二十年前吧，我看了一篇報導，國民黨發起一項攻勢，三民主義統一中國；結果帶頭的是谷正綱那票人。看到谷正綱又被抬出，永遠就是那陳舊老套，一個很深很深的感觸，三民主義統一中國，可能；但絕不是國民黨領導。
前幾天看了一篇報導，民進黨發起一項攻勢，臺灣獨立；結果第一大討論題目是二二八。看到二二八又被抬出，永遠就是那陳舊老套，一個很深很深的感觸，臺灣的前途絕不能由民進黨安排，因為民進黨對前途沒有興趣，他們的臺灣停頓在前世紀的誤會、仇恨、不安。
大學：湯之盤銘：茍日新，日日新，又日新。康誥曰：作新民。詩曰：周雖舊邦，其命維新。是故，君子無所不用其極。
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
During the war, the government of South Viet Nam printed posters, papers, and pictures to encourage the people. Some were dropped from helicopters; somewhere I have a chao hoi (招回) leaflet a helicopter flying overhead dropped, encouraging Viet Cong to defect to the government. Must have been some sort of nasty area I was in.The other day I found this little piece tucked in one of my books. I forget where I picked it up; there were a lot of these floating all over South Viet Nam. It says tat co cho chien thang 一切為戰勝 all for victory. Notice the excellence of the composition and execution. The colors are simple but lively, and the whole piece is contained but powerful. Maoist propaganda simply reeked of Stalinist influence, and looked lifeless and heartless in comparison. Not that better artwork saved the South from conquest.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Saturday, January 27, 2007
As you will see below, for some reason, my dear sister Steph suffers under the delusion that "the Stones are the greatest rock'n roll band." I'm not sure how to read that sentence. Maybe we should read it, "The Stones are the greatest rock'n roll band for nothing." That is workable. However, dear benighted Sister Steph has forgotten the Beatles, the Mothers of Invention, and the Clancy Brothers, all of who could sing Mick Zipper under a table. I have been trying to interpret her meaning on that sentence since last November, which is why I have delayed this piece until now. Steph went to a Paul Simon concert last November, and this is what she wrote. Just never mind her when she discusses Mick Jughead. She'll get over it. And now for Steph::
It was great, had a wonderful time enjoying every minute of concert! There's a, what shall I say, a gentleness? about Paul Simon. The Stones were FABULOUS DARLING!! They were over the top, and stayed there, and I may have mentioned a time or ten that seeing (hearing) Mick Jagger gave me new respect for The Vocalist, various operas notwithstanding. They don't hype the Stones as The Greatest Rock'n'Roll Band for nothing.
But Paul Simon, ah. Different. Going 95 miles an hour? No strain, no breaking rocks; just a gentle, peaceful wave. Piece of cake! 95? Easy. The music just pouring out. This calm-type guy did have TWO complete drum set-ups. Just to show he knows what he's doing, all right! He played the old songs like a man who is older now. More feeling, less effort. Does that make sense? As if ~ the Stones show that they've still "got it," and better than ever. Paul Simon plays "Sound of Silence" or "Bridge Over Troubled Water" without Garfunkle's vocals ~ with the "plain old" Paul Simon vocals, not trying to be Art Garfunkle, just singing the song, and playing, nothing to prove? As if, "of COURSE he's better, he's older now"... instead of, "he's older, but still good"...
I told Erin that the "places where the ragged people go" had a lot more anger back then, breaking away from (scorned by) the Rock Hudson - Doris Day world, and the way he sang it Friday night had the memory of that, and the feeling, talent, etc. Plus, he was singing as the age he is now, with the understanding and experience he has now, and the memory of then; and the FABULOUS DARLING MUSIC! was even better, imagine that, having matured into complete freshness! ~ with "world music" rhythms, dazzling instruments and 2 drum sets. They were knocking them down and tearing the place up, but no destruction. It's like the ocean doesn't "HAVE TO" rage to be mighty.
We were in the 5th row from the stage at the Greek Theater (outdoor amphitheater) at Berkeley, WOW!!! At the end, we all had our hands up, standing and clapping. Paul Simon had his hands up to, kind of waving to the crowd. He made a pointing-finger and pointed to someone, paused, nodded, then turned and pointed to us. We had our hands up already, clapping. I pointed back to him, and he nodded, then turned and waved so gently to the crowd. We were all clapping like crazy. It was the end of the third or fourth curtain call. If I knew how to scream, I would've joined in the screaming and whistling. Erin was calling, "WOOOOOOOO!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"
After that, we were slowly jostling out with the crowd, and I found myself passing a young woman a row up. I recognized the profile of her wild, kinky hair. It was in a number of points. Earlier, she had leaped into the little space in front of the stage and begun dancing, with a lot of arms and the points of her hair, in silhouette, waving like dark flames.
As she bent forward to gather her things, I bent toward her and said quietly, "Beautiful dancing." She started to look up and say thank you, but then she felt my acknowledgement was a recognition of her gift, not a compliment. She was young. Slender, muscular, much smaller than I had thought. Australian Aborigine body-type? Anyway, she felt me intuitively, that was so cool. We spent a small moment with our foreheads barely touched together. A small moment of stillness holding for a heartbeat, then sweeping on in the natural movement of the crowd.
It was great, had a wonderful time enjoying every minute of concert! There's a, what shall I say, a gentleness? about Paul Simon. The Stones were FABULOUS DARLING!! They were over the top, and stayed there, and I may have mentioned a time or ten that seeing (hearing) Mick Jagger gave me new respect for The Vocalist, various operas notwithstanding. They don't hype the Stones as The Greatest Rock'n'Roll Band for nothing.
But Paul Simon, ah. Different. Going 95 miles an hour? No strain, no breaking rocks; just a gentle, peaceful wave. Piece of cake! 95? Easy. The music just pouring out. This calm-type guy did have TWO complete drum set-ups. Just to show he knows what he's doing, all right! He played the old songs like a man who is older now. More feeling, less effort. Does that make sense? As if ~ the Stones show that they've still "got it," and better than ever. Paul Simon plays "Sound of Silence" or "Bridge Over Troubled Water" without Garfunkle's vocals ~ with the "plain old" Paul Simon vocals, not trying to be Art Garfunkle, just singing the song, and playing, nothing to prove? As if, "of COURSE he's better, he's older now"... instead of, "he's older, but still good"...
I told Erin that the "places where the ragged people go" had a lot more anger back then, breaking away from (scorned by) the Rock Hudson - Doris Day world, and the way he sang it Friday night had the memory of that, and the feeling, talent, etc. Plus, he was singing as the age he is now, with the understanding and experience he has now, and the memory of then; and the FABULOUS DARLING MUSIC! was even better, imagine that, having matured into complete freshness! ~ with "world music" rhythms, dazzling instruments and 2 drum sets. They were knocking them down and tearing the place up, but no destruction. It's like the ocean doesn't "HAVE TO" rage to be mighty.
We were in the 5th row from the stage at the Greek Theater (outdoor amphitheater) at Berkeley, WOW!!! At the end, we all had our hands up, standing and clapping. Paul Simon had his hands up to, kind of waving to the crowd. He made a pointing-finger and pointed to someone, paused, nodded, then turned and pointed to us. We had our hands up already, clapping. I pointed back to him, and he nodded, then turned and waved so gently to the crowd. We were all clapping like crazy. It was the end of the third or fourth curtain call. If I knew how to scream, I would've joined in the screaming and whistling. Erin was calling, "WOOOOOOOO!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"
After that, we were slowly jostling out with the crowd, and I found myself passing a young woman a row up. I recognized the profile of her wild, kinky hair. It was in a number of points. Earlier, she had leaped into the little space in front of the stage and begun dancing, with a lot of arms and the points of her hair, in silhouette, waving like dark flames.
As she bent forward to gather her things, I bent toward her and said quietly, "Beautiful dancing." She started to look up and say thank you, but then she felt my acknowledgement was a recognition of her gift, not a compliment. She was young. Slender, muscular, much smaller than I had thought. Australian Aborigine body-type? Anyway, she felt me intuitively, that was so cool. We spent a small moment with our foreheads barely touched together. A small moment of stillness holding for a heartbeat, then sweeping on in the natural movement of the crowd.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Thursday, January 25, 2007
My mother majored in Art, under and graduate. Once when I was a boy, she told me that there were two types of teachers; you could tell the difference by the way they dealt with students' paintings.
The first type would practically repaint the student's entire work. When it was finished, it was definitely better, but you could barely see anything of the student in the painting. The teacher had made it over in his own way.
The other type would study the work, and then touch here and there. When it was finished, it was definitely better, but you could barely see where the teacher had changed anything. It was still the student's own work, but somehow it had been greatly improved.
In my own teaching, I have always kept that in mind. The students are not me; I am not trying to clone myself. (== one Talovich is enough!) As a teacher, my duty is to develop students' own abilities.
以佛法來講，第一類老師我執重。第二類比較無我，高一籌。
說「高」也不對，無有高下。但以修行論，是比較近道。
以前我認識一位英文老師，教字彙，對象是一般大專程度的托福準攷生。這位老師教字彙，每一個字都要詳細介紹字根、由來，這個字在古挪威語怎麼講，那個字是從希臘文來的，若有梵文字根他最高興，因為他學過梵文，趁機寫半個黑板豆莢字。問題是，一，儘管學生很乖，一筆一畫抄他的梵字，可是教室裏只有他一個人懂那些梵文字母。第二，學生花錢報名是要增加英文字彙，八百年前的挪威人早已經死掉入土了，誰管他們怎麼說？
有的老師教書的目的是培養崇拜者，深怕青出于藍。這也是增我執。
The first type would practically repaint the student's entire work. When it was finished, it was definitely better, but you could barely see anything of the student in the painting. The teacher had made it over in his own way.
The other type would study the work, and then touch here and there. When it was finished, it was definitely better, but you could barely see where the teacher had changed anything. It was still the student's own work, but somehow it had been greatly improved.
In my own teaching, I have always kept that in mind. The students are not me; I am not trying to clone myself. (== one Talovich is enough!) As a teacher, my duty is to develop students' own abilities.
以佛法來講，第一類老師我執重。第二類比較無我，高一籌。
說「高」也不對，無有高下。但以修行論，是比較近道。
以前我認識一位英文老師，教字彙，對象是一般大專程度的托福準攷生。這位老師教字彙，每一個字都要詳細介紹字根、由來，這個字在古挪威語怎麼講，那個字是從希臘文來的，若有梵文字根他最高興，因為他學過梵文，趁機寫半個黑板豆莢字。問題是，一，儘管學生很乖，一筆一畫抄他的梵字，可是教室裏只有他一個人懂那些梵文字母。第二，學生花錢報名是要增加英文字彙，八百年前的挪威人早已經死掉入土了，誰管他們怎麼說？
有的老師教書的目的是培養崇拜者，深怕青出于藍。這也是增我執。
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
The Professor
I wrote this in 1980. There were not many foreigners wandering around Taipei in those days.
The Professor is a highly intelligent, high-strung New Yorker.
The first time he took a bus in Taipei, the driver slammed on the brakes, as they are wont to do, and the Professor hit the floor. With his large nose and beard, he fits the Chinese stereotype of the foreigner, and his carroty blond hair attracts attention, so there was accordingly considerable tittering on that bus.
Two days later, the same thing happened, and the Professor swore never to take a bus in Taiwan again.
Now, Taipei taxidrivers are a rough and tumble bunch, and drive like maniacs, so the Professor was soon intimidated. It was either taxis or walk. So the Professor retaliated by becoming pro-communist and denouncing the Republic of China to anybody and everybody at every occasion.
There was a time when he kept a study in the apartment on 潮州 Street that Roger and I shared, and he frequently slept there.
Then came the night Dinah visited; Roger, Jessy, Dinah, and I sat around talking, until it developed that Dinah had come to work off fiancé trouble. She and Jessy got into an involved discussion concerning the male sex that frightened Roger and me out of the living room.
The Professor, oblivious to the static in the air and the absence of males, came out of his study, pipe in hand, to amuse one and all with his perfected German accent (speaking English).
Dinah, with one or two well-chosen epigrams, chopped him off at the knees.
The Professor retreated into his study, and stomped out of the apartment several minutes later, locking his door behind him.
Dinah's fiancé took her away an hour later. Brave man.
The next noon, Jessy, Roger, and I were eating around the living room table when the door opened and the Professor stalked in.
Without a word of greeting, he went to open his door, but the key didn't work.
He tried the other keys, and they didn't work. He got the spares out of the drawer, and, still not having said a word, tried them one by one.
None worked.
We ate very industriously.
Then from the corners of our eyes we noticed the Professor straining at the doorknob, and soon heard a sound, and realized that the Professor was grinding the doorknob off by twisting it around and around in a circular motion.
The plywood door was wearing down.
Finally the knob was loose, but the tongue of the lock was still secure, so he spent several more minutes jockeying it out. Then, triumphantly, he held the whole knob aloft in his hand. He brought it over to show to us and proclaimed:
I don't believe in internalizing anger.
and threw the wasted knob into the kitchen trash.
Not long after that he paid for the knob and the door and moved out. I remain quite fond of the Professor, in spite of all his quirks.
But from him, I learned an important lesson. He had an excellent memory, and knew an astonishing number of dates, names, and statistics, yet he could conceptualize nothing. He had a high level of education and the behavior of a three year old.
I learned that accumulated facts is not knowledge, that knowledge is not depth of character, and that depth of character is still not the ability to translate into action.
Eventually his mother's nagging for grandchildren got to him, so the Professor went out with his PhD and bagged himself a bar hostess for a wife. Roger shared an apartment with them for a time after their wedding, and reports that on one of the last evenings the Professor spent in Taiwan before returning to his university, he had his semiliterate wife perched on a kitchen stool, and was giving her a lecture on the history of figs. You couldn't buy figs in Taiwan in those days.
God bless you and all your breed, Professor.
May you flourish.
May you learn to hold on to the strap.
=========
Epilogue, 2006
When Roger and I were moving out of the apartment, the landlady gave us a lot of grief. She hit the ceiling when she saw the Professor's door, even though I assured her it would be restored to health. I bought a brand new doorknob, and Lung showed me that thingy in it that you can pull out so the door locks shut permanently the first time the door is closed. When I installed the knob, I pulled out that thingy, and carefully left the door to the Professor's study open when I left.
I wrote this in 1980. There were not many foreigners wandering around Taipei in those days.
The Professor is a highly intelligent, high-strung New Yorker.
The first time he took a bus in Taipei, the driver slammed on the brakes, as they are wont to do, and the Professor hit the floor. With his large nose and beard, he fits the Chinese stereotype of the foreigner, and his carroty blond hair attracts attention, so there was accordingly considerable tittering on that bus.
Two days later, the same thing happened, and the Professor swore never to take a bus in Taiwan again.
Now, Taipei taxidrivers are a rough and tumble bunch, and drive like maniacs, so the Professor was soon intimidated. It was either taxis or walk. So the Professor retaliated by becoming pro-communist and denouncing the Republic of China to anybody and everybody at every occasion.
There was a time when he kept a study in the apartment on 潮州 Street that Roger and I shared, and he frequently slept there.
Then came the night Dinah visited; Roger, Jessy, Dinah, and I sat around talking, until it developed that Dinah had come to work off fiancé trouble. She and Jessy got into an involved discussion concerning the male sex that frightened Roger and me out of the living room.
The Professor, oblivious to the static in the air and the absence of males, came out of his study, pipe in hand, to amuse one and all with his perfected German accent (speaking English).
Dinah, with one or two well-chosen epigrams, chopped him off at the knees.
The Professor retreated into his study, and stomped out of the apartment several minutes later, locking his door behind him.
Dinah's fiancé took her away an hour later. Brave man.
The next noon, Jessy, Roger, and I were eating around the living room table when the door opened and the Professor stalked in.
Without a word of greeting, he went to open his door, but the key didn't work.
He tried the other keys, and they didn't work. He got the spares out of the drawer, and, still not having said a word, tried them one by one.
None worked.
We ate very industriously.
Then from the corners of our eyes we noticed the Professor straining at the doorknob, and soon heard a sound, and realized that the Professor was grinding the doorknob off by twisting it around and around in a circular motion.
The plywood door was wearing down.
Finally the knob was loose, but the tongue of the lock was still secure, so he spent several more minutes jockeying it out. Then, triumphantly, he held the whole knob aloft in his hand. He brought it over to show to us and proclaimed:
I don't believe in internalizing anger.
and threw the wasted knob into the kitchen trash.
Not long after that he paid for the knob and the door and moved out. I remain quite fond of the Professor, in spite of all his quirks.
But from him, I learned an important lesson. He had an excellent memory, and knew an astonishing number of dates, names, and statistics, yet he could conceptualize nothing. He had a high level of education and the behavior of a three year old.
I learned that accumulated facts is not knowledge, that knowledge is not depth of character, and that depth of character is still not the ability to translate into action.
Eventually his mother's nagging for grandchildren got to him, so the Professor went out with his PhD and bagged himself a bar hostess for a wife. Roger shared an apartment with them for a time after their wedding, and reports that on one of the last evenings the Professor spent in Taiwan before returning to his university, he had his semiliterate wife perched on a kitchen stool, and was giving her a lecture on the history of figs. You couldn't buy figs in Taiwan in those days.
God bless you and all your breed, Professor.
May you flourish.
May you learn to hold on to the strap.
=========
Epilogue, 2006
When Roger and I were moving out of the apartment, the landlady gave us a lot of grief. She hit the ceiling when she saw the Professor's door, even though I assured her it would be restored to health. I bought a brand new doorknob, and Lung showed me that thingy in it that you can pull out so the door locks shut permanently the first time the door is closed. When I installed the knob, I pulled out that thingy, and carefully left the door to the Professor's study open when I left.
Monday, January 22, 2007
I once read that that you should pare your fingernails after dark on Fridays for harder nails. After several years' experimenting, I am inclined to agree partially. Perhaps the natural rhythms of the body provide stronger nails if they are trimmed in the night. I doubt Friday has anything to do with it, though. The days of the week are arbitrary, and not in synch with the sun or moon.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Tali Watan told me, "One day when I was a little boy in the third grade, we heard a strange noise. There was something up in the sky over Wulai, higher than the mountains. Nobody had seen anything like that before. The whole village came out to look. Our teacher was an educated man from Japan. He said, 'That is an airplane.' He had never actually seen one before either. And that was the first airplane I ever saw."
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Friday, January 19, 2007
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Through no fault of my own, without planning, I happened to reach DC the day after W's inauguration in 2001. Not on purpose. I was visiting my mother in California. Friends east urged me to drop in, so I crossed the Mississippi for the first time since 1962, went to Michigan, New York, and my birthplace, DC. Cousin Steve took me to his office near the White House, whence I set out sightseeing. Because of the inauguration, the anti-abortion crowd was out in force. There were thousands of protestors everywhere I went (I managed to get a clear field for this photo), so in addition to seeing the monuments, I observed the protestors.
The crowd was overwhelmingly white, and generally overweight. Among the thousands of people, I saw only a few Orientals and a couple Blacks, not totaling ten. There were a lot of church groups and ministers, but I did not see a single representative of the religions that show the greatest respect for life: if any Buddhists, Hindus, or Jains joined the protests, I did not see them. I don't recall seeing any rabbis or Orthodox Jews. Although I am trying to be impartial, a group of Catholic monks I saw looked like they stepped right out of the Inquisition. I still remember their smiles very distinctly: teeth. Gonna bite you, gonna tear your flesh. 皮笑肉不笑。
===
Stray exchange overheard between middle aged women protestors:
"I can't believe it! I'm actually here in Washington DC!"
"I know! I've never been so far away from Tennessee, either!"
===
Overall, I would guess that the majority of men in the crowd are enthusiastic hunters, always eager to go out and blast some innocent life into death. It hadn't started yet, but you know these are people who support war in Iraq, torture in prisons, and death penalty at home. I am willing to wager that almost no vegetarians were present. Quite the opposite: this looked like the Junk Food Crowd. One obese man waddled about with a sign, "Obey thy god, thy body is his temple." I wanted to say, first show your own temple a bit of respect.
The smokers among the protestors perplexed me. An unborn fetus is a holy life worthy of reverence and protection, but it's fine to destroy your own life just so you do it gradually?
The general tenor of the crowd was harsh. My feeling was not that the protestors had any great respect for life, but they wanted to impose their will on others. It was more a power thing. Thank the Founding Fathers for outlawing burning at the stake!
To the bible toting anti-abortionists, I would say, the majority of people probably are not opposed to abortion, so do not force the majority to conform to your wishes, or the wishes you read into your god's mouth. Judgment is mine, sayeth the lord, so let them do as they wish and risk hellfire if they please.
I believe nobody really wants an abortion; it can't be fun. Then why do people do it? Must be necessity. The necessity may be removed either before or after it forms. The way to limit abortion is not by outlawing it, any more than the way to reduce cancer is by outlawing it; people have to live healthy lives, knowingly and voluntarily. Rather than Christians parade the streets, better that they show us, by their thought, word, and deed, that their way of life is preferable to ours, and persuade us to follow their example.
Face it, people are going to screw around. It's what people do. Even the ten commandments recognize that, and say it's ok for married men (not women) to screw prostitutes.
The only way you can screw without any chance of anybody getting pregnant is homosexuality, and the abortion people don't allow that either. I will also wager that the entire crowd would also take to the streets to support an amendment against same sex marriage, especially if you made it punishable by death. No pleasing some people.
It's ridiculous if you say both no abortion and restrictions on MAP: where's Plan B? Or they think dead babies in trash cans is how you please god?
But that is not the point. The feeling I got from that crowd, a very strong clear signal, was that the issue was dominance, not abortion. They had seized on abortion as an issue to use to control other people, regardless of the cost, regardless of the suffering. Stay in your place! Stay under my thumb!
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Here's an interesting thought concerning leisure:
"The capacity of most people to occupy themselves usefully without spending money is diminishing." Henry Hobhouse, Seeds of Change
Why break your back making money if you're not going to spend it on something you enjoy? There may not be any great virtue in spending no money for leisure, but it does warrant taking stock. Children in Saigon could amuse themselves for hours with a rock and a can, any rock, any can, just pick something off the side of the road. I never understood the rules of the game, but it must have been fun, because they could spend a whole afternoon playing that way; sometimes flip-flops were also part of the game. Hours of leisure, no money spent. Can you imagine children in ______ (please fill in the name of the place you live) amusing themselves with a rock and a can? Can you imagine your local business community permitting that?
When I ramble through the mountains, my equipment is minimal. I wear the hiking boots I was born with and the sturdy clothes I wear around home. The only equipment I always carry is a laraw (headhunting knife), indispensable in these mountains, especially since I have trouble keeping to paths. I often carry a plastic bag in case I find some seeds. That's about it, unless I take along the camera.
Camera: now there's a hobby that can eat up money if you please. Like stereos. Some people spend so much time tuning the newest gadgets on their stereo that they don't have any time left over to listen to music. That's going a bit far. Like the photographers who spend so much time and effort on their lenses and filters and light meters that they don't have energy left to go take photos.
Is the point of leisure to have a good time, or to show others how much time and money you have to waste?
Don't even talk to me about that vile abomination, golf.
"The capacity of most people to occupy themselves usefully without spending money is diminishing." Henry Hobhouse, Seeds of Change
Why break your back making money if you're not going to spend it on something you enjoy? There may not be any great virtue in spending no money for leisure, but it does warrant taking stock. Children in Saigon could amuse themselves for hours with a rock and a can, any rock, any can, just pick something off the side of the road. I never understood the rules of the game, but it must have been fun, because they could spend a whole afternoon playing that way; sometimes flip-flops were also part of the game. Hours of leisure, no money spent. Can you imagine children in ______ (please fill in the name of the place you live) amusing themselves with a rock and a can? Can you imagine your local business community permitting that?
When I ramble through the mountains, my equipment is minimal. I wear the hiking boots I was born with and the sturdy clothes I wear around home. The only equipment I always carry is a laraw (headhunting knife), indispensable in these mountains, especially since I have trouble keeping to paths. I often carry a plastic bag in case I find some seeds. That's about it, unless I take along the camera.
Camera: now there's a hobby that can eat up money if you please. Like stereos. Some people spend so much time tuning the newest gadgets on their stereo that they don't have any time left over to listen to music. That's going a bit far. Like the photographers who spend so much time and effort on their lenses and filters and light meters that they don't have energy left to go take photos.
Is the point of leisure to have a good time, or to show others how much time and money you have to waste?
Don't even talk to me about that vile abomination, golf.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Sunday, January 14, 2007
I got a really funny spam:
Get a diploma without all the hassle
Yeah, right, all the hassle of learning.
Is that funny or sad?
Another great one:
In just as little as 2 weeks you can have a masters degree from a national university. No books to buy, no classes to go to and no entrance exams.
Learn in your own home at your own pace. We supply all the study materials, all you have to do is apply! Everyone is accepted!
Isn't that wonderful? You learn in your home at your own pace; just finish your coursework and thesis in two weeks, and bingo, instant Master's degree.
I'd have more confidence if they'd learn how to punctuate.
I once knew a loser who went out and bought himself a pair of glasses with plain glass instead of lenses. He was pitifully proud of himself. He told me, "See? 三百塊買氣質For only three hundred NT I can look educated." I wanted to tell him, No, for three hundred NT you look like a loser wearing a pair of fake glasses.
Get a diploma without all the hassle
Yeah, right, all the hassle of learning.
Is that funny or sad?
Another great one:
In just as little as 2 weeks you can have a masters degree from a national university. No books to buy, no classes to go to and no entrance exams.
Learn in your own home at your own pace. We supply all the study materials, all you have to do is apply! Everyone is accepted!
Isn't that wonderful? You learn in your home at your own pace; just finish your coursework and thesis in two weeks, and bingo, instant Master's degree.
I'd have more confidence if they'd learn how to punctuate.
I once knew a loser who went out and bought himself a pair of glasses with plain glass instead of lenses. He was pitifully proud of himself. He told me, "See? 三百塊買氣質For only three hundred NT I can look educated." I wanted to tell him, No, for three hundred NT you look like a loser wearing a pair of fake glasses.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
論語‧子路‧葉公問政。子答曰，近者悅、遠者來。
扁政下，臺灣人民悅不悅，似乎不是很悅，除非看臺灣經濟、國際地位一路下退為樂。陳總統說拼外交、要國際化；誠意有多少？
若遠者來，對臺灣經濟、文化有貢獻，但要遠友來，必須要有引誘，例如良好投資環境、平等工作機會、相同福利等等；並且要讓外人感到歡迎，不論國籍、膚色、宗教等等。如果統治者對付自己國民分化族群、極化國民，外國人才更感到不安，所以不會選擇來臺灣工作。
陳總統這方面的努力如何？這兩三年來增加很多限制，不給外籍人士投資機會，不讓外籍人士設公司，不給外籍人士平等福利(如退休金)等等，似乎這幾年給外國人的限制增加不少，這樣能吸引多少外籍人士來為臺灣效力？
嘴巴上說拼外交、要國際化，僅是賣力飛往小國家去觀光、在本島處處貼上不成英文的標誌，這是不夠的。
以一個多年住臺灣的外國人眼光來看，我覺得，對外國人，臺灣民間的態度是歡迎、開放，而陳總統政權的態度是排斥、封閉。
扁政下，臺灣人民悅不悅，似乎不是很悅，除非看臺灣經濟、國際地位一路下退為樂。陳總統說拼外交、要國際化；誠意有多少？
若遠者來，對臺灣經濟、文化有貢獻，但要遠友來，必須要有引誘，例如良好投資環境、平等工作機會、相同福利等等；並且要讓外人感到歡迎，不論國籍、膚色、宗教等等。如果統治者對付自己國民分化族群、極化國民，外國人才更感到不安，所以不會選擇來臺灣工作。
陳總統這方面的努力如何？這兩三年來增加很多限制，不給外籍人士投資機會，不讓外籍人士設公司，不給外籍人士平等福利(如退休金)等等，似乎這幾年給外國人的限制增加不少，這樣能吸引多少外籍人士來為臺灣效力？
嘴巴上說拼外交、要國際化，僅是賣力飛往小國家去觀光、在本島處處貼上不成英文的標誌，這是不夠的。
以一個多年住臺灣的外國人眼光來看，我覺得，對外國人，臺灣民間的態度是歡迎、開放，而陳總統政權的態度是排斥、封閉。
Thursday, January 11, 2007
美國人很直，一就是一、二就是二，不要囉嗦，說話算話，很不喜歡鑽漏洞、狡辯文過的人。
很多美國人不諒解President Clinton，不是因為他作錯事，而是因為事後狡辯。很多民眾的看法是，誰都會犯錯，可是錯了他應該坦然認錯；如果這樣的話，大家不怪他，可是他的解釋太多。太不老實。
依我對美國民族性的了解，陳水扁明明不受歡迎，偏要過境美國，在美國人眼中，這種行為不老實、卑鄙，這樣會引起美國人的極度反感、排斥，因而會瞧不起他與他所代表的臺灣。即使原先同情的人，也因而瞧不起。
所謂的「拼外交」原來只是熱臉貼冷屁股。
陳水扁的外交到底是求實際效果，或者不計後果演給中南部鄉下人看？下次乾脆把電子琴一塊帶去，受限在飯店時可以奏一些悲慘可憐的曲子，奪取阿公阿媽的熱淚。
很多美國人不諒解President Clinton，不是因為他作錯事，而是因為事後狡辯。很多民眾的看法是，誰都會犯錯，可是錯了他應該坦然認錯；如果這樣的話，大家不怪他，可是他的解釋太多。太不老實。
依我對美國民族性的了解，陳水扁明明不受歡迎，偏要過境美國，在美國人眼中，這種行為不老實、卑鄙，這樣會引起美國人的極度反感、排斥，因而會瞧不起他與他所代表的臺灣。即使原先同情的人，也因而瞧不起。
所謂的「拼外交」原來只是熱臉貼冷屁股。
陳水扁的外交到底是求實際效果，或者不計後果演給中南部鄉下人看？下次乾脆把電子琴一塊帶去，受限在飯店時可以奏一些悲慘可憐的曲子，奪取阿公阿媽的熱淚。
=====
又：聽說他與Pelosi波洛西通電話，很難想像他們的對談："No, sir, on your visa I am afraid you cannot get a job here. Yes sir, yes, I know you are qualified, but I am sorry, McDonald's does not hire illegal immigrants. What? Really? Yes sir, I do believe that your 臺南擔擔麵 is delicious, but ~~ sir, sir, will you listen to me? You have to understand that there are no night markets in the United States, so there would be no place for your stand here. Yes, yes, I know you have deposited huge amounts of money in American banks, but we have to take immigration laws into consideration, plus the IRS is curious about the source of all that money….”
又：聽說他與Pelosi波洛西通電話，很難想像他們的對談："No, sir, on your visa I am afraid you cannot get a job here. Yes sir, yes, I know you are qualified, but I am sorry, McDonald's does not hire illegal immigrants. What? Really? Yes sir, I do believe that your 臺南擔擔麵 is delicious, but ~~ sir, sir, will you listen to me? You have to understand that there are no night markets in the United States, so there would be no place for your stand here. Yes, yes, I know you have deposited huge amounts of money in American banks, but we have to take immigration laws into consideration, plus the IRS is curious about the source of all that money….”
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
The day before yesterday I explained that I did not carry a gun in Viet Nam. For a time I did carry a pair of rice thrashers, which the initiated called nunchaku/連耞(雙節棍) but we called numchuks.
I learned how to use numchuks before Bruce Lee shot his comedies. If you don't know how to use them, they are as deadly to yourself as to anybody in the immediate vicinity, not only because they are hard to control as you swing them, but also because they bounce funny. You may swing and connect, but if you don't take the bounce into account, they may swing back and crack you in the head. And good luck to you if you swing and don't connect on your target! Your numchuks will find something to connect with: you.
A landslide buried the legs of a rattan chair in back of our house, so I used that. I spent months and months hitting the springy rattan, and trying to spring back before the rice thrashers thrashed me on the backswing. Eventually I got the hang of it, so I could hit anything with full power at no danger to myself.
The secret of using numchuks is, keep it simple, and whack anything that comes within range. Nobody survives a direct hit from numchuks, so just hold one end in one hand, let the other end dangle, and whack anything that comes within range. No need for anything fancy, because they are such a devastating weapon: one hit does it all. It sounds simple, but it takes practice. And it is effective.
Then Bruce Lee came along with his ludicrous armpit grip. You have to understand that Lee did a lot of moves for movies that he himself thought were worthless in real life. You see people wailing around with numchuks up down and over, whoosh whoosh whoosh, either they don't know what they are doing or they are just practicing for control of the weapon. Practicing for control is fine, just so you know better than to think you could use that to defend yourself.
If I were attacking somebody who used numchuks under the influence of Bruce Lee, I would just provoke him a bit, and stay out of range as I enjoyed the spectacle of the imbecile bashing himself with his own weapon.
Bruce Lee's armpit grip makes as much sense as Bruce Tegner's devastating chop. For the younger generation: Bruce Tegner was this guy who, when martial arts were first getting known in the West, made a career out of writing books full of moves that were parodies of real martial arts. His devastating chop was performed in this manner: first shape your right hand into a deadly hand knife chop, and prepare for delivery; hold it straining against your left hand until the appropriate moment at which you release the left hand and your right hand rockets outward with all the ferocity and killing power of a plate of cold spaghetti.
The armpit grip is fine if you don't mind cracking your elbow, breaking your ribs, slowing down your weapon, and reducing its efficiency by 90%. In other words, Bruce Lee's armpit numchuk grip is great if you're a blatant fool who doesn't understand the martial arts. But you may as well carry a brick and just hit yourself on the forehead with that.
I learned how to use numchuks before Bruce Lee shot his comedies. If you don't know how to use them, they are as deadly to yourself as to anybody in the immediate vicinity, not only because they are hard to control as you swing them, but also because they bounce funny. You may swing and connect, but if you don't take the bounce into account, they may swing back and crack you in the head. And good luck to you if you swing and don't connect on your target! Your numchuks will find something to connect with: you.
A landslide buried the legs of a rattan chair in back of our house, so I used that. I spent months and months hitting the springy rattan, and trying to spring back before the rice thrashers thrashed me on the backswing. Eventually I got the hang of it, so I could hit anything with full power at no danger to myself.
The secret of using numchuks is, keep it simple, and whack anything that comes within range. Nobody survives a direct hit from numchuks, so just hold one end in one hand, let the other end dangle, and whack anything that comes within range. No need for anything fancy, because they are such a devastating weapon: one hit does it all. It sounds simple, but it takes practice. And it is effective.
Then Bruce Lee came along with his ludicrous armpit grip. You have to understand that Lee did a lot of moves for movies that he himself thought were worthless in real life. You see people wailing around with numchuks up down and over, whoosh whoosh whoosh, either they don't know what they are doing or they are just practicing for control of the weapon. Practicing for control is fine, just so you know better than to think you could use that to defend yourself.
If I were attacking somebody who used numchuks under the influence of Bruce Lee, I would just provoke him a bit, and stay out of range as I enjoyed the spectacle of the imbecile bashing himself with his own weapon.
Bruce Lee's armpit grip makes as much sense as Bruce Tegner's devastating chop. For the younger generation: Bruce Tegner was this guy who, when martial arts were first getting known in the West, made a career out of writing books full of moves that were parodies of real martial arts. His devastating chop was performed in this manner: first shape your right hand into a deadly hand knife chop, and prepare for delivery; hold it straining against your left hand until the appropriate moment at which you release the left hand and your right hand rockets outward with all the ferocity and killing power of a plate of cold spaghetti.
The armpit grip is fine if you don't mind cracking your elbow, breaking your ribs, slowing down your weapon, and reducing its efficiency by 90%. In other words, Bruce Lee's armpit numchuk grip is great if you're a blatant fool who doesn't understand the martial arts. But you may as well carry a brick and just hit yourself on the forehead with that.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
歲末不利我家狗。January is not a good month for my dogs. Bengax died two years ago next week. Last January pesky Yumin spent a day and a night in a snare.
This morning I heard a ruckus off in the jungle, dogs squealing and barking. When I opened the front door, Byajing was not there to greet me: unusual, to say the least. Tlahuy and Yumin were tense but subdued. By this time, there was only one dog barking, far away.
I strapped on my knife and headed up the mountain. Soon I could tell that I was uphill and northwest of the barking dog; as I headed closer, I recognized Byajing's bark. I called to her, she barked, and I headed straight across the jungle towards the sound. Tlahuy lead the way. There was no more barking, but soon I saw Tlahuy wagging his tail as he rushed into a patch of taro. Byajing lay on the ground, tired and frightened, with her front right paw caught in a trap.
There was some blood, but the wound did not look deep. I comforted her and very carefully released her foot from the trap. She fell back trembling. I removed the trap and tied it up on a tree, then picked up Byajing and carried her home.
Fu's dog Blackbean got stuck in a trap last year, so I carried Byajing over to ask if he had any medicine left. He had none, but we inspected Byajing's paw, and the injury seemed very light. She was more scared than hurt. "Let her lick it for a day or two and she'll be as good as new."
That's what I thought too, but just to be on the safe side, I phoned Denise the Vet. Her assistant suggested I take Byajing in for an X-ray, to make sure no bones were broken. I arranged for Chang to take us in his taxi, but when it was time to leave, there was no sign of Byajing or Tlahuy. Yumin squirmed guilefully in the doghouse, but I could find no sign of either Tlahuy or Byajing.
Finally, I went down and told Chang, "We've got a problem, Byajing doesn't want to go." He told me to take my time, so I came back up and after I called a few more times, Byajing very unwillingly crawled out of the underbrush to me. I picked her up and carried her to the taxi, where she jumped out of my arms and frisked around with Yumin. "She looks okay to me," Chang said. I picked her up again. We examined her foot. The injury was barely noticeable by then. I squeezed her paw, first lightly then harder, and she didn't even pay attention. Finally we decided that Byajing had had enough unpleasantness for the day, no need to put her in the car: she dislikes riding in cars.
Tlahuy did not show himself until we came back up from the road. I have no idea where he hid Byajing.
I wrote a note asking the trapper not to place traps near the village, and left it in a plastic bag by his traps, hanging sprung from a tree.
=====
Byajing told Tlahuy and Yumin, "Isn't he intelligent? This morning when I barked, he very quickly came and released me from the trap. He is very well trained. Good boy, Yugan, good boy!"
All's well that ends well.
This morning I heard a ruckus off in the jungle, dogs squealing and barking. When I opened the front door, Byajing was not there to greet me: unusual, to say the least. Tlahuy and Yumin were tense but subdued. By this time, there was only one dog barking, far away.
I strapped on my knife and headed up the mountain. Soon I could tell that I was uphill and northwest of the barking dog; as I headed closer, I recognized Byajing's bark. I called to her, she barked, and I headed straight across the jungle towards the sound. Tlahuy lead the way. There was no more barking, but soon I saw Tlahuy wagging his tail as he rushed into a patch of taro. Byajing lay on the ground, tired and frightened, with her front right paw caught in a trap.
There was some blood, but the wound did not look deep. I comforted her and very carefully released her foot from the trap. She fell back trembling. I removed the trap and tied it up on a tree, then picked up Byajing and carried her home.
Fu's dog Blackbean got stuck in a trap last year, so I carried Byajing over to ask if he had any medicine left. He had none, but we inspected Byajing's paw, and the injury seemed very light. She was more scared than hurt. "Let her lick it for a day or two and she'll be as good as new."
That's what I thought too, but just to be on the safe side, I phoned Denise the Vet. Her assistant suggested I take Byajing in for an X-ray, to make sure no bones were broken. I arranged for Chang to take us in his taxi, but when it was time to leave, there was no sign of Byajing or Tlahuy. Yumin squirmed guilefully in the doghouse, but I could find no sign of either Tlahuy or Byajing.
Finally, I went down and told Chang, "We've got a problem, Byajing doesn't want to go." He told me to take my time, so I came back up and after I called a few more times, Byajing very unwillingly crawled out of the underbrush to me. I picked her up and carried her to the taxi, where she jumped out of my arms and frisked around with Yumin. "She looks okay to me," Chang said. I picked her up again. We examined her foot. The injury was barely noticeable by then. I squeezed her paw, first lightly then harder, and she didn't even pay attention. Finally we decided that Byajing had had enough unpleasantness for the day, no need to put her in the car: she dislikes riding in cars.
Tlahuy did not show himself until we came back up from the road. I have no idea where he hid Byajing.
I wrote a note asking the trapper not to place traps near the village, and left it in a plastic bag by his traps, hanging sprung from a tree.
=====
Byajing told Tlahuy and Yumin, "Isn't he intelligent? This morning when I barked, he very quickly came and released me from the trap. He is very well trained. Good boy, Yugan, good boy!"
All's well that ends well.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Somebody asked if I carried a gun while I was in Viet Nam. No. There was a war going on so everybody was armed to the teeth. My pizza deliveries took me way out into the boondocks, where they fought with M16s, AK47s, and up: mortars, tanks, helicopters, machine guns. If somebody was going to make a fuss, what could I do that would make any sort of impression? Carry a rocket launcher?
I was definitely the only American male who did not carry a firearm in that very macho environment: my gun's bigger than your gun! A lot of clubs and restaurants had a 50 gallon barrel filled with sand at the entrance. Upon entering, etiquette required you empty your firearms into that, rather than into the clientele.
My pizza route often went through Viet Cong and North Viet Namese Army territory. Being armed would have made me a combatant. Unarmed, I was simply an idiot. My theory was, the people fighting the war shot at combatants, not at idiots, so I was safer unarmed.
For a while, I did carry a pair of numchuks (rice thrashers, nunchaku, 連耞，雙節棍) on my belt, because in close quarters in Saigon – the only situation in which I would have a remote chance of survival anyway – they were as good as a pistol. Nobody knew what they were, since Bruce Lee's ridiculous movies hadn't been filmed yet, so any potential berserkers were mystified long enough for me to remove myself to more hospitable situations. The numchuks were good solid oak, and heavy, so they pulled down my belt, though, and I gave them up. When I came to Taiwan, Tam Gibbs/唐模 introduced me to black paper fans/杭州黑扇, so whenever I went back to Viet Nam, I carried one always. It too mystified people, and it did save my life, again and again, by providing me with a fresh breeze under the hot sun. More than any gun could do.
And anyway, I don't think my mother would have let me have a gun. Granted, Mother's permission was not a factor that concerned many of the spooky types running around shooting people, but for me, it was decisive. So no, I never did carry a gun in Viet Nam.
I was definitely the only American male who did not carry a firearm in that very macho environment: my gun's bigger than your gun! A lot of clubs and restaurants had a 50 gallon barrel filled with sand at the entrance. Upon entering, etiquette required you empty your firearms into that, rather than into the clientele.
My pizza route often went through Viet Cong and North Viet Namese Army territory. Being armed would have made me a combatant. Unarmed, I was simply an idiot. My theory was, the people fighting the war shot at combatants, not at idiots, so I was safer unarmed.
For a while, I did carry a pair of numchuks (rice thrashers, nunchaku, 連耞，雙節棍) on my belt, because in close quarters in Saigon – the only situation in which I would have a remote chance of survival anyway – they were as good as a pistol. Nobody knew what they were, since Bruce Lee's ridiculous movies hadn't been filmed yet, so any potential berserkers were mystified long enough for me to remove myself to more hospitable situations. The numchuks were good solid oak, and heavy, so they pulled down my belt, though, and I gave them up. When I came to Taiwan, Tam Gibbs/唐模 introduced me to black paper fans/杭州黑扇, so whenever I went back to Viet Nam, I carried one always. It too mystified people, and it did save my life, again and again, by providing me with a fresh breeze under the hot sun. More than any gun could do.
And anyway, I don't think my mother would have let me have a gun. Granted, Mother's permission was not a factor that concerned many of the spooky types running around shooting people, but for me, it was decisive. So no, I never did carry a gun in Viet Nam.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
電線桿上寫「死後有審判」。其實不對：時時刻刻都有審判，而判官是自己。每一個念頭、每一個抉擇，都在審判，我是甚麼樣的人？我對自己的要求、規範是甚麼？我作人作事堂堂正正、光明磊落，或者偷雞摸狗？敬業盡職或偷工減料？對自己、對家人、對社會負責，或敢作不敢當？是君子是小人？
每一剎那每一個念頭都在審判自身的期許、原則、操守。這些點點滴滴加起來造成習慣，習慣造成個性，個性塑造命運。死後哪有閻羅王？投胎轉世由自己念頭決定的。
常常作甚麼樣的思維，就是甚麼樣的人、甚麼樣的心；業由斯而織成，下一世就這麼決定。重要的審判不在死後，而是在日常生活舉止中。
閻羅王能作的頂多是在成績單上批分數，可是分數卻是自己用生命計的。
每一剎那每一個念頭都在審判自身的期許、原則、操守。這些點點滴滴加起來造成習慣，習慣造成個性，個性塑造命運。死後哪有閻羅王？投胎轉世由自己念頭決定的。
常常作甚麼樣的思維，就是甚麼樣的人、甚麼樣的心；業由斯而織成，下一世就這麼決定。重要的審判不在死後，而是在日常生活舉止中。
閻羅王能作的頂多是在成績單上批分數，可是分數卻是自己用生命計的。
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Friday, January 05, 2007
Did you see what the Pope said about college students?
"The students at the new university devote themselves largely to pleasure and are avid for food and wine, and they are not restrained by any discipline."
Isn't that so! He goes on to comment acerbically on how easily excited they are by "shameless women." Really, wouldn't you say it's tragic how young people don't have any respect for the virtues and traditions of their elders? Have they totally forgotten old time religion? Why can't they follow the rules and commandments that have been passed down by their forefathers? If they would just obey their elders and consent to learn from the wisdom of earlier ages, why, the world would be a much better place to live in, don't you agree?
Before you agree too quickly, I should admit that the pope we're discussing here was Pius II, and he wrote that around 1458.
"The students at the new university devote themselves largely to pleasure and are avid for food and wine, and they are not restrained by any discipline."
Isn't that so! He goes on to comment acerbically on how easily excited they are by "shameless women." Really, wouldn't you say it's tragic how young people don't have any respect for the virtues and traditions of their elders? Have they totally forgotten old time religion? Why can't they follow the rules and commandments that have been passed down by their forefathers? If they would just obey their elders and consent to learn from the wisdom of earlier ages, why, the world would be a much better place to live in, don't you agree?
Before you agree too quickly, I should admit that the pope we're discussing here was Pius II, and he wrote that around 1458.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
