I am not even pretending this is formal historical research. Rather, just a few comments.

The first half of the twentieth century was a bad time for your typical farmer in Taiwan, because landlords cooperating with Japanese authorities oppressed them. Before the Japanese occupation, laws were lax, and the landlords did not hold great sway over the average peasant. It goes without saying that not all landlords were bad, but enough collaborated with the Japanese to make life hard for the peasantry. Stay in your village and till the land for your landlord. The Japanese provided security inside the villages, but outside were bandits and danger. Don't think of going elsewhere or doing anything new. Just keep doing what you've done forever and obey the authorities.

After the liberation of Taiwan, the KMT enacted perhaps the most successful land reform in history. The slogan was Land to the Tiller. Landlords were given government bonds for their land, and the peasants were given title to the land they tilled. No landlords were shot or struggled to death or branded as kulaks, and the government bonds eventually made them very rich, but the KMT had freed their peasants, and they never forgave that.

When I first came to Taiwan, your typical middle class, lower middle class, lower class, factory worker, farm worker, truck driver, laborer was pleased with his lot (or her), because he had a bicycle and plans to buy a motor scooter, his kids were in school, and he could buy shoes for them, or at least plan on it. By about 1970, almost all kids had shoes to wear to school, something far beyond the peasantry's reach under the Japanese. Something that set me on guard was that I noticed that in the 1970s the only people who were really against the government and involved in Taiwan independence were people from the landlord clans. Ten years later, the only others interested in the movement were Presbyterians who had been taught by foreign missionaries that the government was bad because it did not obey the church. Then politicians realized there was power to be had.

A few weeks ago I was flipping through photography books in a bookstore, looking at old photos of Taiwan. Something struck me. The photos from 1865 are not too different from 1885 are not too different from 1905 are not too different from 1940. The peasants are peasants, plodding along as ever. Then Liberation, and bang! by 1955 you are clearly in a different world. People are wearing more up-to-date clothing and taking part in the modern world. They are not just plowing fields with water buffalo, they have tractors, they are working with machines, they are learning to be barbers or woodcarvers or machinists, and they have whole new fields of endeavor that had been closed to them. They are questioning and learning about the twentieth century. The children wear school uniforms and factory produced clothes, people have movies to watch, and start thinking of places to go beyond the village. They have plans! They are still poor then, but the whole attitude had changed. They were joining the modern world.

There, I think, is the crux of a lot of political tumult in Taiwan. Some people simply cannot forgive the KMT for modernizing this island.

前不久Rosa Parks葬禮給我一種感覺，美國黑人與本省人有個很大的不同。

美國黑人回顧1950年代，國家強盛，大家有錢就是黑人窮，被民眾吊死被歧視，就業機會有限，幾乎沒有教育機會，常被警察打。現在呢，黑人還是窮的居多，還是受到各種歧視，就業、教育機會還是比別人差，現在警察還是愛打黑人，可是現在有黑人當警察！有的黑人有錢有地位！不念舊惡，不要停留在以前的陰影，要看現在的進步，繼續努力！現在比以前好！

本省人回顧1950年代，臺灣看樣隨時要被中共「血洗」，局面極不穩，大家窮，就業機會慢慢多，大家都有同樣的教育機會，不分貧富；不想讀書當警察也不錯，有固定收入有很好的福利，不分原住民漢人都可以。至少，因為三七五減租，耕者有其田，不再被惡霸地主壓榨。有機會，有希望，日子苦，大家苦，因為戰後很多地方過的不好：起碼可以買甘蔗給小孩吃，英國、法國，德國，俄國，很多國家連糖也沒有，實在太窮。現在時代不同，臺灣大家有錢，要讀書的話，到處都有技術學院大學。吃甘蔗？對不起，減肥中。當警察？對不起，薪水太差，要找舒服的差事。台灣五十年來的進步，是世界奇聞，台灣土地改革大概是歷史上最成功的例子。可是很多人不看五十年來的成就，一直抱怨，以前的日子苦。現在好沒有用，以前的日子苦。以前的日子苦。以前的日子苦。以前的日子苦。

以前的日子已經過了，知道很苦，可不可以不要ㄧ直唸？明天要怎麼過，比較重要。

烏龍院的師兄還在練功!!

China: it takes thousands of years of culture to produce such intellectual performing art. It takes years of careful observation and study to be able to appreciate the intricacies of such a tournament as this. Very, very deep.

There seems to be a lag between audio and visual. At the end, the announcer says, "He is watching the tree carefully with both eyes." That would be before the tree fell, I think. He may have been watching carefully (with both eyes) but he forgot to catch it, or, failing that, dodge.

I suppose he didn't win the tree-catching tournament.
First place gets a trophy.
Second place gets a full body cast.
Third place, a casket.

Aha! I always thought so!
Dr Alan Hirsch, Director of the Smell and Taste Institute in Chicago, reports the three smells that most inhibit female sexual arousal are cherries, barbecued meat, and cologne.

And it gets better. Dr Hirsch says, "Men have a worse ability to smell than women, so they tend to use too great a level of scent." And as they age, their sense of smell only gets worse. "So the odor you choose may be very different from what a woman likes.”

This should be engraved on the doors of every men's toilet on the planet.

3PM Customer Service

Bank teller: I was working drive-through this morning and offered a customer a bone for her dog in the back seat.
Associate: I think it's nice that we do that.
Bank teller: The customer said it wasn't a dog, it was her mother.

801 West Big Beaver Road
Troy, Michigan

via Overheard in the Office, Jun 5, 2006

說有多無聊~~
Oh boy, it's 060606, and I am making a note of this, just like I did for 050505 last year. Just wait for July 7 next year! Think you can bear the waiting?

PS: Christians are wonderful. Here they have been worried for centuries about 666 being the mark of the beast, and now it turns out an early scribe made a mistake, it should be 696 or something. All those ulcers and accusations about numbers. Well, it keeps them busy.

Guess what I'm going to write about on August 8, 2008?

The funny thing is, in China, 6 is a fortuitous number, 六六大順~還記得民國六十六年六月六日，很多人特地寄信，就是想要那天的郵戳，討個吉利。So who are we to believe, the Christians or the Chinese? I'll take the Chinese. They've been around a lot longer, and are very reasonable.

前幾天過臺大，好像剛舉行畢業典禮(還有人把學士袍、方帽戴進捷運，是不是有點那個？)。聽到一個男生很高興說，再也不用攷試! 再也沒有人打分數!

其實，畢業以後，步出校門，才進入攷場，而這種攷試比學校的難通過，因為學校講明攷試時間、範圍。畢業後的攷試不定時。一舉一動，都在給自己打分數：我是甚麼樣的人？能坦然面對自己？或給自己找很多臺階下？敢作敢當？偷雞摸狗或光明磊落？敬業或馬虎？對自己的期許、要求是甚麼？期許是真的或隨便說說欺騙自己？為了期許、為了原則，願意付出多少？這才是大攷。

戒律禁僧為人卜，何者？重三世，故也。

倘一女問嫁某甲、某乙，何以斷？若嫁某甲，榮華富貴，安逸終身，不知修，福報享盡，轉世為豬為蝦，經劫難聞佛法；若嫁某乙，窮困潦倒，坎坷苦痛，因而知藉假修真，花開見佛，悟無生；使初問卜，若何解兆為是？是故戒律禁僧占卜。

Tlahuy and Bengax used to sing together. They had a routine. Tlahuy would sound the first notes, then Bengax would join in, barking in a higher pitch as Tlahuy bayed. When they finished, if I called out "Thank you" they would do a short encore.

It was all very rhythmic. Some people think dogs singing\狗唳 is not lucky, but nobody who saw them sing thought so. They too clearly enjoyed it. They would wag their tails together, croon with half shut eyes, dance a bit. You could see it was sheer bliss for them. They sang four or five times a day.

When Yumin came, sometimes he would join in, but usually it was Tlahuy and Bengax.

Then Bengax died. It broke my heart to hear poor old Tlahuy tuning up, and then petering out when nobody joined in. After a couple months, Yumin would sing with him, but only once every several days.

Enter Byajing, who quickly took the role of soprano. The boys dote on her. But she is still just a puppy, so for the time being, I keep her in the first floor bathroom when I am gone or at night.

In the morning, an hour or so after dawn, Tlahuy and Yumin begin to sing at the front door, and Byajing joins them from her dungeon (the bathroom). When they have awakened me, I go down and take her outside to widdle and play with the boys while I go back to sleep.

This morning as usual I woke to the canine chorus, carried Byajing out, and deposited her out front. As she widdled, Yumin very purposefully trotted over to a clump of grass. He nuzzled around there and retrieved a little plastic bottle, which he brought over and very carefully deposited before Byajing.

Apparently during his morning beagle rounds, Yumin had found this treasure somewhere and brought it home for Byajing to play with. He was just bursting with pleasure. He had deposited it in the grass for safekeeping until she came out. I thought that was about the sweetest thing I have ever seen a dog do, and crawled back into bed with a smile, to the sound of the bottle ricocheting all over.

The little plastic bottle is one of those calligraphy ink bottles, for when you don't want to grind your own ink. This ink was, as is often the case, strongly scented, which is probably what attracted Yumin's beagle nose to it in the first place. Anybody has used that kind of ink knows that a drop or two goes a long way, and whoever discarded the bottle had not used it all up. By the time I got out of bed for the day, all three dogs looked like they had put on black booties, and the porch\玄關 resembled a Jackson Pollock.

I bought Byajing a squeaky toy the other day, but the bottle is her favorite toy, as well it should be. When I shut her in the bathroom, Yumin hides the bottle somewhere so it will be ready for her next time she is out.

I don't intend to go on and on about Bruce Lee, but I would like to comment on two things.

First, somebody was proclaiming the legend of Bruce Lee, which got me to thinking. In the late 60s in the karate crowds around LA, Lee was considered good and was respected, but among his peers, he was not considered a superstar or anything.

Ok, back up a bit: in the 60s, people didn't use the term martial arts very much, and fortunately the misnomer kungfu had not spread. Karate was the term used for Oriental fighting arts in general, and at the time, most people thought karate was some sort of Mexican food or something anyway. LA was a center of oriental fighting arts in the US at the time, or as much a center as existed. There were good fighters elsewhere, but everybody passed through LA at some time or another, especially for the Internationals. At the time we are talking about, I was the youngest instructor in Ed Parker's home studio, on Walnut in Pasadena, and the top fighters dropped in the studio, and on my head, and back, and ribs.

Back to Bruce Lee. Fighters of all styles thought he was good, but I never saw or heard of Lee sparring with anybody but his students, when he was dishing it out. I never saw him get hit, and for a fighter, it's important to be able to take a hit without falling apart.

I would say that at the time, it was taken for granted that Lee never wanted to come close to the top teachers or competitors in a sparring match. Someone like Tiki Matali'i (sp?) would have walked right over him. Lesser known experts such as Deon Steckling or Dannie Rodarte would have tied him up. Louis Solis was about Lee's size, and probably would have gone through him like a bulldozer through a motorscooter. Lee spent a lot of time on glittery tricks like making change in your palm, which were impressive, but tricks nonetheless. He wouldn't spar.

After I left the States, of course I met more fighters. Some Koreans I met in Viet Nam during the War wouldn't have broken a sweat on Lee. They were fighting to the death in the jungles, not shooting movies. A lot of these old soldiers in Taiwan who grew up fighting Japanese soldiers, bandits, and communist guerillas ate people like Bruce Lee for snacks. They just didn't have publicists or makeup artists.

I am flashing on an amusing imaginary scene of Lee fighting my old Mantis teacher, Mr Chang 張三鮮老師; that would have been like a puppy going at a bear. Lee was good, but he was not anywhere near the best, and he was all flash and sparkle.

While I'm at it, another topic comes to mind before I drop the discussion. How did Lee die? I remember the shock at his death in actress Ting Pei's apartment. Rumors and speculation filled the sky: he was murdered by communist agents; he was beaten to death by Koreans in a final showdown in a godown; the CIA killed him; he died of drug overdose; he jumped out the window; he actually entered a secret monastery in central China; the Soviets hired him to train the KGB; he was hit by a taxi, and that was too great a loss of face so they said it was the actress; and so forth ad infinitum.

About fifteen years after the event, I happened to be chatting with a disciple of Teacher South (those who know who I'm talking about can figure it out; those who can't figure it out, never mind). Now Teacher South is a well known 密宗上師 tantric guru and a thorough old fox. My friend happened to mention that in the early 70s Ting Pei was also a disciple of Teacher South. I asked if Ting had practiced double-body techniques with South 有沒有修雙身, and he said, Of course, that's why she improved so quickly.

There, I believe, is the answer to the death of Bruce Lee. Ting screwed him to death. At the time Lee was into some really strange training methods which probably disordered his chi 氣岔掉了, so his body couldn't meet her demands.

That is my theory, anyway. I hope it's true, because wouldn't that be a great way to go?

Somebody on youtube.com said Bruce Lee whopped Chuck Norris. Really? When? And if so, so what? Chuck Norris and Joe Louis fought many times; sometimes Norris won, sometimes Louis.

But that got me thinking. Bruce Lee was a showman, and he was good, no doubt about that, but he was not a fighter. He demonstrated moves, always keeping the situation under control, but he was not like Tom Garriga, Huk Planas, or Mike Pick, who were always ready to get out on the mats and spar for as long as you could last.

Bruce Lee would show up at tournaments in the late 60s, but he never competed. Again, he was good, but he was a movie star, not a fighter, even in tournaments, which are nowhere near as challenging as getting on the mats in Ed Parker's Pasadena studio, where I trained, and got thrashed more times than I can remember: it's good for you!!

I had never looked at it this way, so I am searching my memory. For a while around 1969, 1970, Lee used to come to the Pasadena studio every week, but I never heard of him getting on the mats and sparring with anybody. He wanted adulation, not competitors. Somebody like Steve Sanders, Bill Wallace, or Tom Kelly, they'd be on the mats and ready to freestyle as soon as they could change out of their street clothes. Most of the martial artists were like that, but not Lee. If I remember correctly, if Lee was going to demonstrate a move, he always chose his body, usually one of his own worshipful students. He would never show something on, say, Joe Louis. Louis would hit back.

Now, Mr Parker loved to spar, if he could find anyone foolish to take him up. Well, it's how you learn, take your lumps and learn a lesson. If you don't want to get hit (or kicked or elbowed or kneed), take up basketball or tiddlywinks or ballroom dancing. Mr Parker was a fighter! Getting hit by him, even when he was just carefully demonstrating something, was like getting hit by a baseball bat. But Bruce Lee was a showman.

Now I'm probably going to get hate mail from Lee worshippers.

固時俗之流從兮，又孰能無變化？
::離騷

No matter what you think of same sex marriage, you have to admit that it's good this issue has caused people to reconsider that tired old institution, marriage. Times change, social structures change, so roles change too. We can't expect people to enter marriage with the same expectations and behavior as they did a hundred years ago. Here in the Taiwan the divorce rate is something like 1:4, and in the US it's probably more like 99.99:100, closer to purity than silver or gold.

Partly the problem is that people aren't used to fixing things in today's throw-away society. Partly till death do us part takes so much longer to happen, people don't want to wait so long. If a couple can stay together, more power to them; I wish all couples could. But most can't. Everybody dances the 5 step tango, Single, Engaged, Married, Separated, Divorced, over and over again until it's coffin time.

The standard issue idea of marriage now really needs rethinking, with the awareness that our parents' ideas of marriage were also just the product of a particular set of circumstances, and not something passed down immutable since the dawn of humanity.

But what is marriage? 1 man + 1 woman? 1 man + 4 women? 1 man + 1 man? 7 men + 1 woman? 1 man + 2 women + 3 goats?

It would be nice if we could just let society muddle through and work these things out over a couple of generations, as happened in the past. However, today's society worships standardization, conformity, and the law, so only one standard answer is permissible, and all must comply. The legal issues are complicated, because that entails what to do with those in comas, inheritance, insurance, and a whole bundle of problems.

I'm not giving any answers, and actually my topic today is not just marriage, but our views of how men and women should behave. Or men and women and goats, if you insist. I didn't have this blog during the Clinton years, but here's something I wanted to say then. I will post this now in my continuing effort to alienate all readers equally, regardless of race, religion, numerology, or credit rating.

You remember Clinton. I personally thought his only impeachable offense was horrible taste. Since when did Americans, of all people, become so prudish? The US is a country where you can't even sell toothpaste without promising sex appeal. Americans can't have a television show or movie or even a conversation for more than three minutes without bringing up intercourse; they beat the issue to death, sex in every possible nook and cranny, and then the electorate acts surprised that their leader is not just Jimmy Cartering, but doing something about sex. This surprises anybody with any knowledge of human society?

Politicians are chest thumpers, it's the nature of the beast. They are politicians because they want to get on top, no pun intended, and screwing around is part and parcel of the personality. Since the US is so open about (obsessed with) sex, and there seems to be a certain demand in the Oval Office, I propose that the White House should have a harem. In our free, open, liberated society, that should be okay.

Of course the harem would have to be updated to meet current conventions. You couldn't ask all the women to go into nunneries when the President leaves office, and they certainly wouldn't be bought and sold. But it wouldn't be hard to fill the harem. As Kiss said, power is the ultimate aphrodisiac. You could even have volunteers, sending The Chosen home with tee shirts that say on them, I BOPPED THE PREZ! You could have that superimposed very tastefully on top of the presidential seal or the White House. What a souvenir!

I'm sure lots of people will see the wisdom of my suggestion and this will gain support. Especially in Utah. If it needed to be passed into law, that wouldn't be any problem. All the White House would have to do would be to let out word that there would be trickle-down effect. Again, no pun intended.

Since the US is supposed to be so free and open and eager to discuss these things, I think we the people should give the White House a harem and stop worrying about it.

^^
Well, that's what I wanted to say when Clinton was President. Now the harem could be replaced by a sandbox to better effect.

日月忽其不淹兮
春與秋其代序

離騷

Sweet sappy Tlahuy looks mild or even bashful, but he is ferocious when he's serious. Take another look and realize how strongly muscled he is: not a dog to trifle with. With his new little sister, Byajing, he is very aloof, generally not deigning to sport and frolic like Yumin. He acts like she is beneath notice. But the other day Byajing yelped, and I noticed Tlahuy speeding over silently. He checked her out from behind the ferns; everything ok, so he just as silently backed away. Since then I have noticed that when Yumin is out doing his beagling (which he has curtailed drastically to spend more time with Byajing), Tlahuy is generally somewhere off on the sidelines watching over her.

Tlahuy has evidently established his position, and is now joining in the fun, acting silly with the puppy. The other evening the three of them were having a grand tussle, Tlahuy and Yumin against tiny little Byajing. She is a spirited little puppy, and was putting up a vigorous fight. I was beginning to get worried that in the heat of the moment Tlahuy might forget himself, so I reached down to pull him off Byajing. Then I realized that his mouth was shut, and he was batting her back and forth with the sides of his muzzle. His powerful movements are closely controlled, and although the fight looks savage, he is actually handling her very gently so she won't get hurt.

Curtis brought this year's students from the University of Michigan Grand Valley to learn Chinese as she is spoke. Part of their introduction to Taiwan is a trip to Wulai. I met them down near the bus station, but as it was raining, we didn't go past the waterfall, but turned towards my house from there. At least there was no lightning.

Rain notwithstanding, we had a pleasant walk, enjoying the scenery, conversation, and fresh air. Byajing is too little for such an outing, so I left her home. Tlahuy and Yumin accompanied us. For every kilometer we walked, Yumin ran four, hither and yon, back and forth, a very busy beagle.

Tlahuy stayed by my side, as usual. Not Yumin. I called him to me. He glanced at me and raced further up the road. I futilely called again and again. At most Yumin would toss a glance in my direction and continue on his beagle errands. This went on for a good ten minutes, giving all a good laugh. Beagle discipline.

When we arrived home, I introduced Byajing. How can anybody resist such an adorable little pup? (if they can, they keep their mouths shut, if they know what's good for them) We started drying off. As usual, Curtis fell asleep. The students sat around looking at the scenery, wandering around the house, chatting. Time spent with friendly, intelligent people is time well spent indeed. Some wandered into my study. On the pile of books by my reading chair, one young man noticed Training Your Beagle, which I bought when Yumin was little and got out recently to review for Byajing. With a disbelieving expression and a voice laden with skepticism, he asked me, "Have you actually read that?”

The Lesson
"During the Cultural Revolution, students from my high school were sent in groups away from Beijing to the countryside /下鄉 to work on farms with peasants.

"One day we were walking along the road and saw an Old Peasant/老農. Mao said Old Peasants are founts of wisdom, knowledge, and revolutionary fervor; learn from Old Peasants. Our group leader decided to give us a quick lesson in ideology.

"'Comrade,' he asked the Old Peasant, 'Tell us about the repressions and injustices of the Kuomintang.’

"The Old Peasant answered, 'Aaah, those were the good old days. I had my own land and my own water buffalo. We were rich and happy before the Revolution.’

"Our group leader quickly changed the topic. 'Then tell us of the atrocities and excesses of your demonic landlord!’

"'My demonic landlord? Yes, we often wonder whatever became of him. He was such a good man. Why, one year there was a flood and everybody would have starved, but our landlord fed us all, and saved us. Everybody here really misses him.’

"End of lesson.”
=|=
Told me by a defector from the PRC, spring 1983

民無信不立，泰雅篇
我搬來烏來第二、三年，還沒養狗之前，部落一個泰雅在我後面山坡smirusa (放夾子)。我不喜歡有人在家附近狩獵。他來巡視時，我請他把夾子撤了，因為我常在那邊走動，也有登山客從旁邊小徑過，有的帶狗，萬一狗被夾住怎麼辦？他聽我講完，二話不說，一聲「好」，馬上把所有夾子拿走，從沒再來放過。

民無信不立，閩南篇
前幾天中午聽到拔筍的聲音，往窗外喊一聲；如果是地住或熟人，會回應。沒有人回應。我出去看，有一個人在竹林整理袋子，我看到的有兩三個麻布袋、兩個大型塑膠垃圾袋。我大聲喊，那人站住不動，不要讓我看到。我叫第二聲，那人轉過身，不要讓我看到臉。我叫到第四聲，還沒有回應，我想這一定是來偷筍的，我繞去靠近再大聲喊，才發現是中年太太。我問，「妳是誰？」
她用閩南語說，「我是阿姨，我的朋友住下面。」她邊講邊拔筍往袋子塞。
「我剛叫，妳怎麼不回答？」
「我沒聽到。」繼續拔筍。
「這是私有地，筍不能拔。」
「沒要緊。」繼續拔筍。
「妳拔一點自己吃沒有關係，可是不能拔太多。」
「沒要緊，我不拔了。」繼續拔筍。一個麻布袋已經裝了一半。
「地主要我看，說有人拔筍就報警，妳不要拔太多。」
「沒要緊，竹子還會再長。」繼續拔筍。
「對呀，所以地主三兩天就來拔，看到拔走了那麼多，我不好交代。」
「沒要緊，我不拔了。」繼續拔筍。
拉扯沒意思，她的袋子快滿了，我就叫她不可以再拔，她很不情願背起袋子好像要走，我轉身回去；她看我走開了，馬上到上坡繼續拔筍。
我跟過去問，「妳是要拿去賣的，是不是？」
「不是，我自己吃。」
「那麼妳這樣已經夠吃了，不要再拔了，好不好？不然我怎麼跟地主交代？這樣我怎麼作人？」她看我站那裡不走了，非常不情願地背起重重的袋子往下面走，每幾步回頭看我有沒有離開。

佛將入捏，遺言以戒為師。

為師，而不替法。法如爪上泥耳，如筏；若有人說佛有所說法，是為謗佛，何況說戒。

戒是修行基礎，但持戒必須靈活。若戒不生定慧，可無大過，但難有大成就。

危。倘持戒與犯戒，寧持戒。若持戒不生定慧，呆板。玩之。

有佛教徒以戒為一切佛法，悖。有佛教徒止于「五蘊為罪藪，眼耳鼻舌身意均為業障。」程度太差，不如信基督教的原罪去。

左傳(左成十五年傳曹公子臧引前志)云，聖達節，次守節，下失節。得之。

Albert Einstein said, "Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds."

But before you get all pleased with yourself, allow me to point out that all those who encounter violent opposition are not necessarily great spirits.

On the other end of the stick, here's an interesting idea from Steve Stringer in Los Alamos NM (in The Atlantic Monthly 06 06 p24) "Marxist thinking has always been a dullard’s pursuit, and those still consumed by it are far from the intellectual vanguard." Marxists cling to their ideas so tenaciously precisely because they are dullards, and they lack the imagination, courage, and mental power to question their beliefs.

There are three kinds of mind.

The first is full of cement. Society, school, television, church, peers, and movies pour in cement. It sets and hardens and that's the end of it.

The second is full of cement. The person sucks in cement from society, school, television, textbooks, bibles, magazines, learned books, and scholarly journals. The cement sets and hardens and that's the end of it.

The third is rich, fertile soil, in which a seed can germinate, sprout, and grow. This mind is rare.

有人送我一本書，作者搬到坪林蓋水泥屋，敘述他的山居情形。

作者對蛇有相當的恐懼，大量篇幅說「避蛇」的方法。「實在害怕與蛇共處一室，特別請來怪手，除了開山築路之外，特別把房屋的四周，整理得光禿禿的。」「當我把道路、庭院鋪好水泥，屋內地面鋪好磁磚時，我想蛇大概會遠離我們，不會再來干擾我們的休閒生活。」

我有個更好的避蛇方法。讓這位怕自然、愛水泥的作者搬回都市，高樓大廈已經是光禿禿的，十二樓以上絕對沒有蛇。這樣可以不再無謂地糟蹋山林，讓幾十萬年來的老地主過快樂、無畏的日子。畢竟山林是蛇的老家，不是牠休閒生活遊樂區。

dog judo
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GcaVngcPZiI

Yumin really puts up with a lot from Byajing.

Michael Robert Smith escaped from prison in California on June 7, 1968 while serving time for a robbery conviction. He has never had any trouble with the law since. For the last five years, he has lived in a tiny trailer in the woods of Oklahoma, doing menial, low paying jobs so he could feed himself without a social security number or drivers license.

Last Thursday, law enforcement officers from California tracked him down after 38 years and are now hauling him back to jail.

What are prisons for? If prisons are institutes of correction, I would say that 38 years without a run-in with the law is proof that he has been corrected, and can live as a useful citizen.

If prisons are institutes of punishment, 38 years of low paying hard labor should be punishment enough. This man was not jailed for murder or rape.

My solution is, return him to jail, just to prove that those who escape will be tracked down. Then give him a parole and a job after three months.

Unless my memory fails me, the President and Vice President both have criminal records, as do many members of Congress. That is irrelevant; they are rich, powerful people, and Smith is poor. Stomp on him!

Men's rooms and women's rooms are separated by sex for the sake of decency and safety. Toilets are separated so no one feels sexual pressure while relieving bladder and bowel pressure.

That is the theory, anyway. Straight men steer clear of the public toilets in the 228 Park, if they know what's good for them.

This raises a question. If toilets are segregated by sex, and if we are supposed to respect all sexual orientations, there should be four toilets: Men's, Women's, Gay, and Lesbian. You should probably even add some extras for transsexuals, drag, and so forth.

That adds up to enormous costs in space and equipment. How far is society willing to go to accommodate homosexuals? Put your money where your mouth is; do people really want to respect homosexuals, or do people just pay lip service when it is trendy, convenient, and doesn't cost anything (anything tangible, that is)?

Simplify life: take down the signs and make all toilets unisex.

No?

The White House has spoken out concerning the fights over the immigration bills and making English the national language. The president says he wants to make sure that people who become American citizens have a command of the English language.

Very well said, sir, and I suggest you teach by example. Why don't you learn some English grammar and work on your vocabulary too?

兩剛來華學中文時，老師一再叮嚀，到餐廳他們問「幾位？」的時候，一定要回答，一個，兩個甚麼的，不能說一位兩位，因為「位」是尊稱，是客氣，如果回答一位兩位，聽的人偷笑，這個外國人不懂禮貌，當老師的很丟臉。

現代人習慣回答一位兩位。語言總是會變的，可是我還是回答一個兩個。

子曰，麻冕、禮也、今也純、儉、吾從眾。拜下、禮也、今拜乎上、泰也、雖違眾、吾從下。

We are having the first typhoon of the season, coming up the Taiwan Strait, which is unusual. Sort of early for a typhoon, anyway. Rain, rain, rain, but the mountains are spectacular.

Just now I looked out the window and saw the sky full of flying bugs. At first glance I thought it was dragonflies. You know those black bugs, sort of like termites, only larger? They seemed to be swarming out of the slope to the north, hundreds and hundreds of them. From my porch, the whole sky is full of them, everywhere you look.

I had never seen that before.

天下甚麼事情最難？

爬聖母峰難？不難。花幾十年鍛鍊身體、培養技術、儲蓄錢，早兩個月去適應，就可以爬上去，解決了。

中樂透難嗎？不難。碰運氣就中了，留住巨財才比較難，冷靜一下就不難。

作曲難嗎？Mozart五歲能作曲。畫畫難嗎？Picasso十三歲的油畫嚇人。

天下最難的事情是甚麼？修行。從無始劫帶來的業、習氣、緣，要想轉它，必須狠狠地面對自己，而人最不願意作的事情，就是面對自己。修行要觀照起心動念、明了自己在幹甚麼，徹知自己為甚麼要作這些事 (幹麼要爬聖母峰？喜歡這種音樂，是甚麼個念頭？選購這件襯衫，把另一個放回架上，是基于何種心？對店員的態度是甚麼道理？對蜘蛛有恐懼、對兔子有喜愛，是怎麼來的？)

你以為讀了佛經就免費贈送答案嗎？對不起，若有人說佛有所說法，是為謗佛，無有定法，只有筏。把它丟掉！

時時刻刻，清醒時反省所作所為，到底是在幹甚麼，睡眠就有夢攷。修行是二十四小時，死時未了，還要過許多關才能了，牛頭馬面、阿彌陀佛，該如何處置？都是修行。

比起來，爬聖母峰、叫公雞生蛋，還算甚麼呢？

A refugee's story
I tried to make a verbatim copy of this story as I heard it. This was told to me in 1981, in English, by a refugee from mainland China who made his home in Singapore. The events took place in the late 1960s.

My friend same me come from the mainland, but he come out during Culture Revolution, an he go Singapore, same me.

But when he go Singapore, he dint have the money, an he very poor an hungry, so he very worry, what to do? But he don't know how many people, an he have no job, so he very worry, maybe he could starve to death.

So one day he notice a bank, the Moscow Numbalubnim Bank. You know the Moscow Numbalubnim Bank registered in London, but owned by the Soviet government, they have branches only Moscow, London, Singapore. My friend saw this, he studied Russian many years in China. He can speak not very well but he knows Russian an can speak, so he go into bank an ask to open account, but he speak only Russian. The clerk they only speak English, they don't understand Russian, an they speak English an Chinese to him, but he dint say anything else, he just keeps speaking Russian.

So finally they get an official out to talk to him, a Soviet Union man, an he is very happy, Oh! You speak Russian? Everybody in Singapore speak English, you can speak Russian it is very good. So my friend he speak very long with the Russian, an open an account in the Moscow Bank, an the Russian says, you have an overdraft it is not the matter, for ten thousand dollars Singapore the overdraft is all right.

An my friend he very happy with the Russian. The Russian he is very happy too. The Russian also he likes to fish very much, he loves to fish but where to fish in Singapore? With no boat, have no place to fish.

So my friend tells the Russian, you want to fish is okay, this weekend we go fish, an he went to seaside to dock, have many boat there, can rent some an some people like to go fish. So my friend he call all the fish people together an says, Tomorrow I rent one boat, I take foreigner go fish, no matter he says what, you smile an say yes, yes, an I pay ten times price. All fish people very happy because he said one foreigner, he did not say is one Soviet Union people. He use overdraft money for do this.

So the weekend, weather very nice. He borrow car an drive bank officer to the dock, and says, What boat you like fish in? An the bank officer he sees many many boat, all beautiful an nice fishing boat. He says, Is all right? My friend says of course! Just say what boat you want ride in, I own thirty per cent of every these boat. So the Russian he very happy, and he choose one boat, and they go on an go out to sea an fish an oh, so happy!

So they fish all day an Russian very very happy. Then he say to my friend, Are you brave to take adventure? An my friend says, I don't know. The Russian then says, Much much money if you brave for adventure, an my friend thinks, I don't have money, I don't have job, I someday will starve, maybe take adventure is okay.

The Russian say, You take boat an go to Viet Nam, buy machines an bring back to Singapore, can sell much money. My friend say, But I don't have much money, how can I buy many machines? The Russian says, We give you bank draft from Moscow Numbalubnim Bank, you take to Viet Nam can buy many machine, you sell in Singapore an later pay back Moscow Bank is okay.

So my friend he find another friend, also is Culture Revolution come from mainland China, also was starve, my friend ask him, You are brave to take adventure? If we didn't adventure, maybe we starve to death in Singapore, so take adventure is okay.

They take the bank draft from the Moscow Bank an they go to Viet Nam on a boat they rent from fish people. They have address of a man in Viet Nam, Moscow bank man give them the address. So in Viet Nam they find this one man, and for bank draft he bring to dock many many machine, bulldozer and backhoe and earthmover, many many machine because the boat is big an they fill the boat. All these machines are from US Army an all are very very new, how you say, brand new, never been used. Each one drives on boat in Viet Nam with its own power, an my friend gives Moscow Bank draft for man in Viet Nam, an my friend he go back Singapore. In Singapore is have big crane pick up each machine from deck an put on dock. The customs man stand on deck an see crane put machine on dock. Why not drive down? Because these scrap metal, cannot be used, so we bring to Singapore to sell as scrap metal.

So he paid scrap metal rate for customs duty an then he take brand new US Army machine an paint the another color and he sell for very high price. He paid back to Moscow bank an had plenty money left after an now he is a very very rich man.

Pesky little Yumin is quite a changed dog. I can pinpoint the time he changed: around 10:30 Tuesday morning, when I brought Byajing home, and Cupid shot Tlahuy and Yumin, burying the fletches in Yumin. He suddenly became a mature, attentive gentleman, ready to scamper tenderly so as not to hurt her, equally ready to leap into action to protect her from the slightest harm.

The first afternoon she came, we were outdoors, Byajing was prancing back and forth in puppy clumsiness. I happened to glance back and saw Yumin sitting tranquilly, gazing at little Byajing in quiet adoration. Yumin was so embarrassed to be found out that he leapt to his feet and went charging uphill barking clamorously to protect us from any potential danger.

I had planned to keep Byajing in the first floor bathroom for a while, taking her out maybe an hour a day to acclimate her and let the big dogs get used to her. That isn't working out. Byajing hates to be indoors, and the big boys linger at the front door waiting for her. So now she's outdoors all day, and comes in only after dark or when I'm gone.

She begins barking at daybreak, so I deposit her outdoors. The first couple of days, when I took her out, I carried my blanket downstairs to sleep by the living room door, just in case. When she had done her duty, she wanted back indoors, and she snuggled up inside my blanket. After three days, she was big enough to stay outdoors without coming in for that extra cuddle.

Denise the Vet came to give Tlahuy and Yumin their annual shots. Isn't that great? A veterinarian who makes house calls. This way the dogs don't have to make the trek to the city. It is too early to give Byajing more shots, but Denise planned to check her temperature.

I sat on a chair and called Tlahuy to me. I pulled him across my lap and her assistant fed him treats as Denise gave Tlahuy his shots. He was very brave. Yumin got wind of what was up and started balking. I finally got him into my lap and he got his shots. His dignity had been wounded. As soon as I let him down, he walked off very briskly (walked, mind you, not ran) and sat in thick grass, sulking as far away from us as he could on the property. I went to comfort him and give him a snack, which helped, but he stayed there, still pouting, refusing to move. I called him and offered more snacks, but Yumin stayed put.

Then it was baby Byajing's turn. I held her as Denise took her temperature: rectal thermometer. Byajing yelped, and Yumin came charging to the rescue, eyes blazing, ears flapping, hackles up, tail aloft! When he saw Byajing safe in my arms, he turned around and returned to his thicket to continue sulking where he had left off.

Tlahuy gets a new collar after his inoculations.
Photo by 劉政霖老師.

民國九十一年四月在臺大參加人類學國際學術研討會後寫的：
最近在臺大參加人類學研討會，最吸引我的是一位著名學者的邵族歌謠研究。書面報告稱以音樂學探討邵族的情形，但僅做幾首歌詞的翻譯，至於音樂學分析、人類學詮釋，則全無。

該教授口述報告，先說明他本來要做音樂學的分析，但是完全不懂音樂，也找不到專家跟他配合。接著花了不少時間依語音論邵族的族屬(炒冷飯)，然後用cd 放了兩三首邵族的歌，就收場了，謝謝各位。口述報告內容完全不討論歌的內涵、意義、傳承、曲調、節奏、章法。「廣告期間」說是人類學、音樂學的結合，結果只做了一些疏鬆表面的翻譯。

講完之後，評論人歌功頌德，只隱隱約約提了一兩個不管緊要的疑問，教授艴然不樂，裝模作樣拿起書本看，表明不理睬評論教授。

這是台灣學術界的制學態度嗎？大學部的學生如果上台作這麼膚淺、敷衍的報告已經很丟臉，而這位李教授是中央研究院的研究員。反正他名氣很大，挐他有甚麼辦法？

臺灣有個現象我實在無法接受。舉個例吧。 兩三年前有一位老先生，輕微老人癡呆多年，家人沒照顧好，有一天在羅斯福路騎摩托車，歪歪斜斜的，突然倒下去，後方來車來不及煞車，壓過去了，年邁無照駕駛就這樣騎車歸西去了，結果後面倒楣司機還要賠失職家屬十幾萬，叫做「道義上的責任」。出錢司機寬宏大量沒話說，可是我問你，道與義在哪裡？直接說「倒楣勒索」好了。

Temu開烏來線公車；有一次在該轉彎的地方轉彎，中規中矩，忽然一部黑色BMW衝來搶路；Temu按喇叭煞車，來車太猛，撞上Temu的巴士。BMW司機一臉流氓相，凶得很；凶甚麼凶，是你自己笨蛋撞上來；Temu大概看出我想打人，叫我先離開。後來Temu還賠了幾千塊。我真不懂怎會有人拿得下這種錢。開BMW就是想炫耀有錢，公車司機賺錢辛苦，好意思開口要錢嗎？

拿去作棺材本吧。

I was probably the only person to register for the draft at the US Embassy in Saigon during the Viet Nam war.

I didn't intend to secure this honor, it just happened. I was in Saigon on my 18th birthday and you had to register for the draft when you turned 18, and the Embassy was the place to do it. There was a war going on, you weren't supposed to be in Viet Nam if you were an American minor, unless you had a uniform and a gun, in which case you didn't need to register for the draft. But there I was, no uniform, no gun. Visa? Let's not get into the details, I did some fancy footwork with my visa application and when it was time to apply for an exit visa, explained to the authorities that I had lost all my papers to cowboys, a reasonable explanation they accepted without question. Cowboys were what young robbers were called, because they rode scooters and shot like cowboys on a spree.

So as a law-abiding citizen (let's not talk about that visa, ok?) I was duty bound to register for the draft. The people at the bakery took me to a Chinese restaurant for a memorable lunch. Oh those mushrooms! Oh five bowls of rice! They neglected to tell me they had made me a cake, so I ate more than my full at lunch, only to be presented with this cake the memory of which still makes me drool, so I packed away a good portion of that. I could barely waddle when I stood up from the table.

Off to the Embassy, then, a horrid place we disliked, avoided, maligned, and distrusted. I showed my passport to the Marine Guard and was allowed in through the barricades and guns. I explained my mission to the clerk in American Services, a middle aged lady with a sprayed hairdo and tight pants over a thick behind, and you could tell she had excelled in her Foreign Service training in Advanced Superciliousness and Unpleasantry. She directed me to the Consul's office. The Consul! A few months later he broke his leg in a traffic accident and all the American contract workers in Viet Nam went out and got drunk in celebration, and most of the Koreans.

I entered his office, showed him my passport, and announced that as a good law-abiding American citizen, I was presenting myself to him to register for the draft, as it was my 18th birthday. He actually was civil to me. It was either an off day, or the novelty of the situation diluted the acid. He said, "Oh goody, nobody's ever done this before. We should have the forms, we are required by law to have the forms even if nobody uses them, but I have no idea where they are." He searched through his file cabinets and procured the forms we needed. "I've never done this before," he confided.

"Neither have I," said I, returning his confidence. In retrospect, I realize he was being very diplomatic in not asking me just what I was doing in country. My only recourse would have been to wave my Tri 9 Pizza Company ID at him.

He made his way through the form. The solemn ceremony of Swearing the Oath was not quite solemn. He didn't even lift his head from the form. I flipped up my right palm and swore that … I forget what I swore. All of the above is true and factual and I am eager to go out and die for my country, something like that.

When we finished, Consul smiled (I thought Foreign Service officers weren't allowed to do that)(I later reported to Frank and Chuck that Consul didn't really have fangs OR a forked tongue, but they didn't believe me) and said, "Since you're overseas, I doubt that they'll draft you, and if they do, they'll probably send you to Peoria or Indianapolis." I would have preferred Hue or Can Tho, but they never did bother to draft me anyway.

So that is the true, genuine, authentic, bona fide story of how I registered for the draft at the US Embassy in Saigon. All true except the part about losing my papers to cowboys.

Lately I have been reading Chang and Halliday's Mao: the Unknown Story, a horrible book. They back everything up with ample evidence, so I have no reason to doubt what they say. Even if only one per cent were true, Mao would still be a monster. (If you like, please read my review of the book on amazon.com)

I say it is a horrible book not because I distrust it, but because of the content, the evil life of Chairman Mao. This has brought to mind a lot of stories I have heard over the years, which I have been writing down. I am posting some here just so there is a record.

Around 1965, a Chinese family in Indonesia, the Fans, wanted their son to get higher education. In the 1960s, everybody was sure that Taiwan was doomed; Mao was prepared to bring death and destruction to this island. Instead of sending their son to Taiwan, they sent him to mainland China. He got there shortly before the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, which convulsed his school. He was pressured to join one of the Red Guard factions. He chose the wrong one, and after desperate fighting, most of the students in his faction were killed or sent to prison. In prison he was tortured by the victorious Red Guards. I have mercifully forgotten the details, but he still has the scars. They strung him up so he stood on tiptoe for a week. Finally, the torture was ended and he was put in a cell with an old man. Coming from a good family, Fan was very respectful of age, and treated the old man like his own father. The old man was sick and broken, but Fan nursed him back to health. When the old man was stronger, he told Fan that he had been a highly placed official with close ties to Teng Hsiaoping / Deng Xiaoping, and that the Cultural Revolution was designed to purge anyone with any power.

After a period of time, Fan was dragged off to the Chinese Gulag, which was called勞改're-education.' The old man told him, "Without your help, I would have died in this prison cell. I will remember." Cold comfort for Fan. He was put into the fields to do slave labor. He doesn't know where he was, probably somewhere in 新疆Hsinkiang/Xinjiang, and he doesn't even know how long he labored there. Maybe several years.

One day a car came to the camp, always an ominous sign. Everybody stopped working and stood in dread. A cadre got out of the car and called out Fan's name; Fan dropped senseless in a heap, because when they did that, they were taking you away to shoot you.

Fan was placed in the car and driven away. The cadre said only, "I have an envelope for you." 我有一封信要給你

Fan opened the envelope. Inside were travel documents and a one hundred Hong Kong dollar bill. There was no note, not even Fan's name written on the envelope, but Fan understood. Evidently the old man had weathered prison and been rehabilitated when Teng Hsiaoping regained power, and he had not forgotten that he owed his life to Fan.

Fan made his way to Hong Kong and returned to his family, which had long since given him up for dead.

Afghanistan
Certainly I am not the only person to remark on how quickly the Taliban fell after they destroyed the buddhas at Bamiyan. I'm not claiming a cause-and-effect relationship. But still~~

When poor little Bengax died last year, Tlahuy and Yumin were morose. Tlahuy and Bengax were born in the same litter. The only time they were apart was the time a typhoon spooked Bengax and she ran away for a few days. They were always together. They even sat and lay down at the same angle.

When Yumin came, Tlahuy and Bengax picked on him fiercely. Once their positions were established, Tlahuy was more aloof. Bengax would act crazy with Yumin, but she was sometimes very mean to him. Yumin adored Bengax.

When Bengax died, there was nobody to lie outside with Tlahuy, as pesky Yumin is always off somewhere into mischief. There was nobody to frolic madly with Yumin, because Tlahuy is really too dignified for that.

I decided we needed another little girl, and I decided on a Taiwan Dog 臺灣土狗. Tlahuy and Bengax are 1/8 Taiwan Dog, and I figured the loyalty of the breed would keep her close to Tlahuy, but she would be frisky enough for Yumin.

Chi's purebred TD had puppies on March 20. I originally hoped for a striped pup, but the only striped one in the litter was a male, and I hoped for a female. However, two of the pups were grey, which is extremely rare. One was a girl, so I asked for her. Now she is showing stripes; perhaps like a Dalmatian's spots, these don't always show up immediately. So it looks like I'll get my striped dog after all.

She arrived this morning. Her name is Byajing, moon in Tayal, because Bengax means star. I was a bit worried that the boys would be rough, but they are both treating her like a little princess. I think they are both in love with her. After we all got to know each other, I put Byajing in the bathroom, and she promptly fell asleep. Tlahuy and Yumin waited outside the front door like boys waiting for an actress to appear.

I have posted more photos at http://www.flickr.com/photos/94448433@N00/

桂竹筍
This is a lovely season in Wulai: the bamboo is shooting. If you see a shoot that doesn't seem large enough to eat, why, just wait a bit; the other day I passed up a shoot that was almost waist high, and the next day it was taller than I. When I am ready to make lunch, out the back door I go, and after a leisurely five minute stroll return with an armful of bamboo shoots. I boil water as I peel them. They could be fresher only if I had the water boiling when I came in the door.

Part of the pleasure is the deliciously fresh shoots; the other part is informing people, especially those abroad, of how fresh they are, and oh that's true, you can get only canned shoots in the US, right? How sad. And not even canned shoots in the UK, right? Oh, you must miss the bamboo shoots in Taiwan! Mmm, these are so fresh, right out of the ground and taste so good, yum yum, straight from the ground to the pot.

Those I can't irritate by email, I use my blog to reach.

Exquisite: the parrot flower from Thailand. Very rare.
…. 看起來很好吃…..

Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery. Then not doing as that person does is the most effective form of revenge.

剛學佛時，訝異發現原來很多僧侶是穿著出家衣的庸俗人。照理說，出家是多難的事呀！需要多大的福報、多堅強的毅力，才可圓頂為天人師。可是很多出家人，上殿作課，應付應付；頂禮合掌，敷衍塞責。為甚麼不像廣欽老和尚、苑裡師父？這些出家眾明明是飯桶屎囊，為甚麼戒律上我們要敬之如菩薩？大失所望。

後來慢慢了解，來果禪師不可多得，蓮池大師曠世無幾。即使玄奘法師，也不能獨當一面，需要僧團的傳承、護持，才能有所成就。沒有這些庸俗僧，大和尚要接電話、報稅、擦大殿、買菜；這都是修行沒錯，打坐誦經洗衣炒菜，無有高下。但根器深淺是事實；洗衣服，大家都會，可是可以上座帶眾有幾個？倘若沒有人劈柴擦地，就沒有大殿上的高僧；如果沒有這些庸懶頑強僧，就沒有廣欽老和尚、苑裡師父。因此，遇到出家人，必須敬之如菩薩。

世尊菩提樹下打坐時，如果沒有魔女獻攷，或許世尊更難成就。因此我們也該感激魔女。連魔女都該敬之如菩薩，何況不起眼的出家眾！

Mr 鄒/Tsou was born in central China, I forget just where. During WWII, he fought with the KMT against the Japanese. After the war, they fought against the communists, but were forced back.

Through all the fighting, he had been inseparable from a childhood friend from his village. They held together through thick and thin.

Finally, they had to decide. Tsou wanted to follow Chiang Kai Shek to Taiwan. His friend said, "Taiwan is so small, what will you eat there?” The friend stayed, and Tsou came to Taiwan. Eventually he left the army, got married, and raised three beautiful daughters.

After Mao died, tensions loosened, and return to mainland China was possible for the first time in decades. Tsou went to his hometown, and found his old friend. When the friend saw Tsou, he took Tsou's hand and cried and cried and cried. All he could say was, "You have no idea how we suffered.”

Finally they composed themselves enough to talk. He had bad news for Tsou. Because Tsou had gone to Taiwan, it was assumed that he must come from a rich background; in backcountry China, 'rich' might mean having a jade bracelet passed down for generations. The communists forced Tsou's family to turn over their gold, but they had none. The cadres accused them of hiding gold, so their home was torn down, but no gold was found. The family was accused of burying gold, so the whole house plot was dug up to a depth of a meter, in search of gold, but none was found.

More bad news: Tsou's father had survived for years by eating bark, but died in the early 1960s. The communists were starving all of the peasants, and especially those with any ties to the KMT. Tsou's entire family starved to death, as did his friend's. His friend was the sole survivor of either family, and he survived for over ten years on bark, wild grasses, insects, and dirt.

烏來公車上，老先生問老伴，這裡很漂亮，這是甚麼地方？

老伴說，閹豬。

老先生疑惑地問，閹豬?

老伴說，素呀，也有人說素豬潭。

老先生用閩南話問，這裡豬仔很多，是無？

老伴有點急，說，閹,…祖…湖…!

+ + +
直潭下游，有人叫燕子湖，是很漂亮，有點難唸就素了。

This morning I saw a scene that dates back thousands and thousands of years.

The bamboo shoots are in season. Taz'i, Lmuy, and Tenuy came to pluck the shoots, and brought along Lmuy's granddaughter, about two. I went out to chat. The adults were off in the jungle on the slopes, and had left the granddaughter sitting on a sack on the path, out of mischief, out of danger. The adults told her to stay put, and kept talking to her so she wouldn't worry or bolt. The clothing is different, but this is a scene that has been played innumerable times by our ancestors over millennia.

As I was thinking these deep thoughts, Yumin raced up the path towards some unknowable object. As he passed the little girl, almost without breaking his stride, Yumin reached over and licked her face, and continued charging uphill.

People ask what keeps me in Taiwan.

Once long ago I was on a bus in a heavy rainstorm. There were three thuggish young construction workers wearing hard hats, one sitting, two standing. An old man, obviously a retired soldier, got on the bus. The sitting thug got up and gave him his seat. The rain was so hard that the roof started leaking, and as luck would have it, it was leaking on the old man's bald head. One of the thugs took off his hard hat and used it to catch the raindrops. No ballet or opera could have been more beautiful.

This evening on the subway home, at the CKS Memorial, a lady got on with two little girls. A teenage boy got up to give them his seat, but the lady would not sit, because an old man had gotten on at the same stop, and he was standing. They wrangled, the old man insisting he could stand. In a moment, a man yielded his seat so they could all sit down. I would rather see that than the Mona Lisa.

Anybody reading these words on a computer screen probably lives in a glut of consumer products. It is hard for us today to notice how many things we have around us; this makes it hard for us to realize how easily things come to us.

Magazines and newspapers bombard us with photographs from around the world. In an agricultural society, when travel was laborious and all effort was dedicated to getting enough to eat, the only pictures people might see throughout their entire lifetimes might have been murals in temples or churches.

In hunting gathering societies, they may have never seen pictures beyond cave or cliff paintings, body paintings, or decorations on tools, and those were few.

I have a good sized collection of CDs, mostly Baroque. If I wish to hear Telemann's recorder duets, I have two versions, Pehrsson + Laurin or Petri + Selin. I can listen to Casals play Bach's unaccompanied cello suites, Veracini, Barsanti, Bigaglia, flutes, lutes, or toots. Right now I am listening to Bruggen playing Corelli's La Follia on the recorder for the umpteenth time. Someone a hundred years ago might have been able to hear that only once in a lifetime, and someone five hundred years ago never had a chance to hear it at all, because Corelli hadn't been born five hundred years ago. Sorry, couldn't resist that one.

If I tire of Corelli, I can listen to Egyptian villagers singing work songs, the Beatles, Ewan McColl singing shanties, or Paiwan nose flute. Such a wide range of listening was unavailable to our forebears. With the shanties, some people might not think that is such a bad thing. But my point is, these are available.

I couldn't find Chang's biography of Mao in the bookstores, so I ordered it from Amazon. I shudder every time I remember trying to buy English language books in Taiwan twenty years ago. English and American books were very high priced, and limited in content to best sellers and textbooks. If you wanted to order, first you had to know the publisher, find the address, write for a catalogue, wait to see if they sent it to you, choose your book, go to the bank for a US dollar cashier's check (a struggle in itself), send that off, and wait and wait. Four months was good time.

Even still, you could get books. I forget who it was, but there was one determinted scholar around the sixth century who wished to study 漢書\The Book of the Han. Never mind the book, he couldn't afford paper, so he got a job as a gatekeeper\閽人 for an influential personage. There he collected guests’ calling cards\名刺, which in those days were written on sheets of red paper. He used the other side to copy out the Han. My copy of the Han comes to 4,300 pages in five volumes, so the Influential Personage must have had a lot of company, because the scholar succeeded in copying out the entire Han on the back of calling cards, whereupon he commenced to study it.

In the Sung dynasty, Su Shih (蘇軾 1037-1101) wrote, "I once met an old Confucian master who said that in his youth he wished to find Historical Records and The Book of the Han, but they were unavailable. Fortunately he found them, so he copied them out by hand. He recited them by day and by night, fearing only that he was too slow." 李氏山房藏書記: 余猶及見老儒先生自言其少時欲求史記漢書而不可得幸而得之皆手自書日夜誦讀唯恐不及。 Books were hard to come by.

One of my teachers told of how, in the days before Xeroxes, he wished to study 劉大焦's History of the Development of Chinese Literature\中國文學發達史. He managed to borrow a copy, and he transcribed the whole thing by hand. My teacher held his hands up to show a stack of notebooks full of his transcription. "Then two months after I finished, Chung Hwa Book Company published the thing." He threw his hands up in an elegant gesture of frustration. I have a Chung Hwa version: 1199 pages. Teacher did lots of copying.

本月十四日的blog，我曾提出臺灣一個極嚴重的問題，即政府給地方的預算沒花完，明年可能沒錢。

最近烏來鄉的道路在換護欄。舊的護欄是水泥作的，幾年前作好的；鄉公所現在用怪手把舊護欄挖掉，換了金屬護欄，工程規模不算小。鄉民抱怨，這項工程實在太浪費錢。問題是，官員最怕預算被刪減，今年錢不花，明年可能沒錢。起碼，這個工程有好處：一方面可以讓地方官員把剩餘的公帑耗費掉，另一方面沒有直接破壞山林，在原有道路作工，沒有直接害到處女地。間接的破壞當然很大，可是耗費民眾的錢，比環保重要得多。

過三五年後，鄉公所又可以把金屬護欄挖掉，換水泥的。不過說真的，納稅人賺錢不易，繳稅辛苦，這種工程可稱善用民眾的稅金嗎？這是政府照顧老百姓的好例子嗎？

PS:其實我幫鄉公所解民怨。鄉民氣憤，舊護欄好好的，看不出為甚麼要換；我就替鄉公所說話：「問題在于舊護欄是水泥的，所以不透風，因此一定要挖掉。」

PPS: 你認為我這個解釋不合理嗎？到現在鄉公所還沒提出更合理的解釋，所以我覺得我這個說詞很好呀。

Confession of a Pot Addict
I have a confession to make: I am a pot addict. This has been going on for many years. I have struggled to keep this addiction within bounds, with limited success. I feel that I have to come to terms with this, and face my addiction, in order to deal with it. Honesty and public confession are part of my therapy.

To live with my addiction, I have to accept it, not fight against it. That is hard. I am sorely tempted to visit my main dealer, Chi, although from time to time I do buy from other dealers, and even off the street, too. When I visit Chi, I try to avert my eyes from the good stuff he has on sale, and steer our conversation to safe topics.

Chi knows me well. He doesn't need to bring it up. Sooner or later, I am bound to ask, "Well, Old Chi, I'm trying to keep my eyes shut, but I keep wondering what you have in that drawer.”

"Oh, I shouldn't show you, it's rare stuff.”

"Really?”

"Yes, the purple clay we talked about last time.”

"You mean eggplant purple?" My breathing became quicker.

"Yes, I was able to find two more excellent examples of eggplant purple." He opened the drawer and rummaged around. "Here, look at this, it is from the Ching dynasty.”

I reverently picked the pot up in my hands and examined the color and texture. I sniffed it. "Exquisite, I can just imagine the flavor.”

"But I really don't want to sell that. Here's something for you." He placed another superb example of eggplant purple on the table, and I knew I was gone.

For form's sake, I said, "I don't need another pot. I already have over fifty pots." Chi merely smiled and poured hot water into the Ching dynasty pot. It shined with brilliant luster. "Here, let's make some Shuihsien with this one, so you understand its character.”

"No, Chi, let's not, I'll just admire the color and texture." The handle of the Ching pot was proportioned just right. The spout was short and rising. The pot he was willing to sell me was a Standard pot, but in eggplant purple clay. I had never seen anything like it.

"What kind of tea goes best with eggplant purple?" I asked.

"It's versatile, but you'll probably get the best results with High Mountain tea or something less strongly fermented, like some sort of Oolong.”

I sighed. "I surrender. How much is it?" and with the prices Chi offers, it would be a crime to refuse, so I paid and he got out the packing paper and I came away with yet another tea pot. I just have to face it, I am a pot addict, so I may as well just face it and live with my addiction ….. hey, hey, what kind of pot did you think I was talking about?

reformation
Last weekend I met some friends out on the mountain. They decided to take a little walk along a trail. The trailhead was about a five minute walk from where we were, so they drove, and I set out on foot to meet them there. Yumin was scampering hither and yon, and did not come when I called. Tlahuy and I walked up the road. I called several times, but Yumin did not come.

The road curves. When I got to a spot not too far above our starting point, I bellowed for Yumin. I heard an abject yelp. I told Tlahuy, We had better go back and fetch the beagle.

My friends were still chatting by the car. Yumin was rushing back and forth. I shouted for him. He stopped dead in his tracks, and made a beeline for me. He leapt up into my arms. My friends told me that when he realized I was gone, he chased this way and that trying to find me, almost in a panic.

You know what? Since then he has become a changed beagle. He is more tractable, more demonstrative, and less cantankerous. I am not guaranteeing this will last, and I am not claiming he has become a model of obedience, but between getting caught in that trap in January and losing Tlahuy and me, he has become less wayward.

=||photo by Kelly: in the car on the way back down the mountain||=

When I was in about the fifth grade, for various reasons, my mother went back to work. She got a job drafting for Caltech Geology. During vacations I haunted her office, playing with the drafting tools, following around the geologists, pestering the staff, and generally making a nuisance of myself.

It was a great place. Down in the basement they had aquariums that might have had something to do with geology, with fluorescent nudibranches that fascinated me. The geologists were a merry lot who scattered their footprints all over the geology. One professor had returned from Greenland, where, at considerable expense, effort, and danger, he had succeeded in extracting cores of ancient ice from crevasses deep inside glaciers. From these cores, he intended to analyze the content of the atmosphere long in the earth's past. The best laid plans of lice and men: the precious samples that he was working on were temporarily placed in a special refrigerator in his office, where they stayed until one hapless graduate student wandered in looking for some ice for his coke. Definitely not a good career move for the student, although I understand he later did find gainful employment toting baggage at LAX.

Andy Ingersoll, who had the whole field of interplanetary geology to himself, took me up to the observatory to look through the telescopes. All of the geologists were nice to me (probably because I didn't want any ice in my soft drinks), but Juri van de Wode was in a special class.

Juri came to Caltech by way of the Royal Dutch Air Force. He loved flying the prop planes, with his silk scarf fluttering behind him, and he loved telling stories about the good old days. The good old days before he was married, when his beloved lived in a pleasant house near the base. Juri drew pictures as he told stories, the pleasant house, a pine on each side. One day he was flying over the neighborhood, so he decided to salute her. He buzzed the house, dropping like a dive bomber until he almost hit the chimney before he pulled up. He returned to base very pleased with the impression he must have made on her.

That evening he was surprised by the glacial expressions on her parents' faces. He sat down in the living room with her father, who was puffing on his pipe. Her father asked, "Juri, did you fly today?”

"Yes, I did." For some reason Juri felt that it was not yet time to boast about his buzzing skills.

Puff puff. Silence. Pause. Glares. "Juri, were you flying at around 4:15 this afternoon?”

"Yes, I was.”

Puff puff. Silence. Pause. Glares. "Juri, did you fly over our house?”

"Yes, I did.” Juri was definitely becoming uncomfortable. It turned out that his beloved's mother had just washed a pile of her heirloom plates, and had been carrying them to return to their cupboard when Juri dropped by. She was so surprised that she dropped the whole pile, shattering every one. Juri laughed uproariously when he told me this story, but after all, Caltech is a long way from the Netherlands, twenty years had passed, and they got married anyway.

Another one of his proudest moments was when they were on maneuvers, and had set up a special officers' latrine in the woods. As he flew by, Juri took some wonderful photographs of the colonels and generals doing their business. Oh yes, and Juri was also the Dutch Air Force's first Mach buster. That too, but he didn't take so much pleasure in telling the story, because it was in a jet, and when you pilot a jet, your silk scarf doesn't flutter in the wind.

What fun is flying if your silk scarf doesn't flutter in the wind? Ask Snoopy: no fun at all! No more silk scarves, no fun. Juri left the Air Force and emigrated to US, where he became the top astronomical photographer in the world. He was the best part of my vacations. One spring vacation I helped develop photos of moon which had been taken by a space probe; those were the best photos of the moon that existed at that time.

One day Juri asked, "Did I ever tell you the story of the little sergeant?” No, he hadn't. You see, one day, a little sergeant was transferred to their base. Ok, that happens all the time. Juri told me how he reported in, carrying his duffle bag over one shoulder. He was a quiet man, short, dark, never talked much. For some reason, another sergeant took a strong dislike to him. For convenience, we will call the mean sergeant Leo, and the meek sergeant Vincent. Leo picked on Vincent mercilessly. Even though they were the same rank, Leo ordered Vincent around as if he were a raw recruit. Vincent bore it meekly, without a word. In Leo's eyes, Vincent never did anything right, and Leo always jumped on his back. Vincent bore this meekly for several months. Finally one day Leo yelled at him and insulted him in front of everybody. Vincent said nothing, but returned to his quarters.

Twenty minutes later, a large black limousine flying the Queen's insignia drove into the base. Everybody snapped to attention. Out stepped the largest, meanest, nastiest officer anybody had ever seen in the Dutch armed forces. In a voice like a cannon, the officer called for Leo, and as Leo stood trembling before him, proceeded to scream and yell at him with such eloquence and vehemence that Juri learned many new words. After a quarter of an hour of this, the officer ordered Leo to pack his bag as quickly as he possibly could. Leo was roughly pushed into the Queen's limousine, and driven away. The word was that he spent the rest of his military career in the most remote, most uncomfortable base the Dutch Air Force had in some miserable corner of Indonesia.

That was when they found out that Vincent was the one and only Dutch survivor of the Bataan death march. After the war when he was released from Japanese prisons and returned to the Netherlands, the Queen personally awarded him Holland's highest military decoration. With the decoration came a special privilege: the recipient was allowed to phone the Queen directly at any time, with any request. Juri picked up the phone in his office and gleefully imitated the conversation: "Your Majesty, Leo keeps picking on me. Can you make him stop?”

有人問我，大學通識課我選甚麼？對不起，我念大學時，沒有通識課程。那種制度的好處是專；很多學生修通識課，結果雜，找不出個重心。當年我們師大國文的課幾乎都是必修的，選修呢，一學期修一門就差不多了。我選了管子啦、金文啦、甲骨等等。念完學位最大的好處，對我而言，是沒有必修課，可以念自己愛念的書。

必修課有它的好處，硬讓你學重要科目，管你有沒有興趣。到現在很多韻、攝，紐都還能背，通江止遇蟹臻山效果假宕梗咸曾，有時候腦中突然浮現開齊合撮，反而背的文章詩詞都忘了。

想念就念，不急不緩，高興才念。前不久把世說新語看完了。大學讀過，可是畢業後，想到就看一看，翻一翻，有時候放個三五年不碰，再拿出來看幾頁便擱回書架。有時候再看看前面，高興就隨便翻開讀幾段。可是有個書籤一直從第一頁朝最後一頁前進。前不久，書籤終于到達了最後一頁。算一算，這本書，看了二十九年。不急不緩，再看一遍吧。

戰國策較快，這次五年就看完了。應該把左傳再摸一摸，可是最近又讀韓非子、歐陽修全集、宋元學案。資治通鑑也是。上次看，好像在東漢。慢慢來，很好看。不急不緩，想讀就讀，這不是很過癮嗎？

A couple months ago, Watan asked, "Yugan, Basang Yulaw had his son-in-law, the backhoe operator, drag some driftwood out of the stream after typhoon season last year. He's making luhung. Are you interested?”

I said, "Sure, why not?" and at once forgot all about it. Luhung are the wooden mortars aborigines use to pound millet, sticky rice, and the fingers of the unwary. Nobody makes these any more. The Chinese never used them, and the Aborigines use blenders now. I'd never even heard of a full sized mortar for sale.

The other day Watan phoned. "Yugan, come down to the road, I'm waiting for you. I've got these luhung in my car and I can't do anything with them in here.” He had two large hunters and two large luhung in the car, one of tkbin (櫸, Chinese elm) and the other of skalu (烏心石, of the magnolia family). We wrestled them out of the car. Them: the luhung: the hunters got out by themselves.

"Talakay, Watan, where did he find such a big piece of skalu?”

"I told you, after the typhoon.”

"It must have been a huge tree, I don't think I've ever seen such a big piece of skalu.”

"There are two sshu for each one.”

"Sshu? In Wulai we call a pestle a gsiju.” The workmanship on the mortars was excellent. They are undecorated, but the form and grain speak for themselves.

"Yukan, see the angle of the inside of the skalu mortar, this is better for beating the husks off millet. The tkbin mortar would be better for beating hekin (糯米作成蔴糬 sticky rice cakes)." The mortar comes with two long spoons of lighter wood, for scraping the rice off the walls of the mortar while pounding. Two people pound, and a third keeps the walls clean.

I chose the tkbin mortar, and selected two pestles, be they sshu or qsiju. The mortar is a bit lower than waist level, so you can pound easily with the pestle; a pestle reaches my bellybutton. "Yugan, take this qesu pestle, because you can see it's already been eaten by insects, so that means it's dry and stable." Qesu is 九芎, myrtle, a very hard wood. Nobody could figure out what wood the other pestle I chose is made of, but it weighs around twenty kilograms.

Fortunately, Watan had conned two hunters from Tampya to come along for the ride. When I had chosen the mortar and pestles, Watan and I looked at the hunters significantly. "Watan, Yugan, is something wrong, why are you looking at us like that?" We smiled sweetly: "What do you think you are along for?" Akay laughed and said, "I understand." He hoisted the mortar onto his shoulder; I haven't weighed it, but I would guess the mortar to be around forty kilos. "Let's go. Yugan, lead me, but once I start, I can't stop.”

I ought to hold a rice pounding party. But I'll have to invite strong guests, because those pestles are heavy!

紫色酢醬草, Oxalis corymbosa DC

I have a large collection of photos like this ~~ too large, if you ask me. As I was composing the photo you see above of the pretty flowers, Faithful Tlahuy came over to see what I was looking at. Just for good measure, he sniffed the flowers and walked across them.

Lots and lots of photos like this….

I was talking with my buddy, Mr Tomato. I asked, "Can you still call yourself a vegetarian if you anthropomorphize your food?”

身體髮膚，受之天地
不敢毀傷生態，孝之始也

Happy Earthday!

宋‧永嘉水心先生葉適曰，不深于古，無以見後；不監于後，無以明前。古今並策，道可復興，聖人之志也。

恐怕教育部長不求道之復興、不要老百姓思攷，要國民上學，只是為了接受教條，學習服從政府的命令。

乾，一音古寒切，見母寒韻，古今音同ㄍㄢ，為乾濕之乾。一音渠焉切，群母仙韻，古音ㄎ一ㄢ今音ㄑ一ㄢ’，天也，君也，堅也。佛經常以譯ㄍ、ㄏ音，如Gandharva 乾達婆、Gandhara 乾陀羅等；皆應讀ㄍㄢ，今佛子多讀ㄑ一ㄢ’，失之。絕無以「乾」為ㄑ譯音。

One of the most terrifying scenes I have ever witnessed was a man taking off his sunglasses.

To reach this point, we have to wander about the background lining up developments.

Begin with Zack, I suppose. Zack was a stringy black man from Alabama. He stayed in Saigon after he retired from the US Air Force. He opened a soul kitchen and gave it the mellifluous name The Red Door. When we moved out of the bakery, we moved in two doors over, next to the whorehouse. It was that kind of neighborhood, so Uncle Jim saved a bundle on rent. Business was good and Zack's food was better. Sometimes when the mood struck him, he would play the piano and sing the blues, which was even better. Zack eventually moved to Singapore, I forget why, and Brownie took over. Brownie never sang, but his food was even better. He made some of the best cornbread I have ever tasted. Somebody tried to frag him, though, which spoiled the ambience, to say nothing of his awnings. He moved over to Cowboy Alley, near the old USO, but by that time, the US forces were gone.

One evening in the summer of 1974 I was sitting in Brownie's enjoying some delicious cornbread when a man I had never seen came and sat at my table. Ok, fine, there were only a couple tables, fine with me. I knew all the other men, all Americans, mostly blacks, all of them with some years in Viet Nam, mostly construction workers who stayed after they finished their military service. The newcomer was not a military type. He was about my height and build, with longish dark brown hair, wearing black pants and a long-sleeved brown shirt. His complexion was not very good, but I couldn't see all of his face because he was wearing sunglasses with black rims. That was sort of weird, because it was nighttime. I thought the sunglasses were an affectation.

If he was trying to be cool with those shades, it wasn't working. He seemed uptight. He didn't talk much. He was civil, but there was a tension in his posture and words. He ordered cornbread and a drink. Then he took out a pack of cigarets and lit one. He put his lighter on the table. It was a typical silver Zippo, with one difference: it was decorated with a Phoenix. Immediately all of the men began buying drinks for the newcomer, treating him with great deference. He accepted their drinks calmly, almost as his due.

The Viet Namese are very proud of a saying, 王法不入村, Royal law stops at the village gates. Traditionally Viet Namese villages were autonomous to the point of anarchy. Village elders decided what was what, and if the Emperor did not like it, he could come enforce the law himself. The emperors were content to respect tradition, so village elders had immense authority in Viet Nam. The village elders stood up to the Viet Cong as they had stood up to the emperors, but the Viet Cong would not brook any challenge to their authority. They began a systematic campaign to assassinate village elders and murder their families, in order to terrorize the people, break down traditional authority, and force all to submit to their rule. They murdered one hundred thousand people in this campaign.

The response was brutally efficient. The South Viet Namese found out just which men were murdering these village elders and their families. The Phoenix program sent American shooters to kill the families of the Viet Cong hit men. Immediately, the Viet Cong stopped killing village elders. However, Congress found out about Phoenix, and with great sanctimony, ordered the end of the Phoenix program. Immediately, the Viet Cong started killing village elders again, and our Senators were proud to be so virtuous. This is the story behind our newcomer's lighter.

After his third drink, the newcomer loosened up a bit. He took off his sunglasses and put them on the table. I instantly understood why he wore them. When a poisonous snake has bitten its prey, it waits patiently, dispassionately for the animal to stop struggling and die. This was what I saw in that man's eyes. He must have noticed how discomfited I was, because with an apologetic grimace, he put his sunglasses back on again, and kept chewing his cornbread.

He paid an awful price for his patriotism.

我自認記性不壞，可是時間觀念糟透了。事情往往記得很清楚，但是發生是在半年前或五年前，完全搞不清楚。

曾經有一次遇到一位助教，叫郭大碁，寒暄幾句便問，「現在申請學校的進展怎麼樣？」

他愣了好一回，慢慢回答說，「老師，我已經念完博士回來了。」

「喔，是這樣嗎？你念了幾年？」

「碩士博士，我在美國念了七年…」

前幾天跟朋友講這個故事(好像是前幾天吧)，你說巧不巧，今天坐捷運又遇到郭大碁，寒暄幾句，他在上海工作，一年回臺灣兩三次，剛好去客戶公司討論事情，過兩天要回上海。跟他真有緣。

可是這次我就沒問我們多久沒見。從他談話中猜，大概九年了吧。Don't ask me.

Go metric? No, no, a hundred times no, never in a thousand years. It's unnatural. If the good god in heaven had wanted the US to give up inches and pounds and go metric, he would have made us all with ten fingers and ten toes.

不是我想做廣告，可是用了Balahu作的手工洗髮皂之後，不想再用一般商品洗髮精 www.ewuyu.com。問題是，頭髮亂翹，像颱風過後的鳥巢。我問Balahu怎麼辦？

Balahu說，「用手工皂洗頭髮會這樣是正常的，因為它們都沒有一般市售洗髮精的柔軟髮質化學成份。我看書上說用手工皂洗頭，可以嘗試用1比10的醋水或者檸檬水潤絲，洗完頭以後到些醋水者或檸檬水把頭髮揉一揉，再稍為沖一下水即可軟化髮質。」

好吧，專家是這麼說，我就帶了醋進浴室準備洗頭。突然一種很不妙的感覺，心中彷彿看到Balahu跟Rabbit兩個人抱在一起笑，笑到精疲力盡，「我跟他說，看書上說用手工皂洗頭，用醋作潤絲，那個呆瓜一定會相信，一定拿醋作潤絲…」
「噗哈哈哈哈，可能家裡沒有醋，去買的時候問，『小姐請問，那一種醋洗頭比較好？』『先生，你說要用醋作甚麼？？』哈哈哈，不行，再笑會脫水！」

站在蓮蓬頭下，手上拿著醋，猶豫了很久，最後想，「如果沒效或有甚麼意想不到的後果，不要讓Balahu知道就好了，反正她在臺東，夠遠。」

結果發現效果很好，頭髮很順。還好。

PS: 用醋潤絲效果好，可是我現在又在想，是誰發現的？是怎麼樣發現的？
~~用西瓜汁潤絲很涼，可是滿頭紅肉不雅觀。
>>總比我好。上次試火龍果，老婆以為我出水痘，打了好幾針。
~~醬油潤絲效果不好，可是看起來比較年輕，白髮都不見了。
>>你也太認真，上次還用麻油被當作神經病報警。
~~我一時興奮，看到麻油想到，這個還沒試過，不知道效果好不好，索性馬上擦。
>>你應該想到。
~~我忘了是在水餃店…
>>那個老闆有點激動…
~~他不了解科學實驗精神。
>>你賠了多少？
~~還好，可惜的是，老闆說以後我敢在他店裡露臉的話，他把我砍成餡，做成水餃餵野狗。那家水餃真好吃…
>>不管了。下一個試甚麼？
~~不要再試蜂蜜就好了。我第二天早上被癢醒，眼睛一開，枕上幾百隻螞蟻。
>>對，我忘了問，律師認為這樣構成離婚條件嗎？
~~不只，還要贍養費呢。
>>蜂蜜不行，那麼我們用醋看看。
~~用醋潤絲？你有沒有搞錯？
>>不然你用烤地瓜。
~~好了好了，我用醋試試看…
…..the rest is history.

I have written before on this blog about attending the annual gathering of the Jingpo (景頗, Kachin) in Taiwan: November 27, 2005; November 29, 2004. You can find those in the Archives on the right of this page.

The other day I received an e-letter from a Kachin organization in London. They had no idea that there is a Jingpo organization in Taiwan, and asked me to get them in touch. The London contingent and the Taiwan contingent got on the phone and had a good long talk. I am delighted and honored to have this chance. How often does such an opportunity arise?

www.kachinland.org
www.kachinnews.com
www.kachinpost.com
www.kachin-today-usa.org

韓非子：鄭人有欲買履者，先自度其足，而置之其座。至之市，而忘操之。已得履，乃曰，「吾忘持度，反歸取之。」及反，市罷，遂不得履。人曰，「何不試之以足？」曰，「寧信度，無自信也。」

現代很多迷信科學的人也是如此，寧信度，無自信也。

這裡是烏來西螺岸靠近保慶宮的地方，一般遊客不到之處。

一個月前，這裡是杉林。杉中也長其它野生種的樹、草、爬藤、蕨，生命卬卬，氣息雝雝。一個月的時間，樹幾乎砍光了，野生植物靡有孑存，整個地型被破壞；要蓋溫室，「種一些適合這個環境的植物。」如果適合這個環境，為甚麼要毀滅生態？如果不適合這個環境，為甚麼要在烏來種？

如果適合這個環境的植物一定要溫室才能長，為甚麼不能順地勢蓋，或作不規則地基？這個答案簡單：不肯用腦筋，也深怕多花一毛錢。如果作好環保要多一銖的成本、損一毫的利益，業者寧死不肯，願留爛攤子害死子孫。

一個月前，這塊地的樹上傳鳥聲蟲鳴；現在鳥禽蟲獸沒有了，只剩機器噪音。

臺灣山林保育，誰理它？是土地配合我，不是我配合土地。說愛臺灣嘛，是愛嗎？簡直是強暴。

官員最怕預算被刪減，今年錢不花，明年可能沒錢。你知道這種慣例對臺灣產生多嚴重的傷害嗎？為了耗費今年的經費，山中亂開路；也許對某些地主、業者、財團有利可圖，但是環境破壞，害死大家。

路開了，不太有人走，因為沒有實用價值。可以到烏來看這些路旁，全是垃圾；舊建材、彈簧床、冰箱、電腦、馬桶、洗衣機，都往山上丟。寧毀山林生態，不願送垃圾場：垃圾場收費，要自己出錢，丟山上的代價是大家一起付的。

我說，「愛臺灣」這個口號，是騙人的。

This morning I was awakened by incessant barking, and darn if it didn't sound like a beagle. It sounded like the neighbor's Andy was chiming in, too. Not a distressed barking, more like they had something treed, but I sure couldn't get back to sleep. Faithful Tlahuy was prancing by the back door. I followed the barking up a very steep slope. Sure enough, Yumin and Andy. A feral cat was holding a defensive position on a tree trunk, but it was a fallen tree, and what with the angle of the slope, it was just a few handspans out of paw-reach. I tried to call the dogs off, but I knew how much good that would do. I began edging toward the confrontation, with the idea of holding the dogs while the cat made its escape, but I am heavier than a dog, and the slope crumbled under me. Then clever Yumin got an idea: he started inching out along the branches of the tree, which still had enough twigs and dry branches to hold him. The first several twigs did, anyway. Suddenly he plummeted out of sight: thunk. Then scritch scritch scritch Yumin pulled himself up the slope: I would estimate it at about 70 degrees. With a look of grim determination on his face, he gradually pulled himself back up to his original position, mostly by the strength of his front legs, like someone doing pullups. Yumin is as cute as all getout, but he's also a very headstrong doggie, not to mention just plain strong. The cat watched him approach with resignation. Tlahuy and Andy kept barking, just for good measure. Finally, Yumin clambered back up. He decided, if a cat can do it, I can do it, so gingerly he started moving out along the trunk. The cat arched its back, but it didn't look good, so I hacked off a length of bamboo and used that to smack the trunk between cat and dog; Yumin hesitated, but the cat didn't. It flung itself off the trunk and down the slope. Tlahuy was after it in a moment, but a moment too slow, and the cat made good its escape.

Rather than go back down that slope, I continued upward and circled home. Sure enough, about an hour after I got home I keeled over for a nice makeup nap.

Yeah, I know you've seen it before, but I never tire of the view.
This is a sequence of photos I took one afternoon last month.

Some photos I took one day last month. There was something wrong with the blog, so I couldn't post them then.

The US is an amazing country. It has produced both Walt Disney, who made wild animals all cutsie-wootsie, and Hugh Hefner, who made nudity boring.

申時春雷

我來臺灣時，對中國語言、文學一無所知，但被國字吸引，這麼迷人的字，我一定要學會，所以就來了。學中文半年，開始讀文言文，從此不再想看語體文；沒味道。好茶喝了，開水就顯沒滋味。文言才好看，沒標點更好。(本篇屬論時事小品，故以白話譔)

如果看懂國字，看文言不難，但要用頭腦；作者把讀者當聰明人。讀文言與讀白話不同，要慢慢看，慢慢思攷，用心尋字意句旨。其它語言若干結構詞(如英文冠詞之類)，文言不須要，所以非常精簡；全世界語言，中國文言最適合寫詩，因為只有意境詞，不須文法結構詞。我最愛左傳：簡明扼要，整本書無一字可刪。

當然，審美觀是主觀的。文言一個最好的特質是經古不易，換朝改代，文言依然。Shakespeare才四百年前，現在幾乎看不懂，因為是白話；十三世紀的Chaucer也寫白話，現代人只能猜一兩個字，Beowulf連一個字也不用猜。英文是我的母語，教英文三十年了，可是對我來說，讀四書、竹林七賢、韓愈、戰國策比讀Shakespeare輕鬆，就是因為文言不隨時代變遷。

班固、孟子、Shakespeare死了那麼久，看他們作品有甚麼好處？(其實，會問這種問題的人極端缺乏深度，將近無藥救的情形)幾千年來的人都是笨蛋嗎？只有現代人的話才有參攷價值嗎？現代西洋科學觀不是萬能的，任何一種學術有其極限；多讀古人書，了解他們的觀點，學習他們的理路，集思廣益，有助于突破現代思想的窠臼。誠如賴明德老師所說，現代學術越走越狹隘：博士的頭銜應該改為「精士」。

否定文言，對于一個從事文學創作的人，有它的魅力在：如果屬于華夏五千年的文學傳承，作品義必與左丘明、韓非、王弼、柳宗元、歐陽脩、張岱他們比一比，這的確是十分令人洩氣的事。如果否定這個傳統，另起爐灶，有利于孤芳自賞，很爽。

浩瀚文獻，垂手可得；若置之不理，對于我們社會的思攷、討論、處事，是莫大損失。照理說，一個開放、自由民主社會，應該鼓勵國民多方採取不同觀點，讓我們從更多角度看問題，有更多法子處理事情，有更多意見參與討論；除非教育政策存心愚民。

說也奇怪。今天全世界爭先恐後要學中文，而臺灣教育部想封殺國民中文能力。不止是奇怪的政策，實在也很可惜。會認國字不讀文言，好比來臺灣專吃麥當勞；真正好的、有特色的、有深度的，全沒嘗到滋味，太可惜。入寶山，空手歸。

我的床前面的月亮光芒好亮喔。你覺得這樣比較好嗎？

Springtime in Wulai.
Ini mita ali.

if you look carefully, you can see a beagle tail in the background.

竹花了
發瘋了

This afternoon I heard a thump. A mkuang had flown into a window on the second floor. I know only the Tayal name, mkuang ~~ it's a kind of pigeon, bright green. I was afraid Tlahuy and Yumin would tear it apart, as they are avid hunters, and go after everything that moves. To my surprise, Tlahuy carefully picked it up and deposited it at the front door. Yumin was excited, but did not approach the bird. I swear they knew it was wounded in an accident, and not fair game. I sat with them for a while, and told some mantras for the bird. Then I put my finger behind its feet. It perched on my index finger, and I placed it on the branch of a tree in the ravine out front.
About an hour later, I went out to see how it was doing. When it saw me coming, it flapped its wings and flew away: see, I'm ok!

::I looked it up, 綠鳩, sphenerus sieboldi, Green Pigeon.

你比較欣賞誰，曹操或者劉備？

劉備、關公、張飛、諸葛亮雖然終告失敗，但在華人心目中，永遠是英雄。曹操勝利，可是視為有才華的姦詐梟雄。中國人欣賞悲壯、耿介之士。

說不定，百年後，蔣中正是萬民景仰的英雄。

Yesterday just at dawn, the bamboo frame I hang drying clothes on came crashing down. Well, it's been nine years, I should have thought to replace the bamboo earlier. I had class, so I didn't have time to fix it yesterday.

This afternoon I took my headhunting knife and saw and selected several nice bamboo poles. The crossbar is as thick as my forearm. When I had cleaned the bamboo and stacked it on my front gate, I suddenly got a whim to take off uphill across the jungle in a straight line. I had my knife in case I had to chop through anything, but that would be only a last resort; I try not to mar the jungle. Walking barefoot does not spook snakes, so I figured it would be fun. I wasn't going any great distance, just a couple hundred meters, but it was rough going. I waded through a thick sludge of mud and climbed up a little waterfall. I move cautiously in the mountains, because when I go rambling, nobody knows where I am, so if I were hurt, nobody would ever find me. I'm not in any hurry anyway. As I reached the top of the waterfall, delicately placing my toes on the loose rocks, suddenly Tlahuy came charging up through my legs, and almost launched us both off.

As I expected, I came out near Singang's hut. His brother, Abus, and father-in-law were there. "Yugan, why are you so muddy?”

"Just having fun." I chatted with them a while, but sniffing the wind, took my leave. Minutes after I dragged my bamboo onto the back porch, it started pouring. When I had finished my repair job, I came in and made some fine tea to drink as I listened to the rain.

FYI: carrying a long bamboo pole is like riding a raft in choppy water.

Steph informed me of this:
On Wednesday of this week, at two minutes and three seconds after 1:00 in the morning,
the time and date will be

01:02:03 04/05/06.

That won't happen again for a hundred years!

You may now return to your normal stuff

人生
年輕，享受
中年，想瘦
老年，想壽

Overheard on the bus
從烏來坐車下臺北，一個女的帶著一個八九歲的小男生；看樣子可能她是姑姑、嬸嬸之類的。
>烏來他們跟我們臺北不一樣，他們是原住民。
<甚麼是原住民？
>跟我們不一樣，他們很久很久以前來臺灣，比我們早，所以叫做原住民。
<我們不是原住民？
>不是。烏來他們是原住民，他們是阿美族的。
<甚麼是阿美族？
>烏來他們就是阿美族，原住民還有很多族，有阿美族，還有…還有……還有排灣族…有泰雅族…還有……還有邵族……鹿族…哇，你看你看，這邊有一家餐廳，這個餐廳好大好大，你看這個餐廳真的很大，一定很多人來吃，才這麼大。我們等一下到新店可以坐捷運，你喜不喜歡坐捷運？

=可惜她把話題扭開了，我正想幫忙：鹿族之外，還有兔族、鱷魚族、螃蟹族，而且不要忘記客家族！

Coming home one night last week, I spotted a pile of bricks by the road in New Store.
Hey, Chang, look, bricks.
Mm.
Let's stop.
You need bricks?
They look lonely there, you know. It's been raining a lot, they look abandoned, like nobody really cares about them.
You need bricks?
I've got some pots I want to fire on a bonfire, and some bricks to hold the fire would be an improvement.
You need bricks.
They look forlorn here, all by themselves.
How many do you need?
I can't just take them, but how sad, there's nobody around to ask permission.
Are you kidding? It's almost midnight.
Good, nobody will see us then.
How many do you need?
A dozen will do.
Put them in the trunk.
If the weather holds, maybe I can fire my pots on Sunday.

Who needs April Fools' when we've got Bush in the White House and President Bean here?

The ROC VP shoots her mouth off at minorities and the disadvantaged. The US VP shoots defenseless animals and lawyers. It's difficult to say who inflicts more pain.

Happy April, fools.

I feel very fortunate to live in Wulai where I can enjoy the beautiful scenery. But it goes beyond that. I have time to get out and ramble; I don't have to worry about bombs, landmines, or bandits; I have the stamina to romp over hill and stream.

This afternoon I walked up Silogan and down the other side, coming back from Rahaw.

I can show you the view, but you can't hear the eagles above, the birds in the trees, the waterfall, or the stream, and you can't smell the blossoms, trees, soil, or grass.

Written March 29, 1971, in Saigon:
Two Koreans were driving by in a pickup as we got home. I heard a terrific whine, and turned around in time to see the driver stall it in the middle of Ng. M. Chieu (the street we lived on, Nguyen Minh Chieu in Phu Nhuan, Saigon). In the front of the facing column was a truck of MPs. The K started to rev it up, but he killed it. He got out of the car and started complaining in English about "You say, 'Korean go home.'...." The other Korean melted away. This man locked his car. The MP stopped him. MP took him to the side, K started crying dry, stagger, MP walks to jeep. K calls MP out. MP outweighs K by 125#, guns, and clubs. K walks away, leaving locked car in the middle of the street with parking lights on. We (soldiers and I) push car back out of way, lifting to get around lamppost. Saigon Police and QC come. K comes back, more sober. Where's my car? Over there. How'd it get there? We carried it over. Demolition team comes. No bomb. Korean gets in. Everybody scatters for cover. K peals down the street, narrowly missing lampposts and pedestrians.

Early this morning a water buffalo charged down Ng. M. Chieu pursued by a jeep. Soldiers in BEQ (a US military post on the street) ducked inside their gate for cover, locking comrade out.

The ARVN Defense Institute tour of Indonesia, five VN delegates stayed on in Indonesia for another two days, but neglected to see 3 star General and twenty other officers off at the Indonesian airport. *** General was so mad he couldn't eat. When the late five returned to Saigon, the *** ordered that the whole staff of the Defense Institute go to Tan Son Nhut airport to welcome them. A girl clerk was to present them with a bouquet of flowers. So this morning, thirty jeeps and bus roar up Cach Mang street to TSN to welcome the late officers.

Yesterday I posted a photo of some marvelous creature racing across my living room. Firefly/黃麗螢 was the first to identify it as 蚰蜒 Scutigeromorpha, a house centipede:
http://www.ngensis.com/myriapod.htm
you can read more about it here:
http://godofinsects.com/museum/display.php?sid=1690
http://www.whatsthatbug.com/cent.html
http://pubs.caes.uga.edu/caespubs/pubcd/b1088-w.html
Hey, it eats cockroaches! Fortunately, I am far enough removed from other residences that I don't have those. But it's nice to know I've got a bodyguard just in case.

The little critter was making very good time across the floor. In The Variety of Life, Colin Tudge says, "a cheetah with the same ratio of speed to body length would break the sound barrier." Go gobble up those roaches, little buddy!

Thanks to Firefly, Tim, Angela, and Elliot for identification. And thanks to Francy for the suggestion that it is the offspring of a cockroach and a centipede.

PS: 蚰蜒，一ㄡ一ㄢboth二聲，又名蠼螋ㄐㄩㄝ二ㄙㄡ一，俗名錢龍、錢串子。Nice to meet you.