我同學朋友也沒有人看。」最後，我們有點搞笑，有點無奈，有點悲傷，說臺灣特有文化……是檳榔西施。

這幾天又有人問我這個問題。我想，臺灣一個很奇怪的特色是，盡量不要有臺灣特色。中國字有多美呀!我今天在這裡就是因為國字太迷人，初高中看到就想學、想探討、想了解。可是臺灣的各種包裝、衣服、招牌，寧寫上幾個不成文的英文，不肯好好發揮國字之美。

似乎只有茶行、手染衣服店、算命館例外。大喊本土文化起家的執政黨強力推行英文。

五月時，我高中同學來玩。他很愛騎越野腳踏車；騎越野腳踏車的人有個嗜好，就是到甚麼地方，喜歡買當地的jersey單車上衣。同學要求，我們開始找有臺灣特色的單車上衣。結果：無。臺灣製的，只有寫英文，我們找了好幾家，看不到一個漢字印在jersey上。前前後後，路上看到上百個騎越野腳踏車的人，jersey五花八門，就是看不到一個國字。

所以，終于有答案吧。甚麼是臺灣特有文化？就是盡量不要有臺灣特色。

有其父，必有其子
Qalux跟長子Qoyaw說，"Kwara laqi musa 補習；Soro補理化、Ciana補鋼琴、Iba補英文，你呢，Qoyaw，你想不想去補甚麼？”
Qoyaw想一想，回答說，"我想去捕yabic(飛鼠)!”

A true story
從前我們一位女助教坐車時看到一個男的要搭訕，她就把GRE的書拿出來看。沒想到，反而給了男的一個話題。
「嗨，小姐，妳好用功。」
「……準備考試。」
「喔，妳要考試？考甚麼？」
「GRE。」
「嗯，那個…我呢，我已經考過 GR二啦！」

捷運詩
題：燃一枝菸
作：唐捐
燃一枝菸，坐在堤上
你說星星也是燃著的菸頭
握在天使的手上
這時
灰色的雪花，紛紛掉落
大地無語，如菸灰缸。

+++
這無疑是我讀過最disgusting的一首詩。我提議給作者打三十大板，罰終生一日抽一包煙，並禁止寫作。

顧亭林說，有體國經野之心，然後可以登山臨水。
陶維極說，管它的! A ta lahuy!

有人說，真布施不怕假和尚。斯語似有病。不怕假和尚，說功德依然，但心中計功德，是有相布施，就不是真布施。
如何是好？

unclear on the concept
To commemorate the 65th birthday of Bruce Lee, a statue of him was unveiled in Mostar, Bosnia-Herzegovina, a city that has been ravaged by war. Why Bruce Lee, why Bosnia-Herzegovina, you might well ask. Lee is supposed to symbolize unity for the Roman Catholic Croats and the Muslim Bosnians, who have been at each others' throats for generations.

The bronze statue shows Lee as you think of him: Beatles haircut, head slightly down, wide cat stance, no shirt(get a load of them abs!), left hand out with fingers splayed, right hand choking way up on numchuks held in that ridiculous armpit grip. The whole message is, don't tread on me, or I'll whale you! Stand down, you turd, or you won't live to regret crossing me.

As a Buddhist Serbian-American, I would like to ask my Croatian and Bosnian brethren, how on earth is this supposed to symbolize peace and unity?

What I suggest is they robe the statue in a white habit and rename it Mother Teresa of Calcutta. They can saw the chain off the numchuks and make it a candle. At the very least, since she was Macedonian, that'll give the Croats and Bosnians an enemy to unify against.

Left, the statue of Bruce Lee.
Right, the improved statue of Mother Teresa of Calcutta.

You've got to hand it to the Germans, they are nothing if not thorough.
Recently a 34 year old lady in Zuelp Ich, Germany (love that name! Zuelp Ich!!) had spiders in a hedge by her garage, which of course will not do in a well ordered Teutonic household. She got a can of hairspray and a cigarette lighter, and attempted to achieve a Final Solution, but the hairspray did not fry all the unwelcome arachnids, so she tried to ignite them individually with the lighter. She very efficiently torched not only the spiders, but also the hedge they were on, which was by this time saturated with inflammable hairspray. She tried to douse the hedge fire with a hose, but instead, her house caught on fire and burned down. A police spokesman said, "The family have had to look for somewhere else to stay. The spiders are gone, though. That problem was solved."

"Hi there, neighbor, shouldn't you be hibernating by now?"
"I'm on my way, I'm on my way."

finished.

修行的重點是甚麼？ 觀照起心動念。行住坐臥、日常、非常、生老病死、林林總總事，洞察自心的動機，了了分明，才是修行。
不如此，再會入甚深禪定、預知未來、化水為酒、穿牆飛天、起死回生、出陰神、出陽神，若沒有觀照起心動念，通通是外道，因為動機是我執所在。

a genuine ghost story
這是很久以前聽過的故事。發生在金瓜石，大概五十年代吧。
一個人傍晚回家，轉到自家住的路上，赫然看到，前面有大頭鬼!! 大頭鬼沉重的步伐，一步一步在金瓜石陡峭的道路往下走，看得一清二楚，鐵定不是幻象!!身體跟一般人一樣，可是整個頭是白的，沒有頭髮沒有耳朵，就是一顆非常非常大的頭!!比西瓜還大的頭!儼然大頭鬼!!太恐怖!! 大頭鬼一直往前走，這位先生沒辦法，躡足潛蹤在後面跟，深怕大頭鬼轉進自己家裡…好險，過門不入! 趕快竄進去把門反鎖，堆桌椅櫃櫥擋住門，然後到祖先牌位前拼命磕頭，嚇得他太太不知道先生重了甚麼邪，放聲大哭。先生跟她講大頭鬼，太太趕緊把兒女抱過來，一家大小縮在佛桌下，徹夜不敢睡也不敢出來。

好不容易聽到雞鳴，天亮了。他們確定大頭鬼沒有在門外埋伏，才開門出來，問鄰居死傷情形。結果奇怪，沒有人知道這個噩耗，但消息傳開，大家駭然，一傳十，十傳百，整個金瓜石都激烈討論大頭鬼。大家互問，「你有沒有看到大頭鬼？」

同一條街有個人說，「嘿，奇怪，我昨天也是傍晚從這邊走過，可是我沒遇到甚麼大頭鬼。」

「那麼你有沒有看到甚麼異常的？」

「沒有，不過，我倒也沒有東張西望，因為過兩天，我媽七十大壽，我們要大請客，所以我昨天扛了一袋五十斤的麵粉回家。很重，扛在脖子上，而且路有點滑，往下走危險，怕跌倒，我就一直慢慢往前走，沒注意看旁邊…」

曾聞之，顏回好學，打坐功夫非常深，本應為孔子傳人，不幸短命死矣，所以天下傳曾子孝道的儒。要是顏回不早死，後來儒學、中國社會大有不同。

雖有理，但不必盡然。自孔子之死也，有子張之儒、有子思之儒、有顏氏之儒、有孟氏之儒、有漆雕氏之儒、有仲良氏之儒、有孫氏之儒、有樂正氏之儒，但重孝順之儒威行天下；管它夫子講孝如何如何，孝經禮記講孝也不理，只睬曾驂「無後」一句，以為孔子之孝。重點是，多生寶寶，正合農業社會大眾的喜愛。

顏回坐忘，曲高和寡，難成廣大群眾主流。

bits of Taipei history
In 1971, just before I came, they knocked down the row of houses in the middle of 信義Road. The military's nickname for 新生南路 was Canal Street, because of the璢公canal running down the middle. In those days, there were four groups of foreigners in Taiwan; the military, some highly obnoxious missionaries, a few businessmen, and a small number learning Chinese. The first three groups kept together. They were hostile and suspicious of us in the fourth group.

The largest group of students was in the International House: 國際學舍：舊址在現在大安公園，北臺最醜的觀音像後面。 Largest group, maybe 20 people all told. We did not associate with the snobs in the Stanford program. What is now the AIT, the American Institute in Taiwan/美國在臺協會used to be a sort of plush unit of the US forces here, the Military Advisory Group,Taiwan 美軍顧問團, MAGT in military talk, so we feckless residents of the I House down the street named it Maggot.

Yugan, 有沒有看到那個胖子？
有，他住路邊，常看到。
我們叫他 Masaw.
Tayal ga?
Ini Tayal. 他是閩南人，不是泰雅。
Nanu sa? Ini pongan ku lalu Masaw.
Aw, 這是老一代的人給他取的名字，叫 Masaw的人不大好。他是賣豬肉的，二三十年前開車到烏來，看到Tayal就硬把豬肉半斤一斤往手上送，說，沒錢沒關係，我明後天再來收。Yugan,你了解Tayal的個性，他這樣硬塞豬肉，Tayal就sayux，收下，結果欠錢。看到他來要躲起來，不想拿他的豬肉。那個時代的Tayal哪有錢還債?欠的錢可能很多，可是根本沒有錢，一個月的生活費只有幾百塊，他的豬肉很貴，所以只好躲他。老一代的人給他取名Masaw，聽到這個名字就知道這個人不老實，離他遠一點。
Aw, Qalux, 我很高興當初Tali Watan給我取的是Yugan，不是Masaw。
Aw.

If I romanticized democracy more, it would have been a moving sight. Amongst the mountains circling Tampya village, a tent was a hive of activity, for the Tampya poll was placed on a flat spot with a spectacular view up, down, and all around. The Aborigines walked, rode motorcycles, or drove up to cast their votes.

Yesterday during the voting, the weather held. It started pouring minutes after I returned home from class shortly before midnight, and the temperature fell with the rain. I dragged myself out of bed before daybreak because I had to go teach a special class this morning. At the big Wulai bridge, a row of Tayal stood in yellow plastic throwaway raincoats and red vests with their candidate, who won a seat in yesterday's election. They were out there to thank voters as they passed. The flaw in the plan was that with the cold rain, there was nobody afoot at the ungodly hour of 7: only them and me.

They grew animated as I approached: somebody to wave to! Finally! One of the men shouted, "Yugan! Ziboq balai, hzaq na! Musa su inu?"

"Musa mtbaq kman.”

The exchange alerted everybody to the presence of a living, breathing person they could actually wave to! Wow! Action! The man next to him started waving, and shouted in English, "Sank you! Sank you varrrrrrrrrry mahchee!" with a terrific trill on the R. Aborigines love to trill Rs so much that sometimes when they speak Mandarin, they change Ls to Rs just to trill them. I waved back as I plodded through that big puddle at the head of the bridge (~in flip flops: a sure way to wake up.)

The whole line of them started waving both arms and jumping up and down, shouting "Sank you varrrrrrry mahchee," even though they know as well as I that, being an American citizen, I don't vote in local elections. They were standing by the road to thank people, so by gum they were going to thank! Soon they tired of thanking me and started shouting "I lahv you!" Gone was the bedraggled, dispirited demeanor of five minutes before. They jumped and waved and shouted. I felt I had done my bit for democracy.

臺灣一些政要對「民主」的觀念很奇怪。「宜蘭如果失守，民主聖地變成民主荒地。」這甚麼道理？？只有自己黨員當選才是民主嗎？

今晚一些人臉都綠了─他們最愛的顏色。

十幾年前，有一次到惠澂頂山的工寮，因為天氣冷，他在燒火。
「陶，你來的正好，給你看一個很荒謬的東西。」他拿一本很大的書給我看，上印兩個大字：光經。
「光經？沒聽過。」
「有啦，高速公路旁邊不是有個宋七力館嗎？這是他寫的。」
「你怎麼有這本？」
「朋友拿來給我看的。」
「寫的怎麼樣？」
「你自己看。」把書傳過來。翻開來看，真是好笑。裡面的道理，彷彿是神心不穩的高中女生寫的，可是最好笑的是照片。一張一張很明顯是double exposure相片，都是西裝筆挺的油頭粉面的宋七力，但這個重複曝光的照片，是用來證明他能分身，變出化身來。我笑到快哭出來了。
「誰幫他照了這些照片？」
「嘿，一個作官的太太，謝太太。」
「謝？他以前不是佛弟子嗎？」
「他在道場串門子過，可是根器太差，福慧雙缺，哪能深入佛法？」
我們邊聊邊把書一頁一頁往火裡丟，燒的乾乾淨淨的。
後來才知到，我們燒掉的那本價值四、五萬。不過，惠澂的朋友很高興我們幫他處理垃圾。

但是，不能說宋七力沒有兩把刷子。他的靠山實在夠硬吧。

用毛筆寫大篆，字韻不像金文：銅銘本是刻上陶範。由夏以來試各種竹、木刀頭刻皮革硬度陶板，差強人意。這幾天還在努力，陶板風吹日曬四天(說實在，放那邊一忙它事就忘了)，已乾硬；竹、鋼、木刀隨便下，鐘鼎味完整呈現。原來如此。

因此也了解一個道理。秦漢印璽字勁難效，也是如此。 Friday 補記。