The Tri 9 Bakery as it appeared in 2001. We used to come and go from the other gate. The peach colored room on the second floor was my bedroom.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Friday, February 10, 2006
Cool weather, about 12C this afternoon and dropping. The sun burst through the clouds for a moment at noon. The afternoon was cloudy but not dreary. The mountains were muffled in mists that muted the colors, except for the stipples of light green where camphor trees are budding. I wanted to catch the 5:15 bus to New Store for my pottery class, but I was a bit late, so I was walking briskly. To keep up a good pace, I sang Peggy of Fife, and then Kevin Barry. I followed that with The Rising of the Moon, and then Tipperary. Tipperary sounded good. I finished as I passed the defunct toll booth, and decided to sing it again. I turned right onto the bridge just as I sang the first line,
The moon it shown down
and stopped dead in my tracks. The peak of Ulay Mountain, 700 meters overhead, was hushed in drapes of mists flowing in from Bucket Peak, a hundred meters higher than Ulay. Each valley showed a different tint of grey blue green, and the trees on each ridge stood clear in soft profile. The moon, three days shy of full, had just risen above the V between the peaks, with just enough light to stand away from the muted sky and to poke through the gentle mists.
Minutes later, I remembered to shut my mouth. If I live to be a hundred, I may be lucky enough to see something so beautiful again.
The moon it shown down
and stopped dead in my tracks. The peak of Ulay Mountain, 700 meters overhead, was hushed in drapes of mists flowing in from Bucket Peak, a hundred meters higher than Ulay. Each valley showed a different tint of grey blue green, and the trees on each ridge stood clear in soft profile. The moon, three days shy of full, had just risen above the V between the peaks, with just enough light to stand away from the muted sky and to poke through the gentle mists.
Minutes later, I remembered to shut my mouth. If I live to be a hundred, I may be lucky enough to see something so beautiful again.
Sometimes I really can't figure out what's going on. Ever since Apollo 11, the standard of education in the US has been leaping downhill like an Olympic slalom racer. It's like we accomplished what we wanted with the moon shot and moved on to other things. Now His Travesty, The Most Exalted President Bush proposes a budget slashing funds for education. He's eliminating programs he doesn't think are necessary, such as arts, math, technology, foreign language, and drug-free schools (of course we all understand why he isn't in favor of drug-free schools).
Ok, sure, you can't be using money on kids when you could be spending that money for the war in Iraq. Think of all the Iraqis you could shoot for the price of a junior high school laboratory that the kids wouldn't appreciate anyway. American kids don't want an education, they want the latest basketball shoes. With fries. What do we need with arts, or math, or technology? Just outsource them. Foreign languages? You should hear some of those Indians on support lines, you would swear they grew up in Ohio. So why bother with foreign languages?
In the meantime, on another front, parents in California are preparing to sue the State, because California law requires students to pass tests to graduate from high school. They say it's unfair that their kids have to be able to read and write to graduate from high school, because it's hard to get a job without a high school diploma.
Well, duh! Some people have jellyfish where their brains should be. This kind of … no, I can't call it thinking…. cranial activity? …whatever… this kind of chaotic neuron firing shows precisely why standards in education are necessary: education is supposed to teach you how to think. They can't. Looks like the only job that'll be open for them is President of the US.
Ok, sure, you can't be using money on kids when you could be spending that money for the war in Iraq. Think of all the Iraqis you could shoot for the price of a junior high school laboratory that the kids wouldn't appreciate anyway. American kids don't want an education, they want the latest basketball shoes. With fries. What do we need with arts, or math, or technology? Just outsource them. Foreign languages? You should hear some of those Indians on support lines, you would swear they grew up in Ohio. So why bother with foreign languages?
In the meantime, on another front, parents in California are preparing to sue the State, because California law requires students to pass tests to graduate from high school. They say it's unfair that their kids have to be able to read and write to graduate from high school, because it's hard to get a job without a high school diploma.
Well, duh! Some people have jellyfish where their brains should be. This kind of … no, I can't call it thinking…. cranial activity? …whatever… this kind of chaotic neuron firing shows precisely why standards in education are necessary: education is supposed to teach you how to think. They can't. Looks like the only job that'll be open for them is President of the US.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
The world is such a confusing place. To protest a cartoon in a Danish newspaper depicting Islam as a violent religion, Muslims riot, kill innocent people, attack embassies, and assault a US army base.
The Danish journalists have received death threats. That should teach them to insinuate that Muslims are violent! However, the cartoons would not have received second notice if not for the hard work of Ahmed Abu Laban, the religious director of the Muslim Society in Copenhagen, who evidently endeavored to stir this up. It's interesting to hear him try to dismount the tiger now:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5195798
The Danish journalists have received death threats. That should teach them to insinuate that Muslims are violent! However, the cartoons would not have received second notice if not for the hard work of Ahmed Abu Laban, the religious director of the Muslim Society in Copenhagen, who evidently endeavored to stir this up. It's interesting to hear him try to dismount the tiger now:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5195798
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
百行，孝為先。
甚麼叫做孝？
對父母好。
怎麼樣才是對父母好？
要孝順父母，就是對父母好。
為甚麼要孝順父母？
因為百行，孝為先。
這種思攷邏輯對社會一點好處都沒有。人云亦云，要孝順父母，但是孝道是甚麼，就不肯用心思攷：這就不孝。孝經薄薄一本，起碼拿出來翻一翻再噴飛口沫，可以吧。
如果父母要講孝，家庭教育已經告失敗。孝應該是子女理所當然流露出的，由衷的敬愛之心…講到此，好像已經跟現實開始脫節。現在家庭已不像已前，為生活重心。孩子生出來放小床跟父母隔離，喝奶粉長大，趕快送去給保母、托兒所、幼稚園、安親班、補習班管，然後責求孩子孝順。要求孝順，在很多父母嘴裡的意義有兩種：一、薪水帶回家敬奉父母；二、傳宗接代，生個寶寶，讓兩個老的有個玩具在鄰居面前炫。這種人常用一句壓人，不孝有三，喂喂喂，另外兩個是甚麼？管它的，生個寶寶來玩一玩。
不孝有三，這句不是孔子講的，是魯蛋弟子曾驂說的。曾驂對孝的觀念，總是很偏的，可能是因為是被虐兒童，長大成人，父親還是把他當出氣桶，拿棍子打，打到昏過去，快出人命了，驂以為忍住不逃就是孝順。這件事被孔子知道了，差點把曾驂開除，很誠摯地問他，你頭腦壞掉了是嗎？你以為你這樣算是孝順嗎？
真正孝順，是要量狀況而為。不忠不孝，不是人；但是盲目效忠、愚蠢孝順，對國家社會家庭有損無益。
甚麼叫做孝？
對父母好。
怎麼樣才是對父母好？
要孝順父母，就是對父母好。
為甚麼要孝順父母？
因為百行，孝為先。
這種思攷邏輯對社會一點好處都沒有。人云亦云，要孝順父母，但是孝道是甚麼，就不肯用心思攷：這就不孝。孝經薄薄一本，起碼拿出來翻一翻再噴飛口沫，可以吧。
如果父母要講孝，家庭教育已經告失敗。孝應該是子女理所當然流露出的，由衷的敬愛之心…講到此，好像已經跟現實開始脫節。現在家庭已不像已前，為生活重心。孩子生出來放小床跟父母隔離，喝奶粉長大，趕快送去給保母、托兒所、幼稚園、安親班、補習班管，然後責求孩子孝順。要求孝順，在很多父母嘴裡的意義有兩種：一、薪水帶回家敬奉父母；二、傳宗接代，生個寶寶，讓兩個老的有個玩具在鄰居面前炫。這種人常用一句壓人，不孝有三，喂喂喂，另外兩個是甚麼？管它的，生個寶寶來玩一玩。
不孝有三，這句不是孔子講的，是魯蛋弟子曾驂說的。曾驂對孝的觀念，總是很偏的，可能是因為是被虐兒童，長大成人，父親還是把他當出氣桶，拿棍子打，打到昏過去，快出人命了，驂以為忍住不逃就是孝順。這件事被孔子知道了，差點把曾驂開除，很誠摯地問他，你頭腦壞掉了是嗎？你以為你這樣算是孝順嗎？
真正孝順，是要量狀況而為。不忠不孝，不是人；但是盲目效忠、愚蠢孝順，對國家社會家庭有損無益。
Monday, February 06, 2006
pointed remarks on censorship
A furor has risen over American Internet companies complying with PRC requirements that they censor the Web in communist China. While I do not intend to be an apologist for any company or any government, I think the situation warrants another look.
The first point to remember is that world leaders dread political instability in China, and will go to any lengths to avoid the possibility of, say, eighty million Chinese refugees fleeing the country. Make noise, but better to keep the communists in power and let them hold the lid on the pot.
The second point to remember is that the PRC government, like all governments, places great importance on face and maintaining appearances. Yowling that they are in charge satisfies fat cats.
The third point to remember is that the PRC government, Yahoo, and Microsoft all know better than you or I how cunning Chinese hackers are. Example: Microsoft introduced a new package – I recall it was Windows 2000 – with the boast that the encryption was so perfect and so unhackable that nobody would ever be able to pirate it. The gauntlet had been flung down; the race was on. Taiwan won, cracking the encryption early in the afternoon of the first day of issue, and hackers in the PRC cracked it an hour or two later.
So tell me how Yahoo and Google are going to keep determined Chinese computer users from finding whatever websites they please. I think this is just a face-saving device. American companies have put up some nominal barriers for the PRC government, they make their money, US lawmakers make their headlines by denouncing Bill Gates, and everybody is happy. It would be nice if freedom of speech were enjoyed by all people everywhere, but since it's not, I can say with reasonable assurance that at the moment I write this, hundreds of thousands of Chinese hackers are happily hacking their way through the Great Wall of Chinese Internet.
A furor has risen over American Internet companies complying with PRC requirements that they censor the Web in communist China. While I do not intend to be an apologist for any company or any government, I think the situation warrants another look.
The first point to remember is that world leaders dread political instability in China, and will go to any lengths to avoid the possibility of, say, eighty million Chinese refugees fleeing the country. Make noise, but better to keep the communists in power and let them hold the lid on the pot.
The second point to remember is that the PRC government, like all governments, places great importance on face and maintaining appearances. Yowling that they are in charge satisfies fat cats.
The third point to remember is that the PRC government, Yahoo, and Microsoft all know better than you or I how cunning Chinese hackers are. Example: Microsoft introduced a new package – I recall it was Windows 2000 – with the boast that the encryption was so perfect and so unhackable that nobody would ever be able to pirate it. The gauntlet had been flung down; the race was on. Taiwan won, cracking the encryption early in the afternoon of the first day of issue, and hackers in the PRC cracked it an hour or two later.
So tell me how Yahoo and Google are going to keep determined Chinese computer users from finding whatever websites they please. I think this is just a face-saving device. American companies have put up some nominal barriers for the PRC government, they make their money, US lawmakers make their headlines by denouncing Bill Gates, and everybody is happy. It would be nice if freedom of speech were enjoyed by all people everywhere, but since it's not, I can say with reasonable assurance that at the moment I write this, hundreds of thousands of Chinese hackers are happily hacking their way through the Great Wall of Chinese Internet.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Friday, February 03, 2006
This morning shortly after 10:30 I was surprised to hear two eagles calling on the slope north of my house, because it was drizzling and eagles rarely fly or announce their presence in rain. One was calling sharply, the other practically cooing. I have never heard eagles coo. Then the shrieker flew directly south, past the back of my house, and flew away. A few minutes later the other eagle flew clockwise around my house and perched on the big camphor tree, where it cooed for several minutes. I have never seen eagles behaving so.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
有一次我到六龜拜見廣欽老和尚時，來了三個中年佛子，程度都很高，各自準備了問題，與老和尚對對禪鋒。
他們問的問題都太深，記不得。我只記得第一位的問題的開始：假如有一個人，左手摸著非想天，右手摸著非非想天…天啊，問題又深又長，總于問完了，很滿意地看著老和尚，九十幾歲的老和尚回答：念佛。
第一個回到坐位，第二個上陣，問的問題更深更長，總于問完了，很滿意地看著老和尚，老和尚回答：念佛。
第二個回到坐位，第三個上陣，問的問題非常深非常長，總于問完了，很滿意地看著老和尚，老和尚回答：念佛。
第三個回到坐位。三個人排排坐，不講話，各擺深思狀。一回兒，老和尚似乎睡著了。片刻醒過來，站起來了，抖抖衣服，瞪三位飽學佛子，斥詈一句：妄想！走兩步又回頭，指著他們，厲聲補充說明：妄想！都是妄想！一搖一晃離去了。
他們問的問題都太深，記不得。我只記得第一位的問題的開始：假如有一個人，左手摸著非想天，右手摸著非非想天…天啊，問題又深又長，總于問完了，很滿意地看著老和尚，九十幾歲的老和尚回答：念佛。
第一個回到坐位，第二個上陣，問的問題更深更長，總于問完了，很滿意地看著老和尚，老和尚回答：念佛。
第二個回到坐位，第三個上陣，問的問題非常深非常長，總于問完了，很滿意地看著老和尚，老和尚回答：念佛。
第三個回到坐位。三個人排排坐，不講話，各擺深思狀。一回兒，老和尚似乎睡著了。片刻醒過來，站起來了，抖抖衣服，瞪三位飽學佛子，斥詈一句：妄想！走兩步又回頭，指著他們，厲聲補充說明：妄想！都是妄想！一搖一晃離去了。
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Monday, January 30, 2006
未時，上坡的溫泉館放鞭炮，十分鐘不熄。知道是年節了吧。
民國六十幾年的臺北市，由尾牙到元宵，沖天炮不停；除夕從亥到丑，鞭炮不斷。不管在臺北哪一個角落，一樣只聽到轟隆炮爆聲，沒有方向、沒有距離。全市濃厚火藥味，久久而散。
說鞭炮危險嘛，製造鞭炮危險，玩鞭炮不一定危險。畢竟中國小孩比美國小孩能思考。兩個美國小朋友兩個爆竹怎麼玩？"I can hold it longer than you can!"兩個美國小朋友一個爆竹怎麼玩？"I dare you to stick it up your nose!" 中國人發明火藥，玩爆竹歷史悠久，那種基因大概在宋元明已經淘汰。玩鞭炮不一定危險，但是製造鞭炮危險：以前很多燄火工廠剎那間停止營業、拆員遷廠，到天國再會。為了讓這些燄火工廠裡煙癮發作的工人有機會傳香火，燄火業嚴格管理。現在這種炮風，都集中在鹽水。有意者自己去，俺不送，謝謝。
民國六十幾年的臺北市，由尾牙到元宵，沖天炮不停；除夕從亥到丑，鞭炮不斷。不管在臺北哪一個角落，一樣只聽到轟隆炮爆聲，沒有方向、沒有距離。全市濃厚火藥味，久久而散。
說鞭炮危險嘛，製造鞭炮危險，玩鞭炮不一定危險。畢竟中國小孩比美國小孩能思考。兩個美國小朋友兩個爆竹怎麼玩？"I can hold it longer than you can!"兩個美國小朋友一個爆竹怎麼玩？"I dare you to stick it up your nose!" 中國人發明火藥，玩爆竹歷史悠久，那種基因大概在宋元明已經淘汰。玩鞭炮不一定危險，但是製造鞭炮危險：以前很多燄火工廠剎那間停止營業、拆員遷廠，到天國再會。為了讓這些燄火工廠裡煙癮發作的工人有機會傳香火，燄火業嚴格管理。現在這種炮風，都集中在鹽水。有意者自己去，俺不送，謝謝。
Thursday, January 26, 2006
= Yugan, why are Americans so fat now?
=Junk food.
=Doesn't American food make you strong? Americans drink a lot of milk, don't they?
=That's one of the problems.
=What do you mean?
=Your body can't absorb calcium without phosphorous, so drinking milk alone is bad for your bones.
=Really?
=Sure, osteoporosis is a much bigger problem in the US than in Taiwan, because Americans drink more milk.
=But they say milk is good for you.
=Who says milk is good for you?
=Well… people who sell milk.
=See? If you want strong bones, stay away from milk. Eat leafy vegetables, because they have a high proportion of phosphorous to calcium, so your body can absorb lots of calcium. That's the way to build strong bones.
=Really?
=Sure, just think about how strong the Tayal used to be, and they never drank milk, did they?
=No, you're right, our people were much stronger before we started eating things like beef and milk.
=Because they ate a lot of wild vegetables, and millet.
=That's true. Our people had such strong bones that sometimes they might get hit by a headhunting knife without serious damage.
=Are you kidding?
=For real! Tayal are very strong, but sometimes we just don't think. Bones like iron, and heads like iron, too!
=How could that happen?
=When Tayal start doing something, sometimes we just do what we do and we don't think about it. So sometimes two men would be out clearing the underbrush, one working here and the other working there. They would be clearing out the underbrush, hacking and hacking with their headhunting knives, but they wouldn't think, Hey, he's over there, they just cut and cut and cut, and sometimes they would get too close and cut the other man.
=Then what?
=But usually the other man wouldn't be hurt too bad. These are headhunting knives and they chop down saplings with one cut, but the other man would not be cut too bad. Bones like iron, our Tayal had in the old days.
=Strong people.
=Right, and we didn't get that way by drinking milk or eating your American food!
=I know. The old folks weren't tall, but they were really strong.
=But Yugan, sometimes Tayal just don't think, they don't plan, so things like that would happen. I've served in the Army. They trained me how to plan so that sort of thing doesn't happen, but you know our old Tayal just don't have any brains at all. So sometimes they hit each other with the headhunting knives by accident, and the knife comes out worse than the Tayal.
=Amazing.
=Amazing how stupid we Tayal can be. No heads, no brains. Did you hear about Yutas and Yaki at the last community outing?
=No, what happened?
=You know we all went to that amusement park, right?
=I heard.
=They have this big heavy mallet, a ball, and a bell. If you hit the target hard enough with the mallet, the ball goes up and hits the bell. If your ball hits the bell you win a prize. Otherwise you can see your score.
=I know that sort of game.
=The Tayal took turns hitting the target, but although they are strong, they didn't hit the target on center, so the ball didn't hit the bell. Then Yaki said, You young men are useless, let an old lady show you how to do it, and she took the mallet.
=Then what happened?
=The mallet was heavier than she thought, so she could barely hit the target. So Yutas said, Yaki, you are useless, you are worse than the young men. Here, give me the mallet and I will show you how to hit the target so the ball hits the bell.
=Yeah, Yutas is an old man, but he's still strong.
=For sure, he chops all his firewood with an ax. So he said, Yaki, watch and I will show you how to use the mallet. Yugan, Tayal don't have any brains! Yutas took the mallet, and Yaki stood right behind him, watching over his shoulder. Yutas hoisted the mallet to give the bell a big hit, but he forgot Yaki was watching over his shoulder, so he knocked her clear out of the ring on the backswing!
=Was she hurt?
=No, the Tayal watching him caught her, but it ruined his swing.
=He should have gotten a prize for flinging his wife.
=I tell you, Yugan, we Tayal don't have any brains at all!
=Junk food.
=Doesn't American food make you strong? Americans drink a lot of milk, don't they?
=That's one of the problems.
=What do you mean?
=Your body can't absorb calcium without phosphorous, so drinking milk alone is bad for your bones.
=Really?
=Sure, osteoporosis is a much bigger problem in the US than in Taiwan, because Americans drink more milk.
=But they say milk is good for you.
=Who says milk is good for you?
=Well… people who sell milk.
=See? If you want strong bones, stay away from milk. Eat leafy vegetables, because they have a high proportion of phosphorous to calcium, so your body can absorb lots of calcium. That's the way to build strong bones.
=Really?
=Sure, just think about how strong the Tayal used to be, and they never drank milk, did they?
=No, you're right, our people were much stronger before we started eating things like beef and milk.
=Because they ate a lot of wild vegetables, and millet.
=That's true. Our people had such strong bones that sometimes they might get hit by a headhunting knife without serious damage.
=Are you kidding?
=For real! Tayal are very strong, but sometimes we just don't think. Bones like iron, and heads like iron, too!
=How could that happen?
=When Tayal start doing something, sometimes we just do what we do and we don't think about it. So sometimes two men would be out clearing the underbrush, one working here and the other working there. They would be clearing out the underbrush, hacking and hacking with their headhunting knives, but they wouldn't think, Hey, he's over there, they just cut and cut and cut, and sometimes they would get too close and cut the other man.
=Then what?
=But usually the other man wouldn't be hurt too bad. These are headhunting knives and they chop down saplings with one cut, but the other man would not be cut too bad. Bones like iron, our Tayal had in the old days.
=Strong people.
=Right, and we didn't get that way by drinking milk or eating your American food!
=I know. The old folks weren't tall, but they were really strong.
=But Yugan, sometimes Tayal just don't think, they don't plan, so things like that would happen. I've served in the Army. They trained me how to plan so that sort of thing doesn't happen, but you know our old Tayal just don't have any brains at all. So sometimes they hit each other with the headhunting knives by accident, and the knife comes out worse than the Tayal.
=Amazing.
=Amazing how stupid we Tayal can be. No heads, no brains. Did you hear about Yutas and Yaki at the last community outing?
=No, what happened?
=You know we all went to that amusement park, right?
=I heard.
=They have this big heavy mallet, a ball, and a bell. If you hit the target hard enough with the mallet, the ball goes up and hits the bell. If your ball hits the bell you win a prize. Otherwise you can see your score.
=I know that sort of game.
=The Tayal took turns hitting the target, but although they are strong, they didn't hit the target on center, so the ball didn't hit the bell. Then Yaki said, You young men are useless, let an old lady show you how to do it, and she took the mallet.
=Then what happened?
=The mallet was heavier than she thought, so she could barely hit the target. So Yutas said, Yaki, you are useless, you are worse than the young men. Here, give me the mallet and I will show you how to hit the target so the ball hits the bell.
=Yeah, Yutas is an old man, but he's still strong.
=For sure, he chops all his firewood with an ax. So he said, Yaki, watch and I will show you how to use the mallet. Yugan, Tayal don't have any brains! Yutas took the mallet, and Yaki stood right behind him, watching over his shoulder. Yutas hoisted the mallet to give the bell a big hit, but he forgot Yaki was watching over his shoulder, so he knocked her clear out of the ring on the backswing!
=Was she hurt?
=No, the Tayal watching him caught her, but it ruined his swing.
=He should have gotten a prize for flinging his wife.
=I tell you, Yugan, we Tayal don't have any brains at all!
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
O'er the Laaaaaand of the Freeeeeeee
In 1950, the incarceration rates in the USSR under the heinous demon Josef Stalin was 1,423 per 100,000.
In 2002, the incarceration rates in the USA under the compassionate conservative George W Bush was 2,298 per 100,000.
Yeah, but if you let all those black people and Hispanic people out of jail and gave back their voting rights, how could a Republican get elected?
In 1950, the incarceration rates in the USSR under the heinous demon Josef Stalin was 1,423 per 100,000.
In 2002, the incarceration rates in the USA under the compassionate conservative George W Bush was 2,298 per 100,000.
Yeah, but if you let all those black people and Hispanic people out of jail and gave back their voting rights, how could a Republican get elected?
Monday, January 23, 2006
Loziq gave me a lift to the bridge, where I wait for the bus. Three Wulai Junior High boys were there already. They hailed us, "Yugan, where are you going?”
"I'm going to the city to teach."
"Loziq, where are you going?”
"I am going to the court to play basketball. Where are you going?”
"We have a game我們要打.”
I asked, "Game or a game?"打球或者打架?
"Some boys are coming to Wulai to fight," one answered. A bus zipped past us, coming in to Wulai. The boys strained to see who was on the bus.
"So we are going to advise them not to fight," another dutifully proclaimed, although his tone was dubious.
"Fight? Who's coming?”
"Some boys from Wufeng Junior High in the city.”
The littlest of them sneered, "They come to die." All other conditions being equal, I would place my money on kids who grew up scrambling up steep mountains, thrashing through rushing streams, and listening to the old folks reminisce about the good old days of headhunting, rather than on kids who grew up watching basketball on tv and listening to the old folks reminisce about the size of that squash 4th Uncle grew fifty seven years ago.
I could see a group of kids by the bus terminal. "Whose are those?" I asked.
"Wulai Junior High. Those are ours.”
"So you haven't seen the Wufeng kids yet.”
"No, and if they have any sense, they won't come and try to fight us.”
We could see the recently arrived bus stop at the terminal and disgorge passengers. The boys watched keenly. Aborigine kids have good eyesight.
"Fighting isn't good," I said. "If they want to come, they should enjoy our beautiful scenery.”
"Yes, Yugan, Wulai is beautiful, but we have to protect our land. They are the ones who want to come fight.”
"That's really stupid," I said. "Can't they find anything better to do with their vacation?”
"We didn't ask them to come … look, who's that getting off the bus now?”
"No, can't be one of them, look, he's with his parents.” The tension in the air was palpable.
"Yugan, we are going to go patrol." They climbed on a motorcycle. As they headed off, I told them, "Remember to keep your wrist straight when you punch." Huge smiles.
The mood was eager, tense, happy, and full of suspense. This is what I would call excitement.
IMHO, excitement is a word that Americans seriously abuse. A potter tells me he is excited about a new glaze. A teacher declares a student's particularly apt use of a difficult word exciting. A blog promises you can make a fortune marketing DVDs and implores you to send in "for truly exciting details." A glaze may offer intriguing possibilities and the prospect of engrossing experiments, wonderful discoveries, and surprising results. A student's use of a word may be indicative of great progress. This does not make them exciting, and, IMHO, nothing about marketing is remotely exciting.
It must be true that, as Master 心道法師 Hsindao said, "America is an 18 year old girl, always in love, always bubbling with enthusiasms."
I watched the boys motorcycle go down past the terminal. My bus came and I left. Evidently the city boys had some sense, because there was no fight.
"I'm going to the city to teach."
"Loziq, where are you going?”
"I am going to the court to play basketball. Where are you going?”
"We have a game我們要打.”
I asked, "Game or a game?"打球或者打架?
"Some boys are coming to Wulai to fight," one answered. A bus zipped past us, coming in to Wulai. The boys strained to see who was on the bus.
"So we are going to advise them not to fight," another dutifully proclaimed, although his tone was dubious.
"Fight? Who's coming?”
"Some boys from Wufeng Junior High in the city.”
The littlest of them sneered, "They come to die." All other conditions being equal, I would place my money on kids who grew up scrambling up steep mountains, thrashing through rushing streams, and listening to the old folks reminisce about the good old days of headhunting, rather than on kids who grew up watching basketball on tv and listening to the old folks reminisce about the size of that squash 4th Uncle grew fifty seven years ago.
I could see a group of kids by the bus terminal. "Whose are those?" I asked.
"Wulai Junior High. Those are ours.”
"So you haven't seen the Wufeng kids yet.”
"No, and if they have any sense, they won't come and try to fight us.”
We could see the recently arrived bus stop at the terminal and disgorge passengers. The boys watched keenly. Aborigine kids have good eyesight.
"Fighting isn't good," I said. "If they want to come, they should enjoy our beautiful scenery.”
"Yes, Yugan, Wulai is beautiful, but we have to protect our land. They are the ones who want to come fight.”
"That's really stupid," I said. "Can't they find anything better to do with their vacation?”
"We didn't ask them to come … look, who's that getting off the bus now?”
"No, can't be one of them, look, he's with his parents.” The tension in the air was palpable.
"Yugan, we are going to go patrol." They climbed on a motorcycle. As they headed off, I told them, "Remember to keep your wrist straight when you punch." Huge smiles.
The mood was eager, tense, happy, and full of suspense. This is what I would call excitement.
IMHO, excitement is a word that Americans seriously abuse. A potter tells me he is excited about a new glaze. A teacher declares a student's particularly apt use of a difficult word exciting. A blog promises you can make a fortune marketing DVDs and implores you to send in "for truly exciting details." A glaze may offer intriguing possibilities and the prospect of engrossing experiments, wonderful discoveries, and surprising results. A student's use of a word may be indicative of great progress. This does not make them exciting, and, IMHO, nothing about marketing is remotely exciting.
It must be true that, as Master 心道法師 Hsindao said, "America is an 18 year old girl, always in love, always bubbling with enthusiasms."
I watched the boys motorcycle go down past the terminal. My bus came and I left. Evidently the city boys had some sense, because there was no fight.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
As I walked uphill, three tiny little girls from the Tribe were coming downhill towards me, arms around each others' shoulders, all about first grade. As I approached them, I heard them saying, "1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3," and then they shouted all together, "Hiiiiii, Yugan!" and dissolved into giggles.
That's one of the nicest things that's ever happened to me.
That's one of the nicest things that's ever happened to me.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Outside magazine admonishes me, "Every second you're not living life to the fullest is an opportunity missed," and proffers a list of 50 things to do before you die. The author of the first piece shows us how it's done by telling about a party he went to attended by the wife of the lead singer of some band I've never heard of; how someone he knows got invited to play golf with some actor I've never heard of; and how once he was 'standing several feet' from some model I've never heard of. Hmm, I'm not a very good student. I haven't figured out if living life to the fullest means performing those dreadfully boring frills, or name dropping. If living life to the fullest means playing golf with some actor, please, please somebody send me some cyanide.
Okay, let's try #2 on the Big 50 list. Climb an 8,000 meter peak. I love mountains and probably could not thrive without mountains, but I long ago gave up the dream of climbing an 8,000 meter peak. Above 6,000 meters, lack of oxygen causes continuous headaches. If you get a cut, it doesn't heal, for lack of oxygen. In the previous issue of the same magazine, Nick Heil described climbing an 8,000 meter peak: gravity, darkness, snow, ice, frozen boots, peeing in a bottle, runny nose, headaches, stomachaches, lethargy, dizziness, sleeplessness, and windburn. See what you miss by not living life to the fullest?
Also, you can't just whistle up your dogs and go. You need massive support teams and huge wads of money to climb the Himalayas. For a couple NT, I can get a plastic bag and a brick; I can cut off my oxygen with the plastic bag and hit my head with the brick, thereby simulating the 8,000 meter peak experience.
#3 is Race Hawaii's Ironman. 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 mile run. Well, swimming and biking, maybe, but I don't enjoy running. Do I have to?
#4 is finally something I can grasp: Love a dog. Now we are talking about living. Why do you have to scream and shout to feel you are alive? I suppose I have had some adventures in my time; give me a minute and I am sure I can come up with something. But for me, living life to the fullest doesn't mean name dropping, torturing yourself, or spending gobs of money on equipment and training. Okay, I've thought of an adventure I had. When I was in Pasadena High, one night I bumped into a carload of vicious crazies who planned to take me apart with hammers and saws; I ran so fast that I outran their car. I've lived through big earthquakes, typhoons, and blizzards. I've seen things almost nobody has seen, such as a Viet Cong sentry standing at attention. But I didn't plan these things. I didn't go out seeking them. For me, living life to its fullest means taking each day as it comes and finding what is in it. Take a good look and see what you have right there in the palm of your hand.
And for gods' sakes, please don't make me play golf!
Okay, let's try #2 on the Big 50 list. Climb an 8,000 meter peak. I love mountains and probably could not thrive without mountains, but I long ago gave up the dream of climbing an 8,000 meter peak. Above 6,000 meters, lack of oxygen causes continuous headaches. If you get a cut, it doesn't heal, for lack of oxygen. In the previous issue of the same magazine, Nick Heil described climbing an 8,000 meter peak: gravity, darkness, snow, ice, frozen boots, peeing in a bottle, runny nose, headaches, stomachaches, lethargy, dizziness, sleeplessness, and windburn. See what you miss by not living life to the fullest?
Also, you can't just whistle up your dogs and go. You need massive support teams and huge wads of money to climb the Himalayas. For a couple NT, I can get a plastic bag and a brick; I can cut off my oxygen with the plastic bag and hit my head with the brick, thereby simulating the 8,000 meter peak experience.
#3 is Race Hawaii's Ironman. 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 mile run. Well, swimming and biking, maybe, but I don't enjoy running. Do I have to?
#4 is finally something I can grasp: Love a dog. Now we are talking about living. Why do you have to scream and shout to feel you are alive? I suppose I have had some adventures in my time; give me a minute and I am sure I can come up with something. But for me, living life to the fullest doesn't mean name dropping, torturing yourself, or spending gobs of money on equipment and training. Okay, I've thought of an adventure I had. When I was in Pasadena High, one night I bumped into a carload of vicious crazies who planned to take me apart with hammers and saws; I ran so fast that I outran their car. I've lived through big earthquakes, typhoons, and blizzards. I've seen things almost nobody has seen, such as a Viet Cong sentry standing at attention. But I didn't plan these things. I didn't go out seeking them. For me, living life to its fullest means taking each day as it comes and finding what is in it. Take a good look and see what you have right there in the palm of your hand.
And for gods' sakes, please don't make me play golf!
Friday, January 20, 2006
pathetic
A recent study in the US shows that fully one quarter of the people talking on cell phones in public actually do not have anyone on the other end of the line: they are just trying to look official and important.
I simply don't know what to say about this. But PIPE DOWN seems to be a good start.
A recent study in the US shows that fully one quarter of the people talking on cell phones in public actually do not have anyone on the other end of the line: they are just trying to look official and important.
I simply don't know what to say about this. But PIPE DOWN seems to be a good start.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
In the last 35 years, altogether I have spent only several months in the United States. Because of this, some trends become apparent that may not be obvious to those who live there every day.
On my recent trip to New York, in a department store something struck me. Now you see all sorts of people together. When I was a boy, in Illinois, in DC, in LA, when you went someplace like Sears, you rarely saw black people. I don't think they were prohibited from entering, they just didn't go. That was Sears, much less Macy's or Sax! They were still separate. The prohibitions may have been struck down, but maybe black people felt uneasy, or just hadn't taken the steps in through the door. In airports, black people were redcaps, not passengers. Now you go to a department store, a restaurant, a theater, an airport, a mall, a bookstore, a clothing store, and everybody is together as they should be. If there is any tension, it isn't noticeable.
So progress has been made. There's still a long way to go, but it's not hopeless. People just have to take steps.
Happy birthday, Dr King, even if I am a bit late.
On my recent trip to New York, in a department store something struck me. Now you see all sorts of people together. When I was a boy, in Illinois, in DC, in LA, when you went someplace like Sears, you rarely saw black people. I don't think they were prohibited from entering, they just didn't go. That was Sears, much less Macy's or Sax! They were still separate. The prohibitions may have been struck down, but maybe black people felt uneasy, or just hadn't taken the steps in through the door. In airports, black people were redcaps, not passengers. Now you go to a department store, a restaurant, a theater, an airport, a mall, a bookstore, a clothing store, and everybody is together as they should be. If there is any tension, it isn't noticeable.
So progress has been made. There's still a long way to go, but it's not hopeless. People just have to take steps.
Happy birthday, Dr King, even if I am a bit late.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Monday night when I was firing pots outdoors on a bonfire, Yumin slipped off to go a-roving. Nothing new, but an hour later he hadn't returned. He usually doesn't stay away so long. Two hours later, he was still not back. I called, but no response: nothing new. He was still not back by the time I was ready for bed. That is unusual. I called and called, but no response. I fell asleep listening carefully to all the dogs on the mountain, but did not hear Yumin's distinctive beagling.
Tuesday morning I woke up because it was so quiet: no beagle barking at the morning light. He still wasn't back. I called. No beagle. I was not particularly worried about him having an accident in the jungle. He has lived in these mountains since he was 2 months old. He was brought up by Tlahuy and Bengax, who are plenty tough, and his short legs had to pump extra hard to keep up with their long running legs. He grew up tussling wild dogs, hunting dogs, snakes, and whatever happened his way. Yumin is as cute as all get-out, but he is also a rough tough fighter. I don't worry about anything happening to him in the jungle, but the road is another story. He goes down there, and no matter how agile he is, some of these drunk sightseers drive like maniacs. I went out for a quick walk around, especially down by the road. No beagle. I called. No beagle.
I had to spend the day in the city. A neighbor's dog walked all the way to the bus stop with me. This has never happened before. I was happy for the company. In the city, worry preyed on my mind. It's been almost exactly a year since Bengax died (January 18, 2005), and Yumin was deeply attached to her. He still sits pensively by her grave. Don't let this anniversary mean anything. When I got out of the subway terminal on my way home and stood waiting for the Wulai bus, something touched the back of my leg. I looked back to find a beautiful aborigine dog wagging its tail at me. I had never seen this dog before. He was dark with brown stripes, a striped face, and beautiful intelligent eyes. He played with me for a few minutes and then walked around a pillar and disappeared. I was happy for the company.
When I got home around midnight, still no beagle. Tlahuy was forlorn, but not very helpful. I went out back to feed Tlahuy and to call again. From uphill I heard a yelp. I grabbed my knife and a flashlight and set off uphill. When I got to Yata's vegetable patch where he loves to play, I called again, but the yelp was not repeated. I went further uphill. As I passed the shacks and called, I heard the yelp again. I called again, but no response. Tlahuy and I went to the shacks, and there I found Yumin trapped in a snare. Evidently he had been trying to investigate (discrete choice of words) Sinkang's henhouse. Sinkang had told me he had trouble with a python stealing his hens, so he probably set this snare for the snake, and caught a beagle instead.
His head and left foreleg had been caught in the snare. He was subdued as I very gently released him. As I rearranged Sinkang's snare, Yumin touched noses with Tlahuy and started staggering home. On the flat space by Yata's shack, under the bright moonlight, I sat down and called Yumin, but he walked slowly by me and jumped into the ditch, where he spent several minutes lapping up water. Then he came and sat in my lap. The snare had not cut into him, but he was exhausted and shaken. As we walked home, I was marveling at how meekly he walked, hardly his typical dog-of-war take-all-comers demeanor. He quietly sat down to polish off his bowl of kibbles, and second helpings too. Then he went to the doghouse and began to snore.
I hadn't thought to search uphill because I figured I would have heard Sinkang's dogs barking if Yumin were there. For some reason, Sinkang's dogs are gone. I still don't understand why Yumin didn't bark when I called earlier. Maybe pride? Maybe guilt? He may have thought he could get out of the snare by himself and didn't want me to find him there.
All's well that ends well. Maybe he's learned a lesson. But I doubt it.
Tuesday morning I woke up because it was so quiet: no beagle barking at the morning light. He still wasn't back. I called. No beagle. I was not particularly worried about him having an accident in the jungle. He has lived in these mountains since he was 2 months old. He was brought up by Tlahuy and Bengax, who are plenty tough, and his short legs had to pump extra hard to keep up with their long running legs. He grew up tussling wild dogs, hunting dogs, snakes, and whatever happened his way. Yumin is as cute as all get-out, but he is also a rough tough fighter. I don't worry about anything happening to him in the jungle, but the road is another story. He goes down there, and no matter how agile he is, some of these drunk sightseers drive like maniacs. I went out for a quick walk around, especially down by the road. No beagle. I called. No beagle.
I had to spend the day in the city. A neighbor's dog walked all the way to the bus stop with me. This has never happened before. I was happy for the company. In the city, worry preyed on my mind. It's been almost exactly a year since Bengax died (January 18, 2005), and Yumin was deeply attached to her. He still sits pensively by her grave. Don't let this anniversary mean anything. When I got out of the subway terminal on my way home and stood waiting for the Wulai bus, something touched the back of my leg. I looked back to find a beautiful aborigine dog wagging its tail at me. I had never seen this dog before. He was dark with brown stripes, a striped face, and beautiful intelligent eyes. He played with me for a few minutes and then walked around a pillar and disappeared. I was happy for the company.
When I got home around midnight, still no beagle. Tlahuy was forlorn, but not very helpful. I went out back to feed Tlahuy and to call again. From uphill I heard a yelp. I grabbed my knife and a flashlight and set off uphill. When I got to Yata's vegetable patch where he loves to play, I called again, but the yelp was not repeated. I went further uphill. As I passed the shacks and called, I heard the yelp again. I called again, but no response. Tlahuy and I went to the shacks, and there I found Yumin trapped in a snare. Evidently he had been trying to investigate (discrete choice of words) Sinkang's henhouse. Sinkang had told me he had trouble with a python stealing his hens, so he probably set this snare for the snake, and caught a beagle instead.
His head and left foreleg had been caught in the snare. He was subdued as I very gently released him. As I rearranged Sinkang's snare, Yumin touched noses with Tlahuy and started staggering home. On the flat space by Yata's shack, under the bright moonlight, I sat down and called Yumin, but he walked slowly by me and jumped into the ditch, where he spent several minutes lapping up water. Then he came and sat in my lap. The snare had not cut into him, but he was exhausted and shaken. As we walked home, I was marveling at how meekly he walked, hardly his typical dog-of-war take-all-comers demeanor. He quietly sat down to polish off his bowl of kibbles, and second helpings too. Then he went to the doghouse and began to snore.
I hadn't thought to search uphill because I figured I would have heard Sinkang's dogs barking if Yumin were there. For some reason, Sinkang's dogs are gone. I still don't understand why Yumin didn't bark when I called earlier. Maybe pride? Maybe guilt? He may have thought he could get out of the snare by himself and didn't want me to find him there.
All's well that ends well. Maybe he's learned a lesson. But I doubt it.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Saturday, January 14, 2006
On 南昌 Street near 南門市場 South Gate Market is a store called 雅式, pronounced ya-shi, roughly, elegant style. The store proudly displays a bilingual sign declaring itself in English to be the Royal Yasl, Yasl being somebody's brilliant transliteration of 雅式. Now, I don't care how carefully you enunciate, when you say that you are going to sound like you are discussing Our Beloved President Bushbaby, who, all patriotic Americans will agree, is a royal yasl.
A student of mine last year gave himself the Western name Axel. He probably thought it was a good, masculine, rough and tough name. the problem is that his pronunciation wasn't all that great. It was a real surprise to hear him say, “Hi, I'm Axel.”
He must be having a great time in the States by now. "Hi, what's your name?”
"Axel.”
"You too, sh|thead!”
A student of mine last year gave himself the Western name Axel. He probably thought it was a good, masculine, rough and tough name. the problem is that his pronunciation wasn't all that great. It was a real surprise to hear him say, “Hi, I'm Axel.”
He must be having a great time in the States by now. "Hi, what's your name?”
"Axel.”
"You too, sh|thead!”
Friday, January 13, 2006
Thursday, January 12, 2006
The banister on the steps needs replacing. This is the season to chop bamboo. The weather was pleasant, so I chopped some poles and wired them in place. I got the job half done, just enough exertion to feel pleasantly exerted, but I had misjudged. I should have noticed that the humidity was so high that the ground was like soup. The mosquitoes were out, and very happy to see me. I had been bitten so much that I was feeling short of breath: time to come indoors. It would be dark before long anyway. At the top of the stone steps, I glanced back and gasped at the sight of the moon, two days short of full, two palms over the ridge, shining brilliantly against the gloaming.
At dark, the sky was bright and speckled with stars. I poked my head outdoors from time to time to enjoy the moonlight and stars. Later in the evening I picked up a book to read before bed. Next time I stuck my head out, a gentle rain was spattering down. Good old Wulai weather.
At dark, the sky was bright and speckled with stars. I poked my head outdoors from time to time to enjoy the moonlight and stars. Later in the evening I picked up a book to read before bed. Next time I stuck my head out, a gentle rain was spattering down. Good old Wulai weather.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
About twenty years ago, negotiators seeking to do something about Japan's trade imbalance pointed out, Japan exports everything and imports nothing: not even dogs were allowed to be imported.
The Japanese delegation accepted that yes, maybe banning the import of dogs was a bit much. But, they said, if we import dogs, we have to have some sort of standards, we can't let people import mutts or something.
This was taken as a valid point, so the Japanese delegation retired to draw up their standards for an acceptable dog. They presented their standards: full grown dog should be about a meter tall, male should weigh about 50 kg, coat should be black, white, brindle, fawn, or combinations, and so on and so forth, and lo and behold, the only dog in the world that met these specifications was… the Akita.
In much the same way, northern Europeans used to say that the ideal environment for producing perfect people would be cold, so they had to struggle to stay alive, not hot where people would be slothful. Lo and behold, the perfect environment seemed to be nowhere but northern Europe. On the one hand, they neglected to note that the knowledge required to live in a cold climate can be much simpler than the knowledge acquired by people living in a rich jungle environment, where they may be familiar with thousands of plants and animals. On the other hand, when confronted by Siberian peoples, whose environment is far more rigorous than anything the blonds had encountered, the Nordics scorned the Siberians' perfect adaptation and masterful skills as 'primitive,' probably because they don't listen to Wagner out on the taiga.
Heads I win, tails you lose.
The Japanese delegation accepted that yes, maybe banning the import of dogs was a bit much. But, they said, if we import dogs, we have to have some sort of standards, we can't let people import mutts or something.
This was taken as a valid point, so the Japanese delegation retired to draw up their standards for an acceptable dog. They presented their standards: full grown dog should be about a meter tall, male should weigh about 50 kg, coat should be black, white, brindle, fawn, or combinations, and so on and so forth, and lo and behold, the only dog in the world that met these specifications was… the Akita.
In much the same way, northern Europeans used to say that the ideal environment for producing perfect people would be cold, so they had to struggle to stay alive, not hot where people would be slothful. Lo and behold, the perfect environment seemed to be nowhere but northern Europe. On the one hand, they neglected to note that the knowledge required to live in a cold climate can be much simpler than the knowledge acquired by people living in a rich jungle environment, where they may be familiar with thousands of plants and animals. On the other hand, when confronted by Siberian peoples, whose environment is far more rigorous than anything the blonds had encountered, the Nordics scorned the Siberians' perfect adaptation and masterful skills as 'primitive,' probably because they don't listen to Wagner out on the taiga.
Heads I win, tails you lose.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
A middle aged man got on the bus wearing a baseball cap that had on it, TALK ENGLISH TO ME. I groaned. First, I detest baseball caps. Second, talk English to me is lousy English: speak English with me. Third, I knew what was coming. As soon as he saw me (sinking down into my seat, looking desperately out the window, cringing), his eyes lit up: opportunity! "Hello, sir!" He said in a voice loud enough for the entire bus to hear. Asses always have the loudest voices. "Hello, sir! How are you! Are you a teacher? You are the best teacher! How long you come Taiwan? Are you married? What's your name? You have children how many? You are the best teacher!" Do I have the right to remain silent? I do not wish to be ungracious. Am I obligated to engage in asinine conversation simply because you have put on a stupid hat? You don't have anything to say in the first place, why do you have to say it in English?
I said, "Uh, uh, uh," a few times, just to be civil, and scrunched down further into my seat. I considered putting my backpack over my head or hiding under the seat. I hope this is an isolated case. Is there some place handing out these idiotic caps? If there is, I'm going to get one of those French Foreign Legion caps, the kind with the flap down the back. If I spot somebody wearing a TALK hat, I'll turn around the cap covering my face with the flap, and on the flap I will have written SHUT UP.
+=+=+=+
PS: writing this has triggered a long-repressed memory. When I came to Taiwan, there were very few foreigners walking loose on the streets. Society here in those days was, shall we say, less sophisticated. From time to time you would be accosted by a total stranger who would pump your hand, fling his other arm around your shoulder, and say, "Hello, you my best friend, you teach me English." Then he (invariably he, never she) would reach into his bag and drag out a notebook full of execrable English and ask interminable questions about grammar. And the problem was that these were never people you would find personable or want to deal with anyway. They confined their efforts to untangling the minutiae of dreadful grammatical quandaries, and never had any inclination to learn to actually use the language or talk about anything. This was common enough that we even had a term for them: English leeches.
My dog, maybe I've met this guy in the baseball cap before.
I said, "Uh, uh, uh," a few times, just to be civil, and scrunched down further into my seat. I considered putting my backpack over my head or hiding under the seat. I hope this is an isolated case. Is there some place handing out these idiotic caps? If there is, I'm going to get one of those French Foreign Legion caps, the kind with the flap down the back. If I spot somebody wearing a TALK hat, I'll turn around the cap covering my face with the flap, and on the flap I will have written SHUT UP.
+=+=+=+
PS: writing this has triggered a long-repressed memory. When I came to Taiwan, there were very few foreigners walking loose on the streets. Society here in those days was, shall we say, less sophisticated. From time to time you would be accosted by a total stranger who would pump your hand, fling his other arm around your shoulder, and say, "Hello, you my best friend, you teach me English." Then he (invariably he, never she) would reach into his bag and drag out a notebook full of execrable English and ask interminable questions about grammar. And the problem was that these were never people you would find personable or want to deal with anyway. They confined their efforts to untangling the minutiae of dreadful grammatical quandaries, and never had any inclination to learn to actually use the language or talk about anything. This was common enough that we even had a term for them: English leeches.
My dog, maybe I've met this guy in the baseball cap before.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Friday, January 06, 2006
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Monday, January 02, 2006
古人說，大福不再。有機會就要把握。不要讓機會流失。
去年夏天好友Bulang Yugan跟我說他請教了泰雅老人，譔了一首新歌﹝Bulang就是得過金鐘獎、金馬獎的泰雅歌手﹞。他先教我歌詞。因為比較艱澀，他叫我先把歌詞背熟了，他再教我旋律。
一拖、再拖，常想到，但沒安排時間帶錄音機請他幫我唱。
北京跨年，Bulang彈bass為齊秦伴奏。舞台佈乾冰，Bulang可能沒注意到他已靠近邊，踩空，頭撞到階角，hoqing la.
嗚呼, Bulang, mswa su helaw byaray kwara? Ngihuy ilungan ta!
聊記歌詞。紀念Bulang Yugan, rangi ku.
Hazin qani ga,
Sin bilan na qotas ta Tayal.
Anay saku skalay bblaq na' cinasan.
Knziq saku mttzyaw krryax.
Ungat ku skguy,
Lulungwun sku nikwun.
Yasa ku strahu' saku krryax.
Swa sitbah ga wayen klikan ku.
Kkayen skuliq ru cinasan maku.
Aba utux gayen
Ini saku bkahu sunan.
Ana ga braki saku.
Iyat saku slalax
Iyat saku nuah-sheliq gaga na Tayal,
Ana mswa ga lokah ta kwara.
Bulang, 自己說 braki saku. Ngihuy ilungan, sunun su balay. Taway gangi, Bulang.
去年夏天好友Bulang Yugan跟我說他請教了泰雅老人，譔了一首新歌﹝Bulang就是得過金鐘獎、金馬獎的泰雅歌手﹞。他先教我歌詞。因為比較艱澀，他叫我先把歌詞背熟了，他再教我旋律。
一拖、再拖，常想到，但沒安排時間帶錄音機請他幫我唱。
北京跨年，Bulang彈bass為齊秦伴奏。舞台佈乾冰，Bulang可能沒注意到他已靠近邊，踩空，頭撞到階角，hoqing la.
嗚呼, Bulang, mswa su helaw byaray kwara? Ngihuy ilungan ta!
聊記歌詞。紀念Bulang Yugan, rangi ku.
Hazin qani ga,
Sin bilan na qotas ta Tayal.
Anay saku skalay bblaq na' cinasan.
Knziq saku mttzyaw krryax.
Ungat ku skguy,
Lulungwun sku nikwun.
Yasa ku strahu' saku krryax.
Swa sitbah ga wayen klikan ku.
Kkayen skuliq ru cinasan maku.
Aba utux gayen
Ini saku bkahu sunan.
Ana ga braki saku.
Iyat saku slalax
Iyat saku nuah-sheliq gaga na Tayal,
Ana mswa ga lokah ta kwara.
Bulang, 自己說 braki saku. Ngihuy ilungan, sunun su balay. Taway gangi, Bulang.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
16 hours is really a lot longer than you want to spend sitting on a plane, especially in one of Cathay Pacific's squeeze-till-you-diet seats. Especially when the purser says, very apologetically, "I'm sorry, we forgot to load your meal." Airplane food is nothing to drool for, but at least you want something to eat! I made my request (Oriental vegetarian) weeks in advance, confirmed it at on-line check in, confirmed it at the check in counter at the airport, and went hungry. The purser valiantly tried to make me a sandwich from pieces of lettuce.
The Wheaton student in the seat next to me discovered that on one video channel they have a closed circuit camera placed behind the jet's front wheel. We watched entranced through take off and until dark.
Our flight flew north over Canada. By 5 PM local time the earth was black. An orange band marked the edge of the sky. A sliver moon sat near Venus. Another hour flying time over blackness and I spotted the lights of a town, imagined the lives of the people there. (not a lot to do on a 16 hour flight, not much to watch on the video, and nothing to eat I'm not hungry I'm not hungry.)
Ling's intuition is remarkable. She had sent me off with a box full of sushi. By the time I judged we were crossing the magnetic pole, I couldn't hold off any longer, and snarfed the whole box, thanking her silently. At least I hope I didn't make a lot of noise as I ate. I didn't wake anybody up, anyway.
Our flight continued south over Siberia, endless snow. The river below us must have been at least 15 kilometers across. Ob? Lena?
I saw the first settlement somewhere over Mongolia, and fell asleep again as we passed into northern China. Hong Kong, connecting flight, another hour and back to Taiwan. The seats on the short hop were bigger and more comfortable than on the long haul. Go figure.
16 hours is really a lot longer than you want to spend sitting on a plane. My waist was sore for two days afterwards.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
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.
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.
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.
Friday, December 30, 2005
"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.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
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.
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.
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.
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.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Sunday, December 25, 2005
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!
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!
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Friday, December 23, 2005
Thursday, December 22, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
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!
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Monday, December 19, 2005
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。
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。
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Friday, December 16, 2005
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, December 12, 2005
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."
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."
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Friday, December 09, 2005
Thursday, December 08, 2005
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…」
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…」
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, December 05, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
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.
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.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Friday, December 02, 2005
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。
「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。
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
