十分無聊
來母、泥母、娘母字(換言之，ㄌ、ㄋ開頭的字)有一個奇怪的特點：可以接各種介音、尾音. 例如，ㄇ可以接ㄢ、一ㄢ、ㄡ、一ㄡ (慢、面、某、謬), 但國字沒有ㄇㄩ音；ㄈ可接ㄢ但不能接一ㄢ等等：其實，國語音很有限。只有來母、泥母、娘母甚麼都可以接:哪、訥、乃、內、腦、耨、南、嫩、囊、能、倪、捏、鳥、牛、年、您、娘、寧、奴、娜、農、女、虐；拉、樂、來、雷、勞、樓、嵐、郎、冷、裡、倆、列、撩、留、連、林、梁、零、爐、羅、巒、倫、隆、閭、略、淋、攣。
夠無聊吧
但是為甚唯獨來母、泥母、娘母變化那麼多呢？
Monday, February 28, 2005
惠澂 came today, to give me five 紅豆杉fir saplings. He has dozens. I planted some last year, gave some to friends, and wanted more, so today he brought me five more. I planted three as soon as he left. At least it was only drizzling by then.
The other two firs I am holding for Qalux, who wants to plant them by his new house, but as he has not even begun construction, I decided to put them in larger pots for the time being. To top off the pots, I went to the irrigation ditch to dredge up some sludge. In the ditch I found a nice large turtle. Its shell is somewhat larger than a sheet of A4 paper. I was holding it and admiring its healthy, shiny shell, bright eyes, and red neck markings, when Yumin pranced over to see what I was up to. I held the turtle to him so he could have a look, too. He was puzzled. Then the turtle, from inside its shell, opened its mouth. You could practically hear Yumin exclaim "Gadzooks! It lives and breathes!" He was astonished, and went into his unknown-prey mode, which attracted Tlahuy. I soothed the turtle and lightly placed it back in the water. Tlahuy and Yumin watched in puzzlement. Yumin seemed to be telling Tlahuy, "No, it's not a rock, it opened its mouth, really!"
The other two firs I am holding for Qalux, who wants to plant them by his new house, but as he has not even begun construction, I decided to put them in larger pots for the time being. To top off the pots, I went to the irrigation ditch to dredge up some sludge. In the ditch I found a nice large turtle. Its shell is somewhat larger than a sheet of A4 paper. I was holding it and admiring its healthy, shiny shell, bright eyes, and red neck markings, when Yumin pranced over to see what I was up to. I held the turtle to him so he could have a look, too. He was puzzled. Then the turtle, from inside its shell, opened its mouth. You could practically hear Yumin exclaim "Gadzooks! It lives and breathes!" He was astonished, and went into his unknown-prey mode, which attracted Tlahuy. I soothed the turtle and lightly placed it back in the water. Tlahuy and Yumin watched in puzzlement. Yumin seemed to be telling Tlahuy, "No, it's not a rock, it opened its mouth, really!"
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Monday, February 21, 2005
Sunday, February 20, 2005
beagle days
Intuition develops. Without knowing why, I suddenly walked over to the back door and looked out onto the back porch. Yumin was very quietly pulling the hose out of the bucket I keep full of water for them to drink. “YUMIN!” I shouted. He flinched so heartily that his ears flew up. Without looking back at me, he dropped the hose and very softly, very deliberately walked about two meters away from the bucket, where he sat down primly, still not looking at me. He sat for a moment, and then spotted an imaginary intruder. He leapt to his feet, and barking and howling, charged off into the bamboo.
Intuition develops. Without knowing why, I suddenly walked over to the back door and looked out onto the back porch. Yumin was very quietly pulling the hose out of the bucket I keep full of water for them to drink. “YUMIN!” I shouted. He flinched so heartily that his ears flew up. Without looking back at me, he dropped the hose and very softly, very deliberately walked about two meters away from the bucket, where he sat down primly, still not looking at me. He sat for a moment, and then spotted an imaginary intruder. He leapt to his feet, and barking and howling, charged off into the bamboo.
Saturday, February 19, 2005
This is a true story. I have not invented a word of this.
In the early 80s, two wives in a small village in Hualien, on the eastern coast of Taiwan, were pregnant at the same time. The couples were such good friends that, following an ancient Chinese tradition, the parents 指腹為婚 agreed that if they had one boy and one girl, they would marry each other. Sure enough, in 1982 a boy, Chan, and a girl, Wenhui were born, and raised with the expectations that one day they would get married.
In 1986, when the children were about 4, an earthquake of such power struck Hualien that the village was buried. Chan threw himself on top of Wenhui to protect her, but rescuers dug out both unconscious and severely wounded, but still alive. Chan was sent down the coast to a hospital in Taitung; Wenhui's injuries were more serious, so she was sent to Taipei.
When Chan regained consciousness, the nurse told him that the entire village had been destroyed, including his parents: he was the only survivor. He was adopted by new parents, given a new name, and began life again. He didn't believe he was the only survivor. He felt, deep in his bones, that Wenhui was still alive. He had no way to find her. When he entered high school, he searched the lists of new high school students in Hualien, but did not see Wenhui's name.
When Wenhui regained consciousness, the nurse told her that the entire village had been destroyed: she was the only survivor, but fortunately her parents had been away, on the other side of Taiwan. The lucky family was reunited. They began life again, but stayed in Taipei, where Wenhui went to high school.
During the eleventh grade, both Chan and Wenhui chose to attend the same summer camp, because of its theme of herbal medicine. Eight hundred high school students were in the camp, so they were divided into groups of eight. Chan and Wenhui were in the same group. They hit it off immediately, even before they knew each other's names. Wenhui is a pretty common name, so Chan wasn't sure if it was his Wenhui. With his new name, Wenhui did not recognize Chan.
A skit was planned, in which Chan and Wenhui were chosen to perform as boyfriend and girlfriend. During the rehearsal, the girlfriend was supposed to tie an apron on her boyfriend, so Wenhui tied Chan's apron on, with the exact some movement and tie she had used when they had gone to kindergarten together. Chan knew immediately that, beyond a doubt, this was his Wenhui, so he said, "Wenhui, don't you recognize me?" Violins and roses, and they have been together ever since, through college and beyond.
For Valentine's Day, Chan gave Wenhui a yellow rock. When they were three, Wenhui had plucked it from the stream and given it to Chan. He has treasured it ever since.
In the early 80s, two wives in a small village in Hualien, on the eastern coast of Taiwan, were pregnant at the same time. The couples were such good friends that, following an ancient Chinese tradition, the parents 指腹為婚 agreed that if they had one boy and one girl, they would marry each other. Sure enough, in 1982 a boy, Chan, and a girl, Wenhui were born, and raised with the expectations that one day they would get married.
In 1986, when the children were about 4, an earthquake of such power struck Hualien that the village was buried. Chan threw himself on top of Wenhui to protect her, but rescuers dug out both unconscious and severely wounded, but still alive. Chan was sent down the coast to a hospital in Taitung; Wenhui's injuries were more serious, so she was sent to Taipei.
When Chan regained consciousness, the nurse told him that the entire village had been destroyed, including his parents: he was the only survivor. He was adopted by new parents, given a new name, and began life again. He didn't believe he was the only survivor. He felt, deep in his bones, that Wenhui was still alive. He had no way to find her. When he entered high school, he searched the lists of new high school students in Hualien, but did not see Wenhui's name.
When Wenhui regained consciousness, the nurse told her that the entire village had been destroyed: she was the only survivor, but fortunately her parents had been away, on the other side of Taiwan. The lucky family was reunited. They began life again, but stayed in Taipei, where Wenhui went to high school.
During the eleventh grade, both Chan and Wenhui chose to attend the same summer camp, because of its theme of herbal medicine. Eight hundred high school students were in the camp, so they were divided into groups of eight. Chan and Wenhui were in the same group. They hit it off immediately, even before they knew each other's names. Wenhui is a pretty common name, so Chan wasn't sure if it was his Wenhui. With his new name, Wenhui did not recognize Chan.
A skit was planned, in which Chan and Wenhui were chosen to perform as boyfriend and girlfriend. During the rehearsal, the girlfriend was supposed to tie an apron on her boyfriend, so Wenhui tied Chan's apron on, with the exact some movement and tie she had used when they had gone to kindergarten together. Chan knew immediately that, beyond a doubt, this was his Wenhui, so he said, "Wenhui, don't you recognize me?" Violins and roses, and they have been together ever since, through college and beyond.
For Valentine's Day, Chan gave Wenhui a yellow rock. When they were three, Wenhui had plucked it from the stream and given it to Chan. He has treasured it ever since.
Friday, February 18, 2005
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
學佛的美國人不多，所以時常有人鼓勵我開『佛學英語』課。對這種建議，一直存疑。
何謂佛學英語?中翻英，最令譯者死不暝目，莫過於佛書。東西觀念差異之大，是一個問題。佛法基于「緣起性空」；其中只有「起」字勉強可以翻譯成英文。加上佛法眾多名相是梵音，從「南無」到「阿耨多羅三藐三菩提」，如何翻成「英文」？
講這些的前提是，上佛學英文的學子，英文已經流俐，說聽寫讀能力已到美國大學程度。既然如此，還是很吃力。若要加強語文能力，學外文不如把中文學的透徹一點（透徹、徹悟，不是「水清」的澈）。佛經的中文很深，夠你去研究。不要說研究，字音正確就很好了。我們最常念的彌陀經，從頭到尾念對的佛子並不多。
問題很多。有人受內地口音影響，把般若的若念ㄖㄟˇ，因為來台法師，有的不會念ㄖㄜˇ（車、蛇念ㄔㄟ、ㄕㄟˊ）。
很多佛弟子該破音時不破，不必變音時很刻意變。解字，廣韻蟹韻，胡買切、曉也；同韻又佳買切、講也說也脫也散也（又出卦韻古隘切除也、同韻胡懈切曲解）。依此，解脫的解念ㄐ一ㄝˇ才對，但很多佛弟子很用心念錯，讀ㄒ一ㄝˋ。何必？
（案：字書韻書不詳處，可訪民語。各方言將了解的解讀g見母，無hㄒ例）
該區別就不區別。供養的養讀三聲、四聲，差很多。論語為政:子游問孝，子曰，今之孝者是謂能養(一ㄤˋ)，至於犬馬，皆能有養(一ㄤˇ)，不敬，何以別乎? 廣韻養韻(上聲)，餘兩切，育也樂也飾也。又漾韻(去聲)，餘亮切，供養。晚輩奉養長輩的養應讀四聲，養畜生的養才讀三聲。很多人偏念ㄒ一ㄝˋ脫、供一ㄤˇ。
土，他魯切，ㄊㄨˇ，夠簡單吧，但也有人硬念ㄉㄨˇ。也許是依據土的另一音；廣韻姥韻、徒古切、土田地主也、本音吐。(此反切幾不見經傳)。第一，徒古切音ㄉㄨˋ，不是ㄉㄨˇ(徒，定扭，全濁)。第二，很明顯本音ㄊㄨˇ，不須牽強讀癖音。第三，把『地主』音用於淨土、佛土，十分不妥。
為甚麼那麼用心念錯呢?可能是未了標誌內行、與眾不同、得到他人不及的祕傳。可能吧。用心念錯不如用心修行。
這是華語問題，至於英語呢，如果一般英語還不熟，何必強求『佛學英語』?
佛重心法。拈花微笑時，釋迦說哪一種語言?在美國弘法多年的宣化上人，英文不大會，洋弟子一群一群來。不是為了他的語文能力，而是因為他有修行。眾人自然服膺威德。
但由此可看出台灣佛教界的一個問題:一頭熱。很多佛子太熱心，有甚麼就抓甚麼，不深思熟慮。你會開車好發個心幫師父開車，你會煮飯好發個心幫師父煮飯，你會雕刻好發個心我們開個佛像雕刻班，你會做麵包好發個心我們開個佛教麵包班。
熱心、發心固然好，但重點還是那個『心』字。一切起心動念觀察的清清楚楚才要緊。太投入外在活動往往是逃避內在乾坤。加上，佛法畢竟不是我執重的宗教，我們不強迫世人接受我們的教義，我們不必向全世界的人佈道說，只有我們對，其他人都錯。佛度有緣人。
更何況，你學英語渡誰？你以為西洋人有那麼好渡嗎?宣化上人的經驗談是:
＂登天難 也不難
教公雞生蛋 也不難
教美國人學佛法 真是難！＂
憑你幾句英文，一點修行，就能弘法？連釋迦在這裡傳此難信之法，是為甚難！不如實實在在地修行，一旦有成就，弟子自己上門，不勞你學英文，也不勞我開班。
何謂佛學英語?中翻英，最令譯者死不暝目，莫過於佛書。東西觀念差異之大，是一個問題。佛法基于「緣起性空」；其中只有「起」字勉強可以翻譯成英文。加上佛法眾多名相是梵音，從「南無」到「阿耨多羅三藐三菩提」，如何翻成「英文」？
講這些的前提是，上佛學英文的學子，英文已經流俐，說聽寫讀能力已到美國大學程度。既然如此，還是很吃力。若要加強語文能力，學外文不如把中文學的透徹一點（透徹、徹悟，不是「水清」的澈）。佛經的中文很深，夠你去研究。不要說研究，字音正確就很好了。我們最常念的彌陀經，從頭到尾念對的佛子並不多。
問題很多。有人受內地口音影響，把般若的若念ㄖㄟˇ，因為來台法師，有的不會念ㄖㄜˇ（車、蛇念ㄔㄟ、ㄕㄟˊ）。
很多佛弟子該破音時不破，不必變音時很刻意變。解字，廣韻蟹韻，胡買切、曉也；同韻又佳買切、講也說也脫也散也（又出卦韻古隘切除也、同韻胡懈切曲解）。依此，解脫的解念ㄐ一ㄝˇ才對，但很多佛弟子很用心念錯，讀ㄒ一ㄝˋ。何必？
（案：字書韻書不詳處，可訪民語。各方言將了解的解讀g見母，無hㄒ例）
該區別就不區別。供養的養讀三聲、四聲，差很多。論語為政:子游問孝，子曰，今之孝者是謂能養(一ㄤˋ)，至於犬馬，皆能有養(一ㄤˇ)，不敬，何以別乎? 廣韻養韻(上聲)，餘兩切，育也樂也飾也。又漾韻(去聲)，餘亮切，供養。晚輩奉養長輩的養應讀四聲，養畜生的養才讀三聲。很多人偏念ㄒ一ㄝˋ脫、供一ㄤˇ。
土，他魯切，ㄊㄨˇ，夠簡單吧，但也有人硬念ㄉㄨˇ。也許是依據土的另一音；廣韻姥韻、徒古切、土田地主也、本音吐。(此反切幾不見經傳)。第一，徒古切音ㄉㄨˋ，不是ㄉㄨˇ(徒，定扭，全濁)。第二，很明顯本音ㄊㄨˇ，不須牽強讀癖音。第三，把『地主』音用於淨土、佛土，十分不妥。
為甚麼那麼用心念錯呢?可能是未了標誌內行、與眾不同、得到他人不及的祕傳。可能吧。用心念錯不如用心修行。
這是華語問題，至於英語呢，如果一般英語還不熟，何必強求『佛學英語』?
佛重心法。拈花微笑時，釋迦說哪一種語言?在美國弘法多年的宣化上人，英文不大會，洋弟子一群一群來。不是為了他的語文能力，而是因為他有修行。眾人自然服膺威德。
但由此可看出台灣佛教界的一個問題:一頭熱。很多佛子太熱心，有甚麼就抓甚麼，不深思熟慮。你會開車好發個心幫師父開車，你會煮飯好發個心幫師父煮飯，你會雕刻好發個心我們開個佛像雕刻班，你會做麵包好發個心我們開個佛教麵包班。
熱心、發心固然好，但重點還是那個『心』字。一切起心動念觀察的清清楚楚才要緊。太投入外在活動往往是逃避內在乾坤。加上，佛法畢竟不是我執重的宗教，我們不強迫世人接受我們的教義，我們不必向全世界的人佈道說，只有我們對，其他人都錯。佛度有緣人。
更何況，你學英語渡誰？你以為西洋人有那麼好渡嗎?宣化上人的經驗談是:
＂登天難 也不難
教公雞生蛋 也不難
教美國人學佛法 真是難！＂
憑你幾句英文，一點修行，就能弘法？連釋迦在這裡傳此難信之法，是為甚難！不如實實在在地修行，一旦有成就，弟子自己上門，不勞你學英文，也不勞我開班。
Friday, February 11, 2005
You learn something every day.
I have a friend named Tohuy. I had thought that was a variation of thuy, fat, but it turns out that the Tayal name Tohuy comes from the Chinese 土匪 tufei, bandit.
Well, if you don't want to name your son Bandit, you could always name him after my neighbor Putaq. Putaq means vomit, barf.
No, I don't know why his parents named him that, but it's a pretty common name.
I have a friend named Tohuy. I had thought that was a variation of thuy, fat, but it turns out that the Tayal name Tohuy comes from the Chinese 土匪 tufei, bandit.
Well, if you don't want to name your son Bandit, you could always name him after my neighbor Putaq. Putaq means vomit, barf.
No, I don't know why his parents named him that, but it's a pretty common name.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Thank heavens, the Monkey year is just about over.
I decided to spice lunch with the seeds of a flower that has bloomed, a fifteen minute walk through the jungle. I stuffed a plastic bag in my pocket, strapped on my laraw (番刀, headhunting knife), and headed out. Tlahuy rushed over as soon as I opened the door, but Yumin was making mischief in parts unknown. Shortly before we reached the flowers, Tlahuy suddenly tensed. His hackles rose and he growled at a thicket. I didn't see anything, but walked by very gingerly. I gathered my seeds and started home. We passed that thicket without incident, but twenty paces on, he suddenly started staring intently uphill. Now, there had been a dog or something, Tlahuy would have been on him immediately, but Tlahuy just stared uphill, his whole body tense. I noticed that the shrubbery had been pressed down by something large and heavy. As I stood there looking, something large and heavy moved in the bushes above us. I didn't see it clearly, but it was a boar, about the size of a golden retriever, which means it would weigh at least as much as me. It moved and sank deeper into the bushes, avoiding confrontation. What amuses me about the incident is how my laraw leapt into my hand the moment it moved. The scabbard is tight, to keep the knife from falling out in our rough terrain, but that laraw was ready in a nanosecond. I looked at my laraw with a puzzled smile ~ how did this get here?~, apologized to the boar, and turned homeward.
I decided to spice lunch with the seeds of a flower that has bloomed, a fifteen minute walk through the jungle. I stuffed a plastic bag in my pocket, strapped on my laraw (番刀, headhunting knife), and headed out. Tlahuy rushed over as soon as I opened the door, but Yumin was making mischief in parts unknown. Shortly before we reached the flowers, Tlahuy suddenly tensed. His hackles rose and he growled at a thicket. I didn't see anything, but walked by very gingerly. I gathered my seeds and started home. We passed that thicket without incident, but twenty paces on, he suddenly started staring intently uphill. Now, there had been a dog or something, Tlahuy would have been on him immediately, but Tlahuy just stared uphill, his whole body tense. I noticed that the shrubbery had been pressed down by something large and heavy. As I stood there looking, something large and heavy moved in the bushes above us. I didn't see it clearly, but it was a boar, about the size of a golden retriever, which means it would weigh at least as much as me. It moved and sank deeper into the bushes, avoiding confrontation. What amuses me about the incident is how my laraw leapt into my hand the moment it moved. The scabbard is tight, to keep the knife from falling out in our rough terrain, but that laraw was ready in a nanosecond. I looked at my laraw with a puzzled smile ~ how did this get here?~, apologized to the boar, and turned homeward.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
At breakfast, a woman asked her husband, “I suppose you know what day it is?” Her husband cringed internally, but told his wife, “Of course I know what day it is," thinking, omidog, I forgot our anniversary again! On his lunch break, he ordered flowers, chocolate, and a beautiful blouse to be sent to home immediately.
When he got home, his wife said, "Oh my, thank you for the gifts! Those make this the most memorable Groundhog's Day ever!”
And a happy one to you, too.
When he got home, his wife said, "Oh my, thank you for the gifts! Those make this the most memorable Groundhog's Day ever!”
And a happy one to you, too.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Sunday, January 30, 2005
I endeavor fruitlessly to make sense of an article from the January 26, 2005 Orange County (CA) Register: "Police Officers dress up as a hippie and a hare to bring crosswalk safety to motorists' attention in Laguna Beach." The photo shows a car encroaching upon a crosswalk, across which are strolling jauntily, on the left, a person dressed in a black cowboy hat with a zebra band, a purple coat with a lime shirt peeking out beneath, tight black toreador pants, and expensive running shoes, and accompanied on the right by a tall, erect, bipedal white rabbit wearing a red ribbon around its neck, and expensive running shoes (bipedal, so only the pair). I bet Alcoholics Anonymous membership went way up when that pair hit the street.
Since when did Salvador Dali become Laguna Beach Police advisor? How are the hippie and the hare supposed to make motorists aware of crosswalk safety? Is that a hippie? I never saw a hippie dressed like that. I thought hippies wore bellbottoms, not tight pants that reached halfway down the calf.
How can motorists tell that is supposed to be a hippie? If they cannot tell, will their attention be drawn to crosswalk safety?
Some of those fundamentalists in Orange County would probably step on the gas if they knew that was a hippie.
If I saw a six foot tall rabbit walking erect across a crosswalk, wearing track shoes and a red ribbon around its neck, I wouldn't become aware of crosswalk safety, I'd run over it (maybe back over it a couple times to make sure I had done a good job) and rush straight to my doctor to have my medication changed. And I don't even take any medication!
Maybe it would be better to rush to the police station and change the chief's medication.
But the question which is keeping me awake at nights is, What do they signify? Why a rabbit and a hippie? How does that combination connote crosswalk safety? Why not a hippie and a pooh-bear? A hippie and a giant walking popsicle? Look at Scout: being dressed as a ham didn't make her any safer at all, not a bit! Do you think drivers could be made aware of crosswalk safety by police officers dressed as, say, a cowboy in paisley chaps walking with a slightly cooked turnip? Or have the authorities, in their infinite wisdom, discerned that crosswalk safety can be inculcated most effectively by a misdressed hippie and a monstrous rabbit?
This is the kind of perspicacity that makes us all confident that we will win the war on terrorism! All we have to do is dress our warfighters as perhaps a hedgehog and a tailor and parade them in front of the bad guys, whereupon they will see the error of their ways and embrace democracy, motherhood, and apple pies.
Since when did Salvador Dali become Laguna Beach Police advisor? How are the hippie and the hare supposed to make motorists aware of crosswalk safety? Is that a hippie? I never saw a hippie dressed like that. I thought hippies wore bellbottoms, not tight pants that reached halfway down the calf.
How can motorists tell that is supposed to be a hippie? If they cannot tell, will their attention be drawn to crosswalk safety?
Some of those fundamentalists in Orange County would probably step on the gas if they knew that was a hippie.
If I saw a six foot tall rabbit walking erect across a crosswalk, wearing track shoes and a red ribbon around its neck, I wouldn't become aware of crosswalk safety, I'd run over it (maybe back over it a couple times to make sure I had done a good job) and rush straight to my doctor to have my medication changed. And I don't even take any medication!
Maybe it would be better to rush to the police station and change the chief's medication.
But the question which is keeping me awake at nights is, What do they signify? Why a rabbit and a hippie? How does that combination connote crosswalk safety? Why not a hippie and a pooh-bear? A hippie and a giant walking popsicle? Look at Scout: being dressed as a ham didn't make her any safer at all, not a bit! Do you think drivers could be made aware of crosswalk safety by police officers dressed as, say, a cowboy in paisley chaps walking with a slightly cooked turnip? Or have the authorities, in their infinite wisdom, discerned that crosswalk safety can be inculcated most effectively by a misdressed hippie and a monstrous rabbit?
This is the kind of perspicacity that makes us all confident that we will win the war on terrorism! All we have to do is dress our warfighters as perhaps a hedgehog and a tailor and parade them in front of the bad guys, whereupon they will see the error of their ways and embrace democracy, motherhood, and apple pies.
Saturday, January 29, 2005
Questions for an atheist
1. Do you accept that there are other forms of life besides human beings? For example, dogs, mosquitoes, deer, leeches, turtles, dolphins.
If your answer is yes, please proceed to Question 2.
If your answer is no, please proceed no further. Get your head out of the sand.
2. Do you accept that a leech or a mosquito, for example, would find it very difficult to understand human beings?
Explanation: I suppose that to a mosquito, a human being would live for an incomprehensibly long time; a mosquito would have no understanding of what I am doing here tapping out words on a computer, or how the computer operates. By the same token, we may not understand much about mosquitoes’ lives.
If your answer is yes, please proceed to Question 3.
If your answer is no, please proceed no further.
3. Do you accept that an earthworm living inside a flowerpot by your front door may be totally unaware of the existence of humanity?
Digression: I suppose that earthworm does not know much about the politics, wars, or empires we find so compelling. Suppose an earthworm were killed by a bomb during an air raid; what comprehension would it have about the cause of its death?
If your answer is yes, please proceed to Question 4.
If your answer is no, please proceed no further.
4. Do you believe that you are aware of all of the life forms in the entire universe?
If your answer is yes, please proceed no further.
If your answer is no, please proceed to Question 5.
5. Please tell me what a god is.
Do you agree with this supposition?
Supposition: what we call a god is a being with an incomprehensibly long life time, who understands things we cannot comprehend, and may be capable of feats beyond our understanding.
Consider: I touch a switch on the wall and light appears overhead; I pick up a wireless phone and talk with someone across the ocean; I wrap a sandwich in a transparent plastic bag and put it in the refrigerator. To a human being living in London three hundred years ago, such feats would have been incomprehensible.
If you agree with this supposition, with or without reservations, please go on to question 6.
If you do not agree with this supposition, please tell me what a god is.
6. Is it possible that somewhere in the universe, there are beings which live incomprehensibly longer than we do, and are capable of feats beyond our understanding?
Consider: Our sun, an average sized star, is a million times larger than our earth. There are a trillion stars in our galaxy, and there are billions of galaxies in the universe. What are the chances that only this minuscule speck we call earth harbors life?
Consider: Is it possible that such beings could exist near us, but in such a different mode of existence that we are no more capable of understanding them than an earthworm in a flowerpot of understanding computer software?
Digression: When I take my dogs for a walk, our experiences are totally different. We see, hear, smell, and feel different things. I may see a red car go by and note that Qoyaw is heading downtown with Mkuang; my dogs will not. They will note scents, sounds, electromagnetic fields, and who knows what else, that are imperceptible and incomprehensible to me. We walk together in different worlds.
If your answer is yes, qualified or unqualified, please go to question 7.
If your answer is no, please proceed no further.
7. For lack of understanding, could those beings be called gods?
If you still cannot accept the existence of gods, why not?
What I don't understand are the people who make a point of proclaiming their atheism. They are no different from people who make a big fuss that their god is the only god and demand we worship it.
Why do some atheists make such an issue about it? Are you the type to go to kindergartens to preach that Santa Claus does not exist? If it makes them happy, good enough. If Jesus or Allah or Vishnu or Spiderman make someone happy at their level, good enough for the time being. Better than people who insist that others accept atheism. If atheism defines your life, you are still placing gods at the center of your life. The existence or nonexistence of gods is central to you.
The lady protests too much, methinks.
I am not promoting the existence of any particular god. I simply suggest that there exist beings who, for lack of understanding, we call gods. I do not worship an Olympic gold medalist, even though I have never won a gold medal; I do not worship someone with a higher academic degree than me; I do not worship gods, but I do not deny their existence. They're there. Live with it. No big deal, one way or the other.
1. Do you accept that there are other forms of life besides human beings? For example, dogs, mosquitoes, deer, leeches, turtles, dolphins.
If your answer is yes, please proceed to Question 2.
If your answer is no, please proceed no further. Get your head out of the sand.
2. Do you accept that a leech or a mosquito, for example, would find it very difficult to understand human beings?
Explanation: I suppose that to a mosquito, a human being would live for an incomprehensibly long time; a mosquito would have no understanding of what I am doing here tapping out words on a computer, or how the computer operates. By the same token, we may not understand much about mosquitoes’ lives.
If your answer is yes, please proceed to Question 3.
If your answer is no, please proceed no further.
3. Do you accept that an earthworm living inside a flowerpot by your front door may be totally unaware of the existence of humanity?
Digression: I suppose that earthworm does not know much about the politics, wars, or empires we find so compelling. Suppose an earthworm were killed by a bomb during an air raid; what comprehension would it have about the cause of its death?
If your answer is yes, please proceed to Question 4.
If your answer is no, please proceed no further.
4. Do you believe that you are aware of all of the life forms in the entire universe?
If your answer is yes, please proceed no further.
If your answer is no, please proceed to Question 5.
5. Please tell me what a god is.
Do you agree with this supposition?
Supposition: what we call a god is a being with an incomprehensibly long life time, who understands things we cannot comprehend, and may be capable of feats beyond our understanding.
Consider: I touch a switch on the wall and light appears overhead; I pick up a wireless phone and talk with someone across the ocean; I wrap a sandwich in a transparent plastic bag and put it in the refrigerator. To a human being living in London three hundred years ago, such feats would have been incomprehensible.
If you agree with this supposition, with or without reservations, please go on to question 6.
If you do not agree with this supposition, please tell me what a god is.
6. Is it possible that somewhere in the universe, there are beings which live incomprehensibly longer than we do, and are capable of feats beyond our understanding?
Consider: Our sun, an average sized star, is a million times larger than our earth. There are a trillion stars in our galaxy, and there are billions of galaxies in the universe. What are the chances that only this minuscule speck we call earth harbors life?
Consider: Is it possible that such beings could exist near us, but in such a different mode of existence that we are no more capable of understanding them than an earthworm in a flowerpot of understanding computer software?
Digression: When I take my dogs for a walk, our experiences are totally different. We see, hear, smell, and feel different things. I may see a red car go by and note that Qoyaw is heading downtown with Mkuang; my dogs will not. They will note scents, sounds, electromagnetic fields, and who knows what else, that are imperceptible and incomprehensible to me. We walk together in different worlds.
If your answer is yes, qualified or unqualified, please go to question 7.
If your answer is no, please proceed no further.
7. For lack of understanding, could those beings be called gods?
If you still cannot accept the existence of gods, why not?
What I don't understand are the people who make a point of proclaiming their atheism. They are no different from people who make a big fuss that their god is the only god and demand we worship it.
Why do some atheists make such an issue about it? Are you the type to go to kindergartens to preach that Santa Claus does not exist? If it makes them happy, good enough. If Jesus or Allah or Vishnu or Spiderman make someone happy at their level, good enough for the time being. Better than people who insist that others accept atheism. If atheism defines your life, you are still placing gods at the center of your life. The existence or nonexistence of gods is central to you.
The lady protests too much, methinks.
I am not promoting the existence of any particular god. I simply suggest that there exist beings who, for lack of understanding, we call gods. I do not worship an Olympic gold medalist, even though I have never won a gold medal; I do not worship someone with a higher academic degree than me; I do not worship gods, but I do not deny their existence. They're there. Live with it. No big deal, one way or the other.
Friday, January 28, 2005
Pesky little Yumin usually runs wild. The day I buried Bengax, he spent practically the whole afternoon sitting by her grave, watching over it. Since then, he has spent a lot of time sitting there by her.
Tlahuy and Bengax were born in the same litter, and have been together ever since, so he is having some trouble adjusting, but he is better now. Some squirrels have helped him take his mind off things.
From time to time during the last couple months, I had noticed that Bengax was gazing at me with a very strange look in her eyes, not at all like a dog's eyes. I wondered what she was thinking. Maybe about mortality?
She may have known that she would not be with us long. She always craved attention, and could never get enough affection. Fortunately, even before Ping gave Tlahuy and Bengax to me when they were two months old, I was keenly aware that people live longer than dogs, so this day would come sooner or later. With that in mind, every day I try to make sure my dogs know I love them, and I want them to be happy (this could have something to do with why they are so spoiled). At least I can look at my five years with Bengax with no regrets, knowing that she was a happy dog.
In her short, furry life, Bengax made a lot of friends. A number of people have phoned to blubber, which is as nice a tribute as you could ask.
Amitabha.
Tlahuy and Bengax were born in the same litter, and have been together ever since, so he is having some trouble adjusting, but he is better now. Some squirrels have helped him take his mind off things.
From time to time during the last couple months, I had noticed that Bengax was gazing at me with a very strange look in her eyes, not at all like a dog's eyes. I wondered what she was thinking. Maybe about mortality?
She may have known that she would not be with us long. She always craved attention, and could never get enough affection. Fortunately, even before Ping gave Tlahuy and Bengax to me when they were two months old, I was keenly aware that people live longer than dogs, so this day would come sooner or later. With that in mind, every day I try to make sure my dogs know I love them, and I want them to be happy (this could have something to do with why they are so spoiled). At least I can look at my five years with Bengax with no regrets, knowing that she was a happy dog.
In her short, furry life, Bengax made a lot of friends. A number of people have phoned to blubber, which is as nice a tribute as you could ask.
Amitabha.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Bengax, good girl
Early this morning, Bengax snuck into a neighbor's vegetable patch. On her way out, her collar snagged, she panicked, and strangled herself.
By the time the neighbors found her and called me, she was already cold and stiff.
I buried her out back, by the doghouse.
She came on January 30, 1999, when she was about two months old.
Amitabha. Good girl.
Early this morning, Bengax snuck into a neighbor's vegetable patch. On her way out, her collar snagged, she panicked, and strangled herself.
By the time the neighbors found her and called me, she was already cold and stiff.
I buried her out back, by the doghouse.
She came on January 30, 1999, when she was about two months old.
Amitabha. Good girl.
a true story
爸爸常帶小平遊山玩水。生性聰穎好奇的小平每次問爸爸，"這是甚麼樹?那是甚麼花?”爸爸就照實說，"不知道。”對小平而言，爸爸的話，信如聖旨，只是在她幼小心靈中，總覺得很神奇，有那麼多種長的不太像的樹，一樣都叫做"不知道。"
小平漸漸大了，唸小學了，交了很多新朋友。有一日與同學在戶外，同學指一棵樹說，"那棵樹很漂亮，是甚麼樹?”
小平很興奮，因為她問過爸爸，就說，"我知道!”
“那麼是甚麼樹?”
“'不知道。'” 小平得意地回答。
“不知道?”
“對!”
“可是妳剛說你知道。”
"對呀，我當然知道，我問過我爸爸!”
"好，那你說這是甚麼樹?”
“'不知道。'”
"小平討厭，妳告訴我嘛!”
“我告訴你，就是“'不知道!'”
“為甚麼?”
“爸爸說的!”
“妳爸爸說甚麼?”
“'不知道。'”
同學快瘋了，罵小平是大笨蛋，就跑走了。小平被罵，哭涕涕地回家，沒想到回家述苦，爸媽沒有安慰，反而捧腹大笑。…..
爸爸常帶小平遊山玩水。生性聰穎好奇的小平每次問爸爸，"這是甚麼樹?那是甚麼花?”爸爸就照實說，"不知道。”對小平而言，爸爸的話，信如聖旨，只是在她幼小心靈中，總覺得很神奇，有那麼多種長的不太像的樹，一樣都叫做"不知道。"
小平漸漸大了，唸小學了，交了很多新朋友。有一日與同學在戶外，同學指一棵樹說，"那棵樹很漂亮，是甚麼樹?”
小平很興奮，因為她問過爸爸，就說，"我知道!”
“那麼是甚麼樹?”
“'不知道。'” 小平得意地回答。
“不知道?”
“對!”
“可是妳剛說你知道。”
"對呀，我當然知道，我問過我爸爸!”
"好，那你說這是甚麼樹?”
“'不知道。'”
"小平討厭，妳告訴我嘛!”
“我告訴你，就是“'不知道!'”
“為甚麼?”
“爸爸說的!”
“妳爸爸說甚麼?”
“'不知道。'”
同學快瘋了，罵小平是大笨蛋，就跑走了。小平被罵，哭涕涕地回家，沒想到回家述苦，爸媽沒有安慰，反而捧腹大笑。…..
Monday, January 17, 2005
Last night it was cold, 4C in Wulai. I extolled the virtues of a blanket warmer (烘被機)in an e-letter to my sister, saying that the blanket warmer is probably the greatest invention ever to come from Japan. You get this box about the size of a printer. You attach the hose to this big bag which you cover with blankets, and the box blows hot air into the bag, thereby drying and warming the blankets. It is perfect for a cold night; you can dive into a warm nest of blankets without having to shiver until you heat them up.
Her reply: “In fact, now that you mention it, the big bag of hot air that warms the blankets, I think I was married to one of them..."
Her reply: “In fact, now that you mention it, the big bag of hot air that warms the blankets, I think I was married to one of them..."
Sunday, January 16, 2005
Pongan ku kahul yawei.... Raran ga, mwah qutux cyakun, talakay hobaq cyakun gasa, mita Uray~~~
“我聽老人家說，很久以前，有一隻巨大的烏鴉從北邊來，飛呀飛，飛到Uray看到溪上冒煙。其實，那是溫泉水從地上湧出來冒煙，但是烏鴉不知道，以為一定是有人炊爨的煙，有煙有住家，一定有人丟的剩菜垃圾可以撿來吃，甚至於巨烏想，還可以吃人! 沒想到，飛到溪上看，只有溪水冒煙，沒有東西吃。巨烏很失望，只好折回去。往北飛，飛到Tampya，就下了一顆蛋，就飛走了…你不相信的話，可以去看牠的蛋，喔，現在不行，牠的蛋就是忠治公園隆起的巃崗，去年政府把它剷平了。反正就是這樣，所以漢人把我們的地方叫做『烏來』。”
+ 我覺得很妙，這故事顯然就是今族望文生義而編的，來湊合一個解釋說明『烏來』的意思。事實上，『烏來』是泰雅語Uray的譯音罷了。Uray是溫泉的意思。
“我聽老人家說，很久以前，有一隻巨大的烏鴉從北邊來，飛呀飛，飛到Uray看到溪上冒煙。其實，那是溫泉水從地上湧出來冒煙，但是烏鴉不知道，以為一定是有人炊爨的煙，有煙有住家，一定有人丟的剩菜垃圾可以撿來吃，甚至於巨烏想，還可以吃人! 沒想到，飛到溪上看，只有溪水冒煙，沒有東西吃。巨烏很失望，只好折回去。往北飛，飛到Tampya，就下了一顆蛋，就飛走了…你不相信的話，可以去看牠的蛋，喔，現在不行，牠的蛋就是忠治公園隆起的巃崗，去年政府把它剷平了。反正就是這樣，所以漢人把我們的地方叫做『烏來』。”
+ 我覺得很妙，這故事顯然就是今族望文生義而編的，來湊合一個解釋說明『烏來』的意思。事實上，『烏來』是泰雅語Uray的譯音罷了。Uray是溫泉的意思。
Saturday, January 15, 2005
一位優秀的國小老師寫的:
Recently I was mad about the Education Bureau. It alerted all teachers that we have to study 台語 during winter vacation. The course takes five days, total 30 hours.
Why should all teachers attend the course? ridiculous
教育改革一直說要尊重每一個孩子,要適性化教學. 天下雜誌 最近也不停的討論 未來的教育要更國際觀.
我不懂為什麼一定要我去學台語.
認識鄉土、認識我們的土地、培養我們的家鄉情懷 ，方式有很多 ，不應該被窄化成台語。
世界一直在變； 教育高喊要教師樣跟上時代潮流，培養學生競爭力，要有國際觀，但是 當局又用這麼制式 硬性規定我們教師。
整天在講 教育要多元化，提共更多的機會給學生 在嚐試中認識自己 發現自己，但是 又是這麼對待我們這些老師的呢？ 課程可以開，甚至可以開更多的語言學習。為什麼一定要學台語 ？
寧願去外面花錢補習上英文 也不想留在學校上台語。
我想會不會是政黨的關係？
九年一貫可課程實施後，國數 節數已不足。每週又硬擠一天台語課，我不懂。
台語充斥在生活環境。即使不會的人，也可以琅琅上口幾句。
為什麼 會變成正式課程之一？
我不懂它的意義。 我真的不懂。
如果一個老師 不了解課程的教育目標，或是課程的意義，沒有了方向，他要如何帶領學生前進？
這一件很悲傷的事情。
更令人難過的事 連教育都泛政治化。
而所有的老師 卻在不自覺中 ，被某種意識形態 控制而不自知。
身為一個老師，已經跟教書匠，沒什麼兩樣。
教育 不過是一種政治思想的灌輸罷了，而不是去接近真理、認識世界。
教育 讓人越來越笨了。
可能台語被賦予的意義，已經不是它的起源或來源，而是一種象徵 在地人的符號吧。我想。
其實教過台灣史都知道，真正的在地人是原住民。 只是平埔族已經漢化，一部分的文化也流失了。
老師是一群工具，而且是一群聽話的工具。被控制的一群人，人云亦云 。
今天哪個人說什麼重要，就一窩瘋熱。明天改了一個教育重點，大家又趨之若鶩，還怕自己沒有跟上腳步。
這樣失去判斷力的老師，不禁令擔心。
我想即使這樣的課程存在著，也不需要大費周章規定所有老師要證照。社會資源浪費不說，大量師資的需要在哪裡？
更證明了我長久以來的懷疑，教育，只不過是一種控制。
我最愛的園地 變了
該哭的是 我
再來 看看這期天下雜誌的教育特輯，探討孩子該不該提早學英語。也許我不是專家。我不知道該不該提早學。雖然大家高唱不需提早學，我也服膺於他們的論述，但我想問問這些受訪的學者，那些英文很好的學者，他們是什麼時候開始學的。
若不是他們有豐富的資源，若不是他們有比一般人更良好的語言環境，他們無法在這裡高唱這樣的論調的。
盡信書 不如無書。
就像那些從傳統升學主義一路上來的既得利益者，高唱 開放教育 多元教育 一樣沒有任何說服力。
難怪教育改革失敗 …
觀看政治 ，整天藍綠對決、鬥爭，民眾 已經不知道為什麼而爭了 。
為了顏色吧 我想
民主政治 呵呵 素養還不夠
一樣淪為政客的工具
眼光在哪裡？非不清是分真理。
盲目 是現代人的特色
眾人皆醒 為我獨醉.......
部落閣主註: 此文所謂台語，指藏漢語系中國話福建南、廣東北、台灣的閩南話，而不是南島語系臺灣高山族、平埔族的原有台語。
又，教育部的閩南話以何為準？廈門、潮州、大稻埕、鹿港、台南的閩南話各異。若以地方音為準，台北有本音今音（如台北：魚：本音hu今音hi），以何為準？若以地方音為準，倘使台北某教員為鹿港人，是否要改為台北音？原住民也要學外來的閩南話嗎？若原住民不必學，為何原籍客家、浙江、山東、香港的教員要學?
為甚麼不規定閩南教員利用寒假學台灣話，例如泰雅語?
Recently I was mad about the Education Bureau. It alerted all teachers that we have to study 台語 during winter vacation. The course takes five days, total 30 hours.
Why should all teachers attend the course? ridiculous
教育改革一直說要尊重每一個孩子,要適性化教學. 天下雜誌 最近也不停的討論 未來的教育要更國際觀.
我不懂為什麼一定要我去學台語.
認識鄉土、認識我們的土地、培養我們的家鄉情懷 ，方式有很多 ，不應該被窄化成台語。
世界一直在變； 教育高喊要教師樣跟上時代潮流，培養學生競爭力，要有國際觀，但是 當局又用這麼制式 硬性規定我們教師。
整天在講 教育要多元化，提共更多的機會給學生 在嚐試中認識自己 發現自己，但是 又是這麼對待我們這些老師的呢？ 課程可以開，甚至可以開更多的語言學習。為什麼一定要學台語 ？
寧願去外面花錢補習上英文 也不想留在學校上台語。
我想會不會是政黨的關係？
九年一貫可課程實施後，國數 節數已不足。每週又硬擠一天台語課，我不懂。
台語充斥在生活環境。即使不會的人，也可以琅琅上口幾句。
為什麼 會變成正式課程之一？
我不懂它的意義。 我真的不懂。
如果一個老師 不了解課程的教育目標，或是課程的意義，沒有了方向，他要如何帶領學生前進？
這一件很悲傷的事情。
更令人難過的事 連教育都泛政治化。
而所有的老師 卻在不自覺中 ，被某種意識形態 控制而不自知。
身為一個老師，已經跟教書匠，沒什麼兩樣。
教育 不過是一種政治思想的灌輸罷了，而不是去接近真理、認識世界。
教育 讓人越來越笨了。
可能台語被賦予的意義，已經不是它的起源或來源，而是一種象徵 在地人的符號吧。我想。
其實教過台灣史都知道，真正的在地人是原住民。 只是平埔族已經漢化，一部分的文化也流失了。
老師是一群工具，而且是一群聽話的工具。被控制的一群人，人云亦云 。
今天哪個人說什麼重要，就一窩瘋熱。明天改了一個教育重點，大家又趨之若鶩，還怕自己沒有跟上腳步。
這樣失去判斷力的老師，不禁令擔心。
我想即使這樣的課程存在著，也不需要大費周章規定所有老師要證照。社會資源浪費不說，大量師資的需要在哪裡？
更證明了我長久以來的懷疑，教育，只不過是一種控制。
我最愛的園地 變了
該哭的是 我
再來 看看這期天下雜誌的教育特輯，探討孩子該不該提早學英語。也許我不是專家。我不知道該不該提早學。雖然大家高唱不需提早學，我也服膺於他們的論述，但我想問問這些受訪的學者，那些英文很好的學者，他們是什麼時候開始學的。
若不是他們有豐富的資源，若不是他們有比一般人更良好的語言環境，他們無法在這裡高唱這樣的論調的。
盡信書 不如無書。
就像那些從傳統升學主義一路上來的既得利益者，高唱 開放教育 多元教育 一樣沒有任何說服力。
難怪教育改革失敗 …
觀看政治 ，整天藍綠對決、鬥爭，民眾 已經不知道為什麼而爭了 。
為了顏色吧 我想
民主政治 呵呵 素養還不夠
一樣淪為政客的工具
眼光在哪裡？非不清是分真理。
盲目 是現代人的特色
眾人皆醒 為我獨醉.......
部落閣主註: 此文所謂台語，指藏漢語系中國話福建南、廣東北、台灣的閩南話，而不是南島語系臺灣高山族、平埔族的原有台語。
又，教育部的閩南話以何為準？廈門、潮州、大稻埕、鹿港、台南的閩南話各異。若以地方音為準，台北有本音今音（如台北：魚：本音hu今音hi），以何為準？若以地方音為準，倘使台北某教員為鹿港人，是否要改為台北音？原住民也要學外來的閩南話嗎？若原住民不必學，為何原籍客家、浙江、山東、香港的教員要學?
為甚麼不規定閩南教員利用寒假學台灣話，例如泰雅語?
Friday, January 14, 2005
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Maybe I'm missing something
Something I don't understand about the debate concerning the death penalty. Here we are not discussing the rights or wrongs of the death penalty; what befuddles me is that it seems we are goaded to abolish the death penalty because it has been abolished in Europe. Does that mean that we are supposed to look to Europe for our moral standards? Europe? Morals?
Or does it mean that when even fetid Europe bans the death penalty, we had better shape up?
Something I don't understand about the debate concerning the death penalty. Here we are not discussing the rights or wrongs of the death penalty; what befuddles me is that it seems we are goaded to abolish the death penalty because it has been abolished in Europe. Does that mean that we are supposed to look to Europe for our moral standards? Europe? Morals?
Or does it mean that when even fetid Europe bans the death penalty, we had better shape up?
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Two years ago, I had the opportunity to attend the annual gathering of the Jingpo (景頗 Kachin) tribe in Taiwan. At this year's gathering, I met the president of the Wa 佤association, another tribe from the border of China and Burma, and obtained an invitation to this year's Wa gathering, which was held this morning. In Taiwan, there are probably only about three hundred tribesmen from Southwestern China, mostly from the Jingpo, Wa, Dai, and Kayin tribes, so for me, attending their gatherings is a rare opportunity; the Dai and Kayin evidently do not hold gatherings.
+ + +
“The Communists oppressed us, so we fled and took up our weapons. We fought against them until finally we were removed to Taiwan. About 175 of us came, but not 40 could speak Chinese. I could not speak a word of Chinese when I came, but they forced us to learn Mandarin. Everybody had to learn Mandarin. Otherwise, how could the army function? Our Wa language alone has three dialects, and I cannot understand Wa from other regions very well. Then there are Jingpo and Dai who speak totally different languages, there are hundreds of dialects of Chinese, and there are a dozen aborigine languages in Taiwan. So it was important for us to learn Mandarin. Off duty, we speak Wa, but on duty, it's Mandarin only.”
+ + +
“La Tum is my good friend, even though he is a Jingpo. Did you know that? The Jingpo nationality originated in the Wa, but they are all thieves, every one of them, so we disowned them. Isn't that right, La Tum?”
“You Wa were just jealous because our music is so beautiful.”
“If you are with the Jingpo, you have to be careful, because they will sell you into slavery.”
“You Wa wouldn't sell me into slavery?”
“No, we'd chop you up.”
+ + +
One of the men brought two photo albums of his trip to his hometown during the last lunar new year. His mother is still going strong at 90. Many of the women still wear their traditional long black skirts and turbans, but few men were turbans any more.
His photos showed the villagers parading out of the village to a flat level space, where they all danced as the men played 笙sheng, a musical instrument made from a gourd. Unlike most photos you see of this sort of festivity, there were no photographers or tourists in the background, and the entire village was dancing.
A dozen men gathered around to discuss the photos and explain the fine points to me. Their houses were originally made of adobe, but gradually they are adapting fired bricks. Their houses are simple, but they have constructed an splendid, ornate Buddhist temple.
+ + +
“Then I went into X's house” (a Wa name, which I didn't catch) “and there were four heads on the table.” Hearty laughter from the listeners.
”Of course that was a long time ago, that sort of thing doesn't happen any more.” Knowing chuckles from the listeners.
+ + +
“If you go to Wa territory” (again, I didn't catch the place name) “don't go around announcing that you have come from Taiwan. It's sensitive. Y was sentenced to seven years for consorting with Taiwan. He's served three years of his sentence so far.”
+ + +
“Wa are honest, hard working, loyal, and dependable. Not like the Jingpo. You can't trust the Jingpo. My good friend La Tum is Jingpo, aren't you?”
“Be careful with the Wa, they will chop you up.”
“No, we do not take Jingpo heads, only Han Chinese.”
“August and September are the season for headhunting.”
“I would not take a Jingpo head. Now General P or Colonel Y here,” motioning to two honored guests who had been their commanders, “their heads would be valuable. I bet each head would be worth twenty ounces of opium!”
Colonel Y laughed and pointed at me, saying, “Take his, he's American, an American head must be worth something!”
“No, only Han Chinese.”
+ + +
“The Communists oppressed us, so we fled and took up our weapons. We fought against them until finally we were removed to Taiwan. About 175 of us came, but not 40 could speak Chinese. I could not speak a word of Chinese when I came, but they forced us to learn Mandarin. Everybody had to learn Mandarin. Otherwise, how could the army function? Our Wa language alone has three dialects, and I cannot understand Wa from other regions very well. Then there are Jingpo and Dai who speak totally different languages, there are hundreds of dialects of Chinese, and there are a dozen aborigine languages in Taiwan. So it was important for us to learn Mandarin. Off duty, we speak Wa, but on duty, it's Mandarin only.”
+ + +
“La Tum is my good friend, even though he is a Jingpo. Did you know that? The Jingpo nationality originated in the Wa, but they are all thieves, every one of them, so we disowned them. Isn't that right, La Tum?”
“You Wa were just jealous because our music is so beautiful.”
“If you are with the Jingpo, you have to be careful, because they will sell you into slavery.”
“You Wa wouldn't sell me into slavery?”
“No, we'd chop you up.”
+ + +
One of the men brought two photo albums of his trip to his hometown during the last lunar new year. His mother is still going strong at 90. Many of the women still wear their traditional long black skirts and turbans, but few men were turbans any more.
His photos showed the villagers parading out of the village to a flat level space, where they all danced as the men played 笙sheng, a musical instrument made from a gourd. Unlike most photos you see of this sort of festivity, there were no photographers or tourists in the background, and the entire village was dancing.
A dozen men gathered around to discuss the photos and explain the fine points to me. Their houses were originally made of adobe, but gradually they are adapting fired bricks. Their houses are simple, but they have constructed an splendid, ornate Buddhist temple.
+ + +
“Then I went into X's house” (a Wa name, which I didn't catch) “and there were four heads on the table.” Hearty laughter from the listeners.
”Of course that was a long time ago, that sort of thing doesn't happen any more.” Knowing chuckles from the listeners.
+ + +
“If you go to Wa territory” (again, I didn't catch the place name) “don't go around announcing that you have come from Taiwan. It's sensitive. Y was sentenced to seven years for consorting with Taiwan. He's served three years of his sentence so far.”
+ + +
“Wa are honest, hard working, loyal, and dependable. Not like the Jingpo. You can't trust the Jingpo. My good friend La Tum is Jingpo, aren't you?”
“Be careful with the Wa, they will chop you up.”
“No, we do not take Jingpo heads, only Han Chinese.”
“August and September are the season for headhunting.”
“I would not take a Jingpo head. Now General P or Colonel Y here,” motioning to two honored guests who had been their commanders, “their heads would be valuable. I bet each head would be worth twenty ounces of opium!”
Colonel Y laughed and pointed at me, saying, “Take his, he's American, an American head must be worth something!”
“No, only Han Chinese.”
Thursday, January 06, 2005
on 忠孝東路捷運市政府站外
I was waiting for a bus by one of Taipei's main streets. Over 6 (8?) lanes of heavy traffic, I heard, from the other side, a frantic voice, "MOTHER! Stop! Don't keep walking! We are right across the street from you!" I looked over, and there was a couple roughly my age, the man prancing and shouting into his cell phone so loud that I could hear him over the noise of the traffic and across the street. I looked around and saw a lady, probably about 75, walking straight forward with a cell phone pressed to her head. "MOTHER! Stop! Don't keep walking! Look to your left! MOTHER! Wait a minute! Stand right there!" She kept walking purposefully forward, cell phone at her ear. "Mother! Look to your left! We're across the street to your left!" She kept walking forward, but looked to her right. The couple were nearly frantic, but they couldn't get across the traffic on the road. "MOTHER! Stop right there, we're across the street to your left, just stand where you are, don't move another step, we'll be with you in a moment!" The lady turned right at the corner and wandered off.
I wanted to give the man a hug and say, "Brother, I know exactly how it is.”
I was waiting for a bus by one of Taipei's main streets. Over 6 (8?) lanes of heavy traffic, I heard, from the other side, a frantic voice, "MOTHER! Stop! Don't keep walking! We are right across the street from you!" I looked over, and there was a couple roughly my age, the man prancing and shouting into his cell phone so loud that I could hear him over the noise of the traffic and across the street. I looked around and saw a lady, probably about 75, walking straight forward with a cell phone pressed to her head. "MOTHER! Stop! Don't keep walking! Look to your left! MOTHER! Wait a minute! Stand right there!" She kept walking purposefully forward, cell phone at her ear. "Mother! Look to your left! We're across the street to your left!" She kept walking forward, but looked to her right. The couple were nearly frantic, but they couldn't get across the traffic on the road. "MOTHER! Stop right there, we're across the street to your left, just stand where you are, don't move another step, we'll be with you in a moment!" The lady turned right at the corner and wandered off.
I wanted to give the man a hug and say, "Brother, I know exactly how it is.”
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
numbskull
Once a couple of years ago it was about 7C. I decided that I would go for a swim, just to see what it is like to swim in that sort of weather, so I walked down to the stream and jumped in. I very quickly found out what it is like to swim in that sort of weather: VERY cold! So cold it almost hurt, but fortunately I couldn't breathe, so it didn't hurt too much. After a couple of turns around the stream, I suddenly had a revelation: I must have rocks in my head to swim in this kind of weather. With that, I climbed up on the bank, put on my clothes, and walked home again. I had almost stopped shivering by the time I got home.
Once a couple of years ago it was about 7C. I decided that I would go for a swim, just to see what it is like to swim in that sort of weather, so I walked down to the stream and jumped in. I very quickly found out what it is like to swim in that sort of weather: VERY cold! So cold it almost hurt, but fortunately I couldn't breathe, so it didn't hurt too much. After a couple of turns around the stream, I suddenly had a revelation: I must have rocks in my head to swim in this kind of weather. With that, I climbed up on the bank, put on my clothes, and walked home again. I had almost stopped shivering by the time I got home.
Monday, January 03, 2005
心潔放假回澎湖老家，寫了這段，與大家共賞
我小時侯住澎湖一個漁村
夏天一放學就會直接衝往海水一泡 -真的只是泡泡而已
本人截至目前為止仍不會換氣
這次回去看到這個海灘面目全非
沙少了一半，另一半給垃圾占去了
不過巡海邊的老人仍然會來，像我過世的外公一樣
一到冬天村裡的老人就會到海邊來巡看看有沒有被浪打上岸的死魚
或是一些可以用的東西(多半是海上漁船的貢獻)
人口嚴重的外流，我的小漁村的建築依舊，只是斑駁了，而且人去樓空，就連我小時侯住的外公外婆家也不例外。
不過很奇怪的是，我站在早已荒蕪的家門口，卻看到外公在夏天的時侯舀著大水缸裡的水沖身子，事實上大水缸整個被翻過來倒放在那裡。
再往前走幾步，就可以看到外婆蹲在玄武岩地上抓著雞準備在它脖子上劃一刀，叫我們小孩子不可以看，而事實上鄉公所已經把附近的路都用水泥填過了；就算我聽外婆的話閉起眼睛，耳朵聽到的還是耳時玩伴的超俗澎湖腔台語，還有媽媽在廚房喊我們吃飯的聲音…
這個漁翁島的回憶已經紮根在我的細胞裡囉~
我小時侯住澎湖一個漁村
夏天一放學就會直接衝往海水一泡 -真的只是泡泡而已
本人截至目前為止仍不會換氣
這次回去看到這個海灘面目全非
沙少了一半，另一半給垃圾占去了
不過巡海邊的老人仍然會來，像我過世的外公一樣
一到冬天村裡的老人就會到海邊來巡看看有沒有被浪打上岸的死魚
或是一些可以用的東西(多半是海上漁船的貢獻)
人口嚴重的外流，我的小漁村的建築依舊，只是斑駁了，而且人去樓空，就連我小時侯住的外公外婆家也不例外。
不過很奇怪的是，我站在早已荒蕪的家門口，卻看到外公在夏天的時侯舀著大水缸裡的水沖身子，事實上大水缸整個被翻過來倒放在那裡。
再往前走幾步，就可以看到外婆蹲在玄武岩地上抓著雞準備在它脖子上劃一刀，叫我們小孩子不可以看，而事實上鄉公所已經把附近的路都用水泥填過了；就算我聽外婆的話閉起眼睛，耳朵聽到的還是耳時玩伴的超俗澎湖腔台語，還有媽媽在廚房喊我們吃飯的聲音…
這個漁翁島的回憶已經紮根在我的細胞裡囉~
Sunday, January 02, 2005
好的開始
阿雞非常興奮，打電話來說，『陶啊，陶啊，你看我們愛慕的副總統 呂秀蓮女士，她越來越穩重，智慧日日增長，愈來愈懂事，口德天天養益，陶啊，你看，整個中華民國九十四年，她沒有講過一句丟人現眼的話，也沒有鬧過笑話，也沒有任何的貽笑大方的舉止，她今年的表現，可圈可點，真是另人手舞足蹈!!』
我說，『阿雞呀，今天才一月二日，你是不是高興的太早了?』
阿雞說，『要趁她表現還很完美的時機，趕快歌功頌德。』
我說，『阿雞呀，2005年還有三百六十幾天‧』
阿雞默然一番。『不管以後的日子有甚麼樣的場面，在我們心中，我們永遠、永遠會記得她這年的完美無缺的表現。陶啊，我實在太感動。』他嗚嗚地哭起來了。『我已經把電視機丟掉了，讓她在我心中留下這一片零缺點的紀錄。應該給她提名諾貝爾和平獎。』
『諾貝爾和平獎? 甚麼道理?』
『只要她不鬧，天下太平，這難道不合諾貝爾和平獎的條件嗎?』
阿雞非常興奮，打電話來說，『陶啊，陶啊，你看我們愛慕的副總統 呂秀蓮女士，她越來越穩重，智慧日日增長，愈來愈懂事，口德天天養益，陶啊，你看，整個中華民國九十四年，她沒有講過一句丟人現眼的話，也沒有鬧過笑話，也沒有任何的貽笑大方的舉止，她今年的表現，可圈可點，真是另人手舞足蹈!!』
我說，『阿雞呀，今天才一月二日，你是不是高興的太早了?』
阿雞說，『要趁她表現還很完美的時機，趕快歌功頌德。』
我說，『阿雞呀，2005年還有三百六十幾天‧』
阿雞默然一番。『不管以後的日子有甚麼樣的場面，在我們心中，我們永遠、永遠會記得她這年的完美無缺的表現。陶啊，我實在太感動。』他嗚嗚地哭起來了。『我已經把電視機丟掉了，讓她在我心中留下這一片零缺點的紀錄。應該給她提名諾貝爾和平獎。』
『諾貝爾和平獎? 甚麼道理?』
『只要她不鬧，天下太平，這難道不合諾貝爾和平獎的條件嗎?』
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
It's hard to be a man
...and they criticize the southern Europeans for waving their hands when they talk...: STL
Buses stop at the big Wulai bridge on request. I prefer to wait for the bus there because the scenery is so nice. You can view the surrounding peaks, or peer down into the stream twenty-five meters below.
A pickup drove up, with three young Aborigines from Mangan in the seat, man woman man. The man who was not driving jumped out and called, “Hey, man! Hey friend, you speak English? I speak English very good, you speak?”
“Yeah, I speak a little. How are you?”
“Hey man, I speak English sooooo good, come, come, I teach you, you see this?” He slapped the hood of the pickup. “Caaaaah, this caaaah, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. What's this?” I slapped the lamppost I was leaning against.
“That? Hmm, that, yeah, I know English soooo good, so we no speak English, is okay. Yugan, musa inu?”
“Musa cbaq biru. Iyat ge Inglis su bi?”
The reason for his clowning became evident. The young lady stepped out of the car and she was clearly in a foul mood about something. The driver had tried a bit to cheer her up and then wandered out of range of any explosions.
“She beautiful, no?” Truly, like so many Aborigine women, she was beautiful, so with no hypocrisy, I agreed. “But now she … she …. she 生氣 me, so how can I do? Yugan, English how say生氣? Mad? She mad me, I no want live!” With great dramatic gestures, he launched himself at the railing of the bridge. I thought he would stop there. Ms Angry continued to scowl. The man rolled over the railing. Just as my laughter was turning into alarm, I realized that he was holding onto the railing with one hand. He dangled over the edge of the bridge, twenty five meters over the shallow water. The driver squatted at a safe distance on the far side of the bridge, smoking impassively.
A mournful voice rose over the railing: “She beautiful but she mad so I no want live! Kneiring giri生氣了，我不想活.” That broke her mood and she grudgingly smiled a bit. The man hoisted himself to peek over the railing. She told him, “Tobut su la, 你去死,” but with a sunny smile on her face. Still not safe to come up. Still hanging from the railing, the young man asked, “Is okay? I love you baby okay?” That brought a laugh, which invited him to clamber back onto the bridge. “Hey my friend, I speak English is very good, you know?”
“Yes, I know, you speak English very well, but mwah bus maku, 我先走了,” and waving goodbye, I got on the bus.
...and they criticize the southern Europeans for waving their hands when they talk...: STL
Buses stop at the big Wulai bridge on request. I prefer to wait for the bus there because the scenery is so nice. You can view the surrounding peaks, or peer down into the stream twenty-five meters below.
A pickup drove up, with three young Aborigines from Mangan in the seat, man woman man. The man who was not driving jumped out and called, “Hey, man! Hey friend, you speak English? I speak English very good, you speak?”
“Yeah, I speak a little. How are you?”
“Hey man, I speak English sooooo good, come, come, I teach you, you see this?” He slapped the hood of the pickup. “Caaaaah, this caaaah, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. What's this?” I slapped the lamppost I was leaning against.
“That? Hmm, that, yeah, I know English soooo good, so we no speak English, is okay. Yugan, musa inu?”
“Musa cbaq biru. Iyat ge Inglis su bi?”
The reason for his clowning became evident. The young lady stepped out of the car and she was clearly in a foul mood about something. The driver had tried a bit to cheer her up and then wandered out of range of any explosions.
“She beautiful, no?” Truly, like so many Aborigine women, she was beautiful, so with no hypocrisy, I agreed. “But now she … she …. she 生氣 me, so how can I do? Yugan, English how say生氣? Mad? She mad me, I no want live!” With great dramatic gestures, he launched himself at the railing of the bridge. I thought he would stop there. Ms Angry continued to scowl. The man rolled over the railing. Just as my laughter was turning into alarm, I realized that he was holding onto the railing with one hand. He dangled over the edge of the bridge, twenty five meters over the shallow water. The driver squatted at a safe distance on the far side of the bridge, smoking impassively.
A mournful voice rose over the railing: “She beautiful but she mad so I no want live! Kneiring giri生氣了，我不想活.” That broke her mood and she grudgingly smiled a bit. The man hoisted himself to peek over the railing. She told him, “Tobut su la, 你去死,” but with a sunny smile on her face. Still not safe to come up. Still hanging from the railing, the young man asked, “Is okay? I love you baby okay?” That brought a laugh, which invited him to clamber back onto the bridge. “Hey my friend, I speak English is very good, you know?”
“Yes, I know, you speak English very well, but mwah bus maku, 我先走了,” and waving goodbye, I got on the bus.
Monday, December 27, 2004
Sunday, December 26, 2004
In general, Taiwan's sunrises and sunsets are not that spectacular. I have to confess that I do not have a thorough acquaintance with sunrise, unless the sun wakes me by shining in my eyes. The sun goes down over the ridge behind me a couple hours before dusk, so there’s not much in the way of sunsets. But the moon ~~ the moonscapes in Taiwan are incomparable.
This evening at nightfall it rained hard, harder than usual for winter. Usually it drizzles for weeks at a time in the winter, but not heavy rain like that. Around 8, the moon had risen above the ridge to the east. The clouds were scattering, but there was mist draped on the mountains. The moon, shining from within a circular rainbow behind the clouds, lit up the clouds and mist so they were luminous over the solid black mountains; raindrops on the tree leaves around my house sparkled. The view was mesmerizing as the mist blew across the mountains and flowed by valleys. Eventually, the sky cleared enough for stars to shine. The moonlight was so strong that you could see the valleys and ridges on the mountains. Then wind blew and the sky closed again.
This post is to commemorate an evening of extraordinary beauty.
This evening at nightfall it rained hard, harder than usual for winter. Usually it drizzles for weeks at a time in the winter, but not heavy rain like that. Around 8, the moon had risen above the ridge to the east. The clouds were scattering, but there was mist draped on the mountains. The moon, shining from within a circular rainbow behind the clouds, lit up the clouds and mist so they were luminous over the solid black mountains; raindrops on the tree leaves around my house sparkled. The view was mesmerizing as the mist blew across the mountains and flowed by valleys. Eventually, the sky cleared enough for stars to shine. The moonlight was so strong that you could see the valleys and ridges on the mountains. Then wind blew and the sky closed again.
This post is to commemorate an evening of extraordinary beauty.
Friday, December 24, 2004
Dear Scrooge
This not being a Christian land, Taiwan does not celebrate Christmas. What passes should be called X-ma$, because it has nothing to do with Christ and everything to do with Money. The West has produced over a thousand years of lovely Christmas music, and here nothing is heard but Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer, and similar trash. Fortunately, music is heard only in large stores, X-ma$ being a purely commercial event, so rush out the doors and you are free. It is believed that the proper way to celebrate X-ma$ is with a wild dance party, the louder the better, and to hell with Silent Night. Santa Claus is the man of the day. Last year a hotel featured a bungee jumping Santa Claus. Unfortunately, the cords held.
This not being a Christian land, Taiwan does not celebrate Christmas. What passes should be called X-ma$, because it has nothing to do with Christ and everything to do with Money. The West has produced over a thousand years of lovely Christmas music, and here nothing is heard but Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer, and similar trash. Fortunately, music is heard only in large stores, X-ma$ being a purely commercial event, so rush out the doors and you are free. It is believed that the proper way to celebrate X-ma$ is with a wild dance party, the louder the better, and to hell with Silent Night. Santa Claus is the man of the day. Last year a hotel featured a bungee jumping Santa Claus. Unfortunately, the cords held.
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
In an article discussing the new heart-killer burgers introduced by Carl Jr's and Hardee's, Tim Shea, 43, a magazine publisher from Chicago said, “The fact that they would have the wherewithal to invent a product that could choke a mule is something to be prideful of.” This is a good (or dreadful) example of English that anybody should be ashamed of: be prideful of. Prideful? What's wrong with proud? Sure, we know what's wrong with proud. It's a single syllable word of long and prideful heritage, so of course we have to replace it with a slick two syllable word. Have the wherewithal usually means have the money, so I am not sure what he means here.
The sad thing is that the man who produced this monstrosity of English is a magazine publisher, which implies that he pollutes the environment with this sort of writing. Let's hope his boss fires him so he can learn something about writing!
The sad thing is that the man who produced this monstrosity of English is a magazine publisher, which implies that he pollutes the environment with this sort of writing. Let's hope his boss fires him so he can learn something about writing!
Monday, December 13, 2004
S came around the curve, spotted me, and raced his motorcycle towards me with his right arm out, a huge smile on his face: "Yugan! I haven't seen you for so long! I met your friend!" He slammed on the brakes, almost on my toes, and we gripped each others’ right hands.
“My friend? Who did you meet?”
“An American. I met him in jail. I said to him, 'I no speak Yin-geh-lee-shee.'”
“You've been in jail?”
“Yes, and I met an American, but we couldn't talk. I asked him, "You know Yugan, he same same you, Ah-mwi-ree-kan, you know?" But he didn't know you.”
”Why was he in jail?”
“He stole a purse. I asked him, 'How long you here?'" S pantomimed handcuffs and a cell door locked shut. "He said, 'Too muns.'”
“Sayin lyacing (two months)," I interpreted.
“I thought so. He said, 'Too muns, n I go USA.' I said, 'I Taiwan Indian, woo-woo –wooo,'" He howled and patted his mouth. "I said, 'I Taiwan Indian, like Tayal, Yugan too.'" He beamed at me.
“But what were you in jail for?”
His smile widened. "I cut down somebody's fir," he made a gesture of a trunk as wide as he could encompass. "They caught me, so they locked me up for a couple months.”
“No wonder I haven't seen you for so long. How was it?”
”I enjoyed it, but I'm glad to be out. Yugan! Come drink with us.”
“No, thanks. Why don't you come to my place to sit?”
“Yugan, you don't have any liquor!”
I thumped him with the stick I was carrying. "No I don't, so you can come drink tea.”
“Yugan! I don't like tea, they don't give you any liquor in jail, and I want whiskey! Whiskey!" With a great laugh, he roared off down the road.
“My friend? Who did you meet?”
“An American. I met him in jail. I said to him, 'I no speak Yin-geh-lee-shee.'”
“You've been in jail?”
“Yes, and I met an American, but we couldn't talk. I asked him, "You know Yugan, he same same you, Ah-mwi-ree-kan, you know?" But he didn't know you.”
”Why was he in jail?”
“He stole a purse. I asked him, 'How long you here?'" S pantomimed handcuffs and a cell door locked shut. "He said, 'Too muns.'”
“Sayin lyacing (two months)," I interpreted.
“I thought so. He said, 'Too muns, n I go USA.' I said, 'I Taiwan Indian, woo-woo –wooo,'" He howled and patted his mouth. "I said, 'I Taiwan Indian, like Tayal, Yugan too.'" He beamed at me.
“But what were you in jail for?”
His smile widened. "I cut down somebody's fir," he made a gesture of a trunk as wide as he could encompass. "They caught me, so they locked me up for a couple months.”
“No wonder I haven't seen you for so long. How was it?”
”I enjoyed it, but I'm glad to be out. Yugan! Come drink with us.”
“No, thanks. Why don't you come to my place to sit?”
“Yugan, you don't have any liquor!”
I thumped him with the stick I was carrying. "No I don't, so you can come drink tea.”
“Yugan! I don't like tea, they don't give you any liquor in jail, and I want whiskey! Whiskey!" With a great laugh, he roared off down the road.
Sunday, December 12, 2004
Friday, December 10, 2004
I am having trouble dealing with this. In the July/August 2004 Atlantic Monthly, Robert Conquest reports that decrees issued by Stalin “resulted in nearly 770,000 executions in 1937-1938. In addition, over the whole of his career, Stalin signed 44,000 individual death sentences.”
I cannot grasp these facts. Stalin was leader of the Soviet Union from 1929 until 1953, for 24 years. 24 years is about 8770 days, which means that if Stalin worked seven days a week, on the average for 24 years every day he sentenced about five people to death. Every day, for 24 years.
Mind you, this is above and beyond the seven hundred seventy thousand people murdered by his orders in 1937 and 1938, citizens of his own country.
I do not even want to be capable of understanding this.
I cannot grasp these facts. Stalin was leader of the Soviet Union from 1929 until 1953, for 24 years. 24 years is about 8770 days, which means that if Stalin worked seven days a week, on the average for 24 years every day he sentenced about five people to death. Every day, for 24 years.
Mind you, this is above and beyond the seven hundred seventy thousand people murdered by his orders in 1937 and 1938, citizens of his own country.
I do not even want to be capable of understanding this.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Sunday, December 05, 2004
The rain has stopped, and the temperature is a pleasant 11C. After I had lunch and tea, the weather called for a walk. In an unusual switch on the usual order, Yumin was home, Tlahuy and Bengax had departed for parts unknown. I never call my dogs when I go for a hike: they come. This was the first time Yumin and I had set off alone. He could scarcely contain himself. He pranced several steps ahead of me, rushed to my heels, and scampered forward, clearing the way down the jungle with ears flying. Five minutes along the path, Tlahuy silently appeared at my side; even my acute hearing had not detected his approach. Several minutes later, Bengax reported in, touching my left calf with her nose. When they wish, these noisy dogs can race silently through the jungle.
Our walk took us out, up, around, and back down again, about an hour and a half, about 150 meters up and down in altitude. Wulai is such a beautiful place! I've lived here for eight years, and I still marvel daily at the beauty of the scenery ~~ and sigh at the determination of business and government to destroy as much as they can. I found a small cherry tree that had not survived the typhoon, some of the most beautiful cherry wood I have ever seen, so I whacked off the branches and roots and brought it back. I'll figure out something to do with it, so that its beauty may be preserved. It succumbed to the typhoon because its roots were decayed, so it would have died sooner or later anyway.
There was a car parked by the side of the road, no big deal, probably off to somebody's house, or hiking, or birding, or something. In back of the car was a nice piece of wood that had been detached by the typhoon, so I started whacking off the odd branches with my headhunting knife. All of a sudden two startled people sat bolt upright in the car. It was not as empty as I thought. They had found this deserted little side road to take a pleasant Sunday afternoon nap (innocent: they looked like middle-aged husband and wife) when suddenly they get woken up by this guy chopping branches off a tree. I amiably saluted them with my knife, and decided that was not such a good idea, so I just left the wood there and kept going. I can go pick it up some other day. Their expressions were priceless!
I came back pleasantly exercised, so I decided to feed myself a fragrant melon; if for nothing else, the fruit would make Taiwan worth living in. When I had cut that open, I thought, my faithful little companions deserve a snack, too. I got out three treats, and called the dogs, but Yumin? I called, and heard thunkety thunkety thunk thunk thunk, thunketythunkety thunk thunk, the unmistakable sound of a beagle tail being wagged against the inside of a doghouse. He figured his exertions warranted room service….
Our walk took us out, up, around, and back down again, about an hour and a half, about 150 meters up and down in altitude. Wulai is such a beautiful place! I've lived here for eight years, and I still marvel daily at the beauty of the scenery ~~ and sigh at the determination of business and government to destroy as much as they can. I found a small cherry tree that had not survived the typhoon, some of the most beautiful cherry wood I have ever seen, so I whacked off the branches and roots and brought it back. I'll figure out something to do with it, so that its beauty may be preserved. It succumbed to the typhoon because its roots were decayed, so it would have died sooner or later anyway.
There was a car parked by the side of the road, no big deal, probably off to somebody's house, or hiking, or birding, or something. In back of the car was a nice piece of wood that had been detached by the typhoon, so I started whacking off the odd branches with my headhunting knife. All of a sudden two startled people sat bolt upright in the car. It was not as empty as I thought. They had found this deserted little side road to take a pleasant Sunday afternoon nap (innocent: they looked like middle-aged husband and wife) when suddenly they get woken up by this guy chopping branches off a tree. I amiably saluted them with my knife, and decided that was not such a good idea, so I just left the wood there and kept going. I can go pick it up some other day. Their expressions were priceless!
I came back pleasantly exercised, so I decided to feed myself a fragrant melon; if for nothing else, the fruit would make Taiwan worth living in. When I had cut that open, I thought, my faithful little companions deserve a snack, too. I got out three treats, and called the dogs, but Yumin? I called, and heard thunkety thunkety thunk thunk thunk, thunketythunkety thunk thunk, the unmistakable sound of a beagle tail being wagged against the inside of a doghouse. He figured his exertions warranted room service….
I had a close call the other day. On Thursday I was seriously considering mopping, but talked myself out of it, which was wise, because when the typhoon came on Friday ~~ A typhoon in December, what is the world coming to! ~~ the humidity and pressure forced water out of the tiles and walls in the bathrooms and kitchen (the only floors that aren't wood), and the wood was slightly damp to the touch, so that would have defeated mopping. So now I know! If a typhoon can come in December, it can come any month of the year, which I will have to take into consideration next time I get the urge to mop.
Friday, December 03, 2004
市問山曰，'住山上很無聊吧，下雨天不能出去。'
山曰，'不會呀。今天吃午餐聽雨聲，因為颱風，門窗緊閉，點了一根香，邊吃飯邊看香烟。’
市問，'這有甚麼好看?'
山答，'升而眷，轉環舒伸，降而顧，洄懸頏頡，睹之甚戀，甚至忘了我煮的菜有多難吃…”
市曰，'這有甚麼好看? 煙就是煙，都一樣。’
山問，'那你下雨天作甚麼?’
市答，'在家裡看電視。’
山問，'看甚麼節目?’
市答，'歌唱表演啦、連續劇啦~’
山曰，'這有甚麼好看? 都一樣。歌唱表演嘛， 流行歌曲旋律都差不多，聽了第一小節就知道下一個樂句，歌詞大同小異，不是我愛妳，就是你不愛我。歌星在前面扭，舞隊在旁邊跳。連續劇嘛，看了第一集大概知道怎麼演，不是"媽!!妳不能死!!",就是"太太!我對不起妳!" 起碼，我的烟有香氣，而且沒有廣告。’
山曰，'不會呀。今天吃午餐聽雨聲，因為颱風，門窗緊閉，點了一根香，邊吃飯邊看香烟。’
市問，'這有甚麼好看?'
山答，'升而眷，轉環舒伸，降而顧，洄懸頏頡，睹之甚戀，甚至忘了我煮的菜有多難吃…”
市曰，'這有甚麼好看? 煙就是煙，都一樣。’
山問，'那你下雨天作甚麼?’
市答，'在家裡看電視。’
山問，'看甚麼節目?’
市答，'歌唱表演啦、連續劇啦~’
山曰，'這有甚麼好看? 都一樣。歌唱表演嘛， 流行歌曲旋律都差不多，聽了第一小節就知道下一個樂句，歌詞大同小異，不是我愛妳，就是你不愛我。歌星在前面扭，舞隊在旁邊跳。連續劇嘛，看了第一集大概知道怎麼演，不是"媽!!妳不能死!!",就是"太太!我對不起妳!" 起碼，我的烟有香氣，而且沒有廣告。’
Thursday, December 02, 2004
I wrote this in April, 1999. The situation is even worse now.
悼木
軋輅是泰雅族的健兒， 個性開朗、豁達、人緣極佳。 十幾年前結婚時，在新家前種了一棵榕樹。 樹跟主人一樣，茁壯、大方、人見人愛。 但最近鄉公所為了多裝一個路燈，竟無情地把軋輅的榕樹給鋸掉了。
榕樹完全是冤枉的。新路燈在榕樹與路的中間，樹本來不妨礙燈，而且，這個新路燈旁一公尺處早已有電線桿。施工的人不在原有的電線桿裝燈，也不先爭取軋輅的同意，就把美麗翠綠的榕樹鋸了，既不合情，又不合理。
好了，台北縣又少了一棵樹，又怎麼樣？ 這沒甚麼稀奇， 是不是小題大做？ 問題在於現代人的價值觀。 只計眼前的方便，不慮長久的利益。 孔子說，「 伐一樹， 不以其時， 非孝也。」 因為他瞭解人是靠天地而生存的。 不管科技多發達，如果人不節制貪慾，為了短暫的方便破壞山林，上無以供養父母、下無以養育子女。地球生態早已瀕臨危機，我們如果想生存，必須傾力維護生態，不該一味的「開發」。 難道我們要把台灣所有的自然生態全都毀滅才能覺醒嗎？
台北縣這些年來為了開一些很少人走的路，挖壞了多少山坡地！ 為了照亮 這些晚上幾乎沒有人走的路，砍伐了多少樹；燈火通明，浪費這麼多電，核子發電廠只好多蓋幾個。
將來各位發現台北水質愈來愈差、空氣越來越髒、頻聞都市缺水、山崩、石流的噩耗時，請記得軋輅的那一棵榕樹。
悼木
軋輅是泰雅族的健兒， 個性開朗、豁達、人緣極佳。 十幾年前結婚時，在新家前種了一棵榕樹。 樹跟主人一樣，茁壯、大方、人見人愛。 但最近鄉公所為了多裝一個路燈，竟無情地把軋輅的榕樹給鋸掉了。
榕樹完全是冤枉的。新路燈在榕樹與路的中間，樹本來不妨礙燈，而且，這個新路燈旁一公尺處早已有電線桿。施工的人不在原有的電線桿裝燈，也不先爭取軋輅的同意，就把美麗翠綠的榕樹鋸了，既不合情，又不合理。
好了，台北縣又少了一棵樹，又怎麼樣？ 這沒甚麼稀奇， 是不是小題大做？ 問題在於現代人的價值觀。 只計眼前的方便，不慮長久的利益。 孔子說，「 伐一樹， 不以其時， 非孝也。」 因為他瞭解人是靠天地而生存的。 不管科技多發達，如果人不節制貪慾，為了短暫的方便破壞山林，上無以供養父母、下無以養育子女。地球生態早已瀕臨危機，我們如果想生存，必須傾力維護生態，不該一味的「開發」。 難道我們要把台灣所有的自然生態全都毀滅才能覺醒嗎？
台北縣這些年來為了開一些很少人走的路，挖壞了多少山坡地！ 為了照亮 這些晚上幾乎沒有人走的路，砍伐了多少樹；燈火通明，浪費這麼多電，核子發電廠只好多蓋幾個。
將來各位發現台北水質愈來愈差、空氣越來越髒、頻聞都市缺水、山崩、石流的噩耗時，請記得軋輅的那一棵榕樹。
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
When I came back from the Jingpo gathering on Sunday, Yumin was nowhere to be seen. Sometimes he goes out beagling in the afternoon, but usually knows when I come home and rushes back. At dusk I went out to call him, but nothing, so after dinner, I got a flashlight and walked around calling, but still no beagle. I was getting worried. It was Sunday, and conceivably a sightseer had stolen him. People tell me that when I am not present, agile, wily Yumin is almost impossible to grab hold of, and anybody who took him home would quickly have cause to regret it. All beagles are howlers, and Yumin has those strong mountain lungs. Nonetheless, just last week two little boys in Taipei took their beagle out for a walk, and some bad man kidnapped the beagle, and held it for ransom!
Not much I could do, so I played the recorder instead. About ten, I went out to check, and there he was, squirming gleefully in the doghouse.
He's grounded. I have tied him up by the doghouse for three days, hoping that he will see the error of his ways.
Not much I could do, so I played the recorder instead. About ten, I went out to check, and there he was, squirming gleefully in the doghouse.
He's grounded. I have tied him up by the doghouse for three days, hoping that he will see the error of his ways.
Monday, November 29, 2004
The Jingpo (景頗)nationality may not be familiar to everybody now, but in the 19th century the British empire learned what ferocious fighters they are, as did the Japanese during World War II. The Brits know them as the Kachin（卡欽）. They're a tribe on the borders of China, Thailand, and Burma. Around 1960, a hundred guerillas were brought to Taiwan to keep them out of trouble. Yesterday I went to their annual gathering. They all bring their swords, so I took along my Tayal headhunting knife (laraw behu).
I arrived about fifteen minutes late. Most of the Jingpo were dressed in modern clothes, but wore turbans, satchels, and swords. Several young people wore traditional outfits, the girls ornamented with silver. They wore very untraditional sneakers. The speakers had already begun. I slipped in and took a seat in the back row, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Kung, the previous president, spotted me and insisted that I sit on the stage and address the gathering. He picked up my pack with one hand and my left arm with the other and dragged me out of my seat. Most of the audience had turned around to watch: so much for inconspicuous.
I sat next to General Yang, their old commanding officer, who, although not Jingpo, speaks the language. Kung took the microphone: "You all remember our American friend, who attended our gathering before. He wrote articles about us in English." He held up copies of the publications I had sent him. "This is the first time anybody has ever introduced the Jingpo in Taiwan in English." Everybody clapped. So much for inconspicuous. He thrust the microphone in my hands.
"It is an honor to be here today, but I should not be talking. I would like to hear you talk, to hear about your experiences. Thank you.”
Kung and Yang looked at me. “Keep talking.”
"I've finished." Other speakers took the podium. Their talks revolved around two points. The first point can be concisely expressed as, SHUT UP! Each speaker explained very patiently and eloquently that it is polite, civilized, democratic, proper, meet, and right to listen to the person holding the floor, but it didn't seem to have much effect.
It didn't seem to have much effect until they moved to Point Two, which was their extreme dissatisfaction with the current administration. President Chen Shui-bian's administration, obsessed with setting up Taiwan as an independent nation, treats the Taiwan aborigines with harsh contempt, so their curt treatment of the Jingpo should hardly surprise anyone. The Taiwan aborigines were here four thousand years before the first Chinese set foot on the island; the Jingpo came within the last fifty years. The Taiwan aborigines make up a per cent or two of the population. The total number of Yunnan tribesmen in Taiwan, Jingpo + Wa + Dai + Kayin, cannot be more than 500, so the DPP (Democratic Progressive Party) administration does not deign to do anything for such a minuscule minority. Somebody was handing out copies of an official statement from the Ministry of the Interior that they refuse to recognize the existence of the Jingpo, because the tribe cannot document their existence to the administration's satisfaction! A speaker pointed out that under the communists, the Jingpo have their own autonomous region, while the DPP feels their existence is beneath notice. One of the men was asked by a DDP candidate, "Why aren't you dead yet?”
A young man, second generation Taiwan-Jingpo, dressed in a traditional outfit, unconsciously pulled his sword out of the scabbard every time the speaker detailed another government insult to Jingpo dignity. There are not many Jingpo in Taiwan, and they are old now, but no matter how friendly they are, these are not people I would rile. Ask SLORC, the Burmese military government, which dreads the Kachin Independence Army.
Finally the speeches were over, and we got down to the serious business of lunch. Eat, chat, toast. Someone handed me a bright red satchel to wear, slung across my chest. As you walk, the silver ornaments jingle and chink. A representative passed out membership address lists, nicely printed in a little booklet with the KIA (Kachin Independence Army) emblem on the cover. The men told me about their villages, far in the mountains of southwestern China, how they fought, and how they came to Taiwan in airplanes. They told me of the years without news from home, during the Great Leap Forward and Cultural Revolution, and finally being able to go home again. One man got off the plane, rode on a truck for twenty-four hours, and walked for nine hours to reach his hometown. As soon he stepped onto the streets of home for the first time in over twenty years, he spotted his own brother.
One of the men told me that several months ago he went to Burma and stayed with the KIA. Before I got a chance to ask for details, he was dragged away by the next table for more toasts. The more toasts that were drunk, the more uproarious the men became.
Before long, somebody started banging on the pot drum (a long-stemmed drum common to many nationalities in the mountains of Southeast Asia). The tables were cleared away, and swords were drawn. A few of the men had not brought their own swords, but there were spares on the table. The men display great joy in wearing and handling their swords. This year somebody brought a spear, which was passed from hand to hand with great relish. Several of the men detailed its use for my benefit, but actually, I think they just enjoyed stabbing about with the spear. They examined my Tayal knife with blissful expertise.
The first dance was led by the drum, cymbals, and a gong. The Jingpo lined up single file, follow the leader. For the next dance, Kung led the line. Kung sometimes comes across as officious and somewhat fussy, but as soon as the sword dance started, you could see why he was chosen president, and to this day dominates the new association president. His whole bearing changed. He stopped speaking Mandarin, and began exhorting and regaling the men in Jingpo, singing in a loud, hearty voice. I had never seen this side of him before, but beyond a doubt, this is a man you would follow into battle.
Maybe the Ministry of the Interior should acknowledge their existence just to keep them happy.
I arrived about fifteen minutes late. Most of the Jingpo were dressed in modern clothes, but wore turbans, satchels, and swords. Several young people wore traditional outfits, the girls ornamented with silver. They wore very untraditional sneakers. The speakers had already begun. I slipped in and took a seat in the back row, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Kung, the previous president, spotted me and insisted that I sit on the stage and address the gathering. He picked up my pack with one hand and my left arm with the other and dragged me out of my seat. Most of the audience had turned around to watch: so much for inconspicuous.
I sat next to General Yang, their old commanding officer, who, although not Jingpo, speaks the language. Kung took the microphone: "You all remember our American friend, who attended our gathering before. He wrote articles about us in English." He held up copies of the publications I had sent him. "This is the first time anybody has ever introduced the Jingpo in Taiwan in English." Everybody clapped. So much for inconspicuous. He thrust the microphone in my hands.
"It is an honor to be here today, but I should not be talking. I would like to hear you talk, to hear about your experiences. Thank you.”
Kung and Yang looked at me. “Keep talking.”
"I've finished." Other speakers took the podium. Their talks revolved around two points. The first point can be concisely expressed as, SHUT UP! Each speaker explained very patiently and eloquently that it is polite, civilized, democratic, proper, meet, and right to listen to the person holding the floor, but it didn't seem to have much effect.
It didn't seem to have much effect until they moved to Point Two, which was their extreme dissatisfaction with the current administration. President Chen Shui-bian's administration, obsessed with setting up Taiwan as an independent nation, treats the Taiwan aborigines with harsh contempt, so their curt treatment of the Jingpo should hardly surprise anyone. The Taiwan aborigines were here four thousand years before the first Chinese set foot on the island; the Jingpo came within the last fifty years. The Taiwan aborigines make up a per cent or two of the population. The total number of Yunnan tribesmen in Taiwan, Jingpo + Wa + Dai + Kayin, cannot be more than 500, so the DPP (Democratic Progressive Party) administration does not deign to do anything for such a minuscule minority. Somebody was handing out copies of an official statement from the Ministry of the Interior that they refuse to recognize the existence of the Jingpo, because the tribe cannot document their existence to the administration's satisfaction! A speaker pointed out that under the communists, the Jingpo have their own autonomous region, while the DPP feels their existence is beneath notice. One of the men was asked by a DDP candidate, "Why aren't you dead yet?”
A young man, second generation Taiwan-Jingpo, dressed in a traditional outfit, unconsciously pulled his sword out of the scabbard every time the speaker detailed another government insult to Jingpo dignity. There are not many Jingpo in Taiwan, and they are old now, but no matter how friendly they are, these are not people I would rile. Ask SLORC, the Burmese military government, which dreads the Kachin Independence Army.
Finally the speeches were over, and we got down to the serious business of lunch. Eat, chat, toast. Someone handed me a bright red satchel to wear, slung across my chest. As you walk, the silver ornaments jingle and chink. A representative passed out membership address lists, nicely printed in a little booklet with the KIA (Kachin Independence Army) emblem on the cover. The men told me about their villages, far in the mountains of southwestern China, how they fought, and how they came to Taiwan in airplanes. They told me of the years without news from home, during the Great Leap Forward and Cultural Revolution, and finally being able to go home again. One man got off the plane, rode on a truck for twenty-four hours, and walked for nine hours to reach his hometown. As soon he stepped onto the streets of home for the first time in over twenty years, he spotted his own brother.
One of the men told me that several months ago he went to Burma and stayed with the KIA. Before I got a chance to ask for details, he was dragged away by the next table for more toasts. The more toasts that were drunk, the more uproarious the men became.
Before long, somebody started banging on the pot drum (a long-stemmed drum common to many nationalities in the mountains of Southeast Asia). The tables were cleared away, and swords were drawn. A few of the men had not brought their own swords, but there were spares on the table. The men display great joy in wearing and handling their swords. This year somebody brought a spear, which was passed from hand to hand with great relish. Several of the men detailed its use for my benefit, but actually, I think they just enjoyed stabbing about with the spear. They examined my Tayal knife with blissful expertise.
The first dance was led by the drum, cymbals, and a gong. The Jingpo lined up single file, follow the leader. For the next dance, Kung led the line. Kung sometimes comes across as officious and somewhat fussy, but as soon as the sword dance started, you could see why he was chosen president, and to this day dominates the new association president. His whole bearing changed. He stopped speaking Mandarin, and began exhorting and regaling the men in Jingpo, singing in a loud, hearty voice. I had never seen this side of him before, but beyond a doubt, this is a man you would follow into battle.
Maybe the Ministry of the Interior should acknowledge their existence just to keep them happy.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
好消息，好消息，大家告訴大家!! 我把兩岸問題解決了!
大陸要台灣回歸，李陳呂各想當國父(母)，這個緊張局勢，一般美國人非常關心。在美國問起Taiwan 啦China啦，一般老百姓的反應是，"台灣? 我當然知道，我也認為這是一個值得深思熟慮的問題，至於我個人的看法呢，談到台灣嘛，雖然有點辣，而且有時候有些怪味道，不太敢嚐，不過Thai food很特別，很好吃，可是還是中國料理比較好吃，盡管吃了以後一個小時又餓了，而且加很多味精，吃了會頭痛，但是中國菜還是比泰國菜好吃。"
這番言論足以證明，世界輿論認為中國問題很頭痛。 其實這個問題很簡單，台灣跟大陸統一，可是條件是: 台灣是新中國的首都。如果真的堅持的話，就把國號改為:台灣人民共合國。台民幣上畫個台灣藍雀棲息萬里長城上。這樣問題就解決了，皆大歡喜。
我一定可以得諾貝爾和平獎！
大陸要台灣回歸，李陳呂各想當國父(母)，這個緊張局勢，一般美國人非常關心。在美國問起Taiwan 啦China啦，一般老百姓的反應是，"台灣? 我當然知道，我也認為這是一個值得深思熟慮的問題，至於我個人的看法呢，談到台灣嘛，雖然有點辣，而且有時候有些怪味道，不太敢嚐，不過Thai food很特別，很好吃，可是還是中國料理比較好吃，盡管吃了以後一個小時又餓了，而且加很多味精，吃了會頭痛，但是中國菜還是比泰國菜好吃。"
這番言論足以證明，世界輿論認為中國問題很頭痛。 其實這個問題很簡單，台灣跟大陸統一，可是條件是: 台灣是新中國的首都。如果真的堅持的話，就把國號改為:台灣人民共合國。台民幣上畫個台灣藍雀棲息萬里長城上。這樣問題就解決了，皆大歡喜。
我一定可以得諾貝爾和平獎！
Monday, November 22, 2004
It looked like rain, so yesterday at dusk I set fire to a pile of branches, bamboo, and deadwood. Yumin was so impressed and excited by the spectacle that he strolled into the doghouse and feel asleep, belly up, legs sprawled every which direction. Bengax doesn't like fire, especially since bamboo explodes with an alarming pop, so she kept her distance. I sat on a log and gazed into the fire. Loyal Tlahuy came to lie at my feet. Rain fell with dark.
There is a little irrigation ditch behind my place, now used for runoff. When I moved here, there was always water in the ditch, but now spas pipe off the water to heat up for their 'hot springs.' Cool weather has drawn customers, so the water level in the ditch is low. The bottom of the ditch has a layer of black sludge. I decided to scoop some up to put on tree roots and flower pots. My trowel hit something hard: a turtle nestled down for a long rest. Do Not Disturb.
There is a little irrigation ditch behind my place, now used for runoff. When I moved here, there was always water in the ditch, but now spas pipe off the water to heat up for their 'hot springs.' Cool weather has drawn customers, so the water level in the ditch is low. The bottom of the ditch has a layer of black sludge. I decided to scoop some up to put on tree roots and flower pots. My trowel hit something hard: a turtle nestled down for a long rest. Do Not Disturb.
Saturday, November 20, 2004
很久很久以前，一個小村坐落澗溪畔，豁岸峻峭，往返村民戰慄，ㄔ亍陡降，涉溪步步自危，攀藤扶葛而上，甚苦之。 一日天倏變，狂風驟雨，竹折樹仆，一巨樹方巧隕落溪谷上。翌日村夫二人沿樹過溪，稱讚方便未曾有。于是將樹二端以石墊高固定，剪枝修幹，成為全世界第一座橋樑。二夫滿意，稱快而回。
又逾一時，三夫由外地歸村，至岸，赫然橋樑，三夫懌悅，攜手攀橋。在橋上立足互賀，夫甲曰，"哇賽，這個橋好高!" 夫乙曰，”真的好高。" 夫丙語夫甲, "你吐一口痰，我數數看。"呸。"一、二，哇，好高!”
由此綿綿，年年代代，只要男人走過橋，一定要吐痰數高度，幾千年不易，成為男人的本能:遇橋必吐痰，對男人而言，是一股無法抗拒的驅力。 女人是無法了解的。
案: 一派歷史學者認為，人類數數的起源，就是應男人過橋吐痰的需要而產生的，可備一說。
又逾一時，三夫由外地歸村，至岸，赫然橋樑，三夫懌悅，攜手攀橋。在橋上立足互賀，夫甲曰，"哇賽，這個橋好高!" 夫乙曰，”真的好高。" 夫丙語夫甲, "你吐一口痰，我數數看。"呸。"一、二，哇，好高!”
由此綿綿，年年代代，只要男人走過橋，一定要吐痰數高度，幾千年不易，成為男人的本能:遇橋必吐痰，對男人而言，是一股無法抗拒的驅力。 女人是無法了解的。
案: 一派歷史學者認為，人類數數的起源，就是應男人過橋吐痰的需要而產生的，可備一說。
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
15日的post論銀行廣告，Balahu回我一篇. Thanks for the permission to post this!
每天，幾乎是每天，手機都會接到某家銀行打來的貸款或現金卡或保險遊說電話，
我算過，平均每家銀行間隔兩個星期會換一個專員打來，台灣有這麼多家銀行，
所以幾乎天天都在接這種哀求妳負債的電話！真的很煩！
像我今天下午在看眼科門診的時候，就邊聽醫生診療，邊拿著手機不厭其煩地再拒絕一次
荷X銀行的善意，這已經是我第三千次拒絕了吧～難道不能饒了我已經很美麗的人生嗎？
關於這個美麗人生廣告，我在看到電視CF的時候，就很受不了，
媒體每分每秒在洗我們的腦～你的人生就是要欠一屁股還不完的債才會美麗得起來！
沒有欠銀行巨額債務，怎麼算是稱職的現代資本主義社會公民？
沒有欠銀行錢怎麼算是活得有尊嚴？這到底是哪們子邏輯？
下次再接到這種電話，我要學我的原住民老人家朋友，跟那個專員說：
這麼好，自己要借我錢哦？要還嗎？如果不用還，我馬上跟你借！
每天，幾乎是每天，手機都會接到某家銀行打來的貸款或現金卡或保險遊說電話，
我算過，平均每家銀行間隔兩個星期會換一個專員打來，台灣有這麼多家銀行，
所以幾乎天天都在接這種哀求妳負債的電話！真的很煩！
像我今天下午在看眼科門診的時候，就邊聽醫生診療，邊拿著手機不厭其煩地再拒絕一次
荷X銀行的善意，這已經是我第三千次拒絕了吧～難道不能饒了我已經很美麗的人生嗎？
關於這個美麗人生廣告，我在看到電視CF的時候，就很受不了，
媒體每分每秒在洗我們的腦～你的人生就是要欠一屁股還不完的債才會美麗得起來！
沒有欠銀行巨額債務，怎麼算是稱職的現代資本主義社會公民？
沒有欠銀行錢怎麼算是活得有尊嚴？這到底是哪們子邏輯？
下次再接到這種電話，我要學我的原住民老人家朋友，跟那個專員說：
這麼好，自己要借我錢哦？要還嗎？如果不用還，我馬上跟你借！
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Sketch
You could hear the bridges from way off. On every bridge were stationed soldiers who shot every branch or spray floating downstream, to foil the Viet Cong who attached explosives to the debris the river swept out of the jungle, in order to explode bridges and disrupt transportation. Many of the ARVN sharpshooters stood at their posts in their underpants, as the Mekong Delta is tropically hot. Some held their M16s casually in one hand, picking off branches with dead eye, never missing from thirty meters. Bullets are a lot cheaper than bridges.
Riding down the Mekong Delta, 1971
You could hear the bridges from way off. On every bridge were stationed soldiers who shot every branch or spray floating downstream, to foil the Viet Cong who attached explosives to the debris the river swept out of the jungle, in order to explode bridges and disrupt transportation. Many of the ARVN sharpshooters stood at their posts in their underpants, as the Mekong Delta is tropically hot. Some held their M16s casually in one hand, picking off branches with dead eye, never missing from thirty meters. Bullets are a lot cheaper than bridges.
Riding down the Mekong Delta, 1971
Monday, November 15, 2004
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
You know how in the peat bogs of northern Europe they have found preserved bodies of Neolithic people? They are called bog people, and the definitive study on that is The Bog People by P V Glob.
Hi, what's that you're reading?
The Blog People by P V Gob, no, the Glob People by P B Vlob, no, the Pog Beople by P P Bog, no, no, it's the Bob Gleoble by P V Plob ~~~ look, why don't you just mind your own business!?
Hi, what's that you're reading?
The Blog People by P V Gob, no, the Glob People by P B Vlob, no, the Pog Beople by P P Bog, no, no, it's the Bob Gleoble by P V Plob ~~~ look, why don't you just mind your own business!?
Monday, November 08, 2004
In the weeks preceding Halloween, Ebay had auctions not only for Halloween costumes, but Halloween costumes for adults. Halloween costumes for adults?? When people have brains like that, it is small wonder that Bush got reelected.
When I was in kindergarten, for Halloween they had us dress up in our costumes and parade through the school to show the big kids who it is done. I was a goat. Mom sewed a piece of light tan cloth into a rough approximation of a goat, and we made a paper mask for the face. I still vividly remember that she then took two sheets of typing paper from the desk drawer and rolled them into goat's horns! Magic!
I feel sorry for kids whose parents buy them costumes, and have never seen typing paper become goat's horns. They don't know what magic is.
When I was in kindergarten, for Halloween they had us dress up in our costumes and parade through the school to show the big kids who it is done. I was a goat. Mom sewed a piece of light tan cloth into a rough approximation of a goat, and we made a paper mask for the face. I still vividly remember that she then took two sheets of typing paper from the desk drawer and rolled them into goat's horns! Magic!
I feel sorry for kids whose parents buy them costumes, and have never seen typing paper become goat's horns. They don't know what magic is.
Sunday, November 07, 2004
A friend showed me his new GPS, complete with maps of your present locality, anywhere you go. With a flourish, he turned it on ~~~ and it seems we are just a bit northwest of Denver, Colorado. Interesting. I had thought November in Colorado would be much cooler.
The GPS couldn't have made a mistake, could it!? I mean, those things are digital and electronic, they CAN'T be wrong!! Because it has an LCDisplay, too!
I think I'll stop in on Kathie.
The GPS couldn't have made a mistake, could it!? I mean, those things are digital and electronic, they CAN'T be wrong!! Because it has an LCDisplay, too!
I think I'll stop in on Kathie.
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Sunday, October 17, 2004
Friday, October 15, 2004
今天網上新聞:“林玉体說，他昨天獲知將擔任明年公務員初考典試長後，在會中主動發言表示，他將按照他自己對「本國」的解讀，把本國史地命題範圍限縮在台澎金馬。”
這是考生的福音，套一句英文， Nothing to it! 除了95%的漢人不認同的原住民外，台灣歷史沒甚麼。請看台灣通史；漢人從福建來霸佔原住民的地；泉州、漳州人相遇，砍砍殺殺，然後聯手對付原住民；潮州人跟來，砍砍殺殺，然後聯手對付原住民；客家人來，砍砍殺殺，然後聯手對付原住民；台灣通史大體如此，很好考。
但我看，教育部一定不肯採用台灣通史。雖是最權威的著作，但是是連家的人的東西，意識形態上，執政黨必定無法接受:政治立場比教育重要。還有一個問題，考金門史怎麼可能不考廈門呢?好了，台灣通史不考，金門也不考，現在只剩那本泰雅族史，186頁，應該很好考。不行，他們不講閩南話，我看，只好考陳水扁的建樹與呂秀蓮溫馨人間。這樣印教材可以省很多很多的紙張。
美國人開拓荒野時，急於立學校教育子女。 Puritans在1620年到New England，沒有房子沒有農田，三餐不繼，氣候寒冷，開墾艱苦，但二、三十年後已經有印書、設立大學。台灣則無此例，所以要在文學、藝術展露頭角有所成就，是在國民政府來台以後才有個訊息的。這樣也減輕考生的壓力。
本國史若限考台澎金馬，我這個綠眼美國人最開心，終於可以抬頭挺胸，因為常常被笑:”美國歷史很短‧”只好把話題轉移: 我們第一個登月球，而且，電燈、棒球、電吉他都是我們發明的! 還有米老鼠也是美國人…美國鼠? 若面對浩浩蕩蕩的中國華夏歷史，不只是矮人一截，是好多截! 可是如果本國史限考台澎金馬，我可以反譏大家: 沒有歷史!!
這是考生的福音，套一句英文， Nothing to it! 除了95%的漢人不認同的原住民外，台灣歷史沒甚麼。請看台灣通史；漢人從福建來霸佔原住民的地；泉州、漳州人相遇，砍砍殺殺，然後聯手對付原住民；潮州人跟來，砍砍殺殺，然後聯手對付原住民；客家人來，砍砍殺殺，然後聯手對付原住民；台灣通史大體如此，很好考。
但我看，教育部一定不肯採用台灣通史。雖是最權威的著作，但是是連家的人的東西，意識形態上，執政黨必定無法接受:政治立場比教育重要。還有一個問題，考金門史怎麼可能不考廈門呢?好了，台灣通史不考，金門也不考，現在只剩那本泰雅族史，186頁，應該很好考。不行，他們不講閩南話，我看，只好考陳水扁的建樹與呂秀蓮溫馨人間。這樣印教材可以省很多很多的紙張。
美國人開拓荒野時，急於立學校教育子女。 Puritans在1620年到New England，沒有房子沒有農田，三餐不繼，氣候寒冷，開墾艱苦，但二、三十年後已經有印書、設立大學。台灣則無此例，所以要在文學、藝術展露頭角有所成就，是在國民政府來台以後才有個訊息的。這樣也減輕考生的壓力。
本國史若限考台澎金馬，我這個綠眼美國人最開心，終於可以抬頭挺胸，因為常常被笑:”美國歷史很短‧”只好把話題轉移: 我們第一個登月球，而且，電燈、棒球、電吉他都是我們發明的! 還有米老鼠也是美國人…美國鼠? 若面對浩浩蕩蕩的中國華夏歷史，不只是矮人一截，是好多截! 可是如果本國史限考台澎金馬，我可以反譏大家: 沒有歷史!!
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Today this blog will be graced by further political commentary by Sister St Eph. Third World readers, especially in the Middle East, will please be aware that this is Democracy in Action, and take notes so you can emulate.
Repeat after me, observing four steady beats to the bar:
Finance, Mini, Sir furry rock.
Finance, Mini, Sir furry rock.
This is from the Town Meeting on health care last night, Kerry and Bush. Presdunt Bush said the phrase. I was caught by the rhythm of it, the clarity of the syllables, and the utter incomprehensibility of the words. Wondered if you'd get it... I had the advantage of context, which didn't help. I actually wrote it down, and puzzled through my original note:
Fi-nance mini-sur furry-ACK
Finance Minister of Iraq
Finance Minister for Iraq?
The key is in the rhythm, emphatic and strong, and the enunciation, clear and precise. I think he rehearsed this phrase. I think someone worked with him, and he memorized it. Then when he was ready to say it, out it came from the memory banks: DUMdum DUMdum DUMdumda DUM!!!!!!!!!
Rating points:
Pretty close! Got the idea of using rhythm, just got it wrong. Got the enunciation clear, just not right. Produced the phrase fairly quickly, just a little hesitation at the start line, but plowed ahead once begun. Moved away from it quickly.
I've been listening to whole debates and entire speeches like this! It involves a lot of radio slapping. It wrenches the brain to hear these people talk. The conten', the verbidge, the consen weazllin an spinnin putre-fax... you don't happen to have one of those Alfred E. Neuman for Presdunt stickers, do you? And what does the "E" stand for, anyway?
Alfred was born in USA and he's 35 or older! Alfred can run! There's a groundswell of advertising to agitate support for an amendment to the constitution. If we remove that silly "born in USA" requirement, Ahnuld could run. He's photogenic and says his lines well.
Note: The E in Alfred E Neuman stands for Electable.
Repeat after me, observing four steady beats to the bar:
Finance, Mini, Sir furry rock.
Finance, Mini, Sir furry rock.
This is from the Town Meeting on health care last night, Kerry and Bush. Presdunt Bush said the phrase. I was caught by the rhythm of it, the clarity of the syllables, and the utter incomprehensibility of the words. Wondered if you'd get it... I had the advantage of context, which didn't help. I actually wrote it down, and puzzled through my original note:
Fi-nance mini-sur furry-ACK
Finance Minister of Iraq
Finance Minister for Iraq?
The key is in the rhythm, emphatic and strong, and the enunciation, clear and precise. I think he rehearsed this phrase. I think someone worked with him, and he memorized it. Then when he was ready to say it, out it came from the memory banks: DUMdum DUMdum DUMdumda DUM!!!!!!!!!
Rating points:
Pretty close! Got the idea of using rhythm, just got it wrong. Got the enunciation clear, just not right. Produced the phrase fairly quickly, just a little hesitation at the start line, but plowed ahead once begun. Moved away from it quickly.
I've been listening to whole debates and entire speeches like this! It involves a lot of radio slapping. It wrenches the brain to hear these people talk. The conten', the verbidge, the consen weazllin an spinnin putre-fax... you don't happen to have one of those Alfred E. Neuman for Presdunt stickers, do you? And what does the "E" stand for, anyway?
Alfred was born in USA and he's 35 or older! Alfred can run! There's a groundswell of advertising to agitate support for an amendment to the constitution. If we remove that silly "born in USA" requirement, Ahnuld could run. He's photogenic and says his lines well.
Note: The E in Alfred E Neuman stands for Electable.
Friday, October 08, 2004
My sister Steph carefully listened to the election debates on the radio. Here is her report.
I'm happy to report, there will be no debate report! I'm listening to the vice-presidential candidates' debate on the radio. So far this has involved a lot of radio-slapping. This is a highly touted debate. (Is there "lowly touted?") Nobody, so far, enunciates. "The noble War on Terr." "Absolooley." "Direck aid." "Inconsissencies." "Sucessfooie carry through." "Terrisss" (the plural). "Consissenny." This is both of them. I'm not cut out for this... Weapons inspekkers. In conjunkin. A sishuashin in wish... By-producks. Contrak. Conflick. The Soddiez. Presdunt. Sev-val things. Both of them talk this way... Adekkit. Patikkelur. Edwards and Kerry are going to do tax cuts and cut the deffcit in haff. Cheney and Bush will drive the deffcit down fiffy percen in the nex five years. Gay mairge is a hot issue.
Thank you for that exclnt repor, Steph. Now, I am going to go publickt with my offer for the WINNER of the 2004 US Presidential Election. I am offering, ABSOLULY FREE, elocution lessons to WHOEVER wins the 2004 US Presidential Election, and ALSO his running mate, AT NO EXRA COST!!! just so long as the winners are Demycrats.
I'm happy to report, there will be no debate report! I'm listening to the vice-presidential candidates' debate on the radio. So far this has involved a lot of radio-slapping. This is a highly touted debate. (Is there "lowly touted?") Nobody, so far, enunciates. "The noble War on Terr." "Absolooley." "Direck aid." "Inconsissencies." "Sucessfooie carry through." "Terrisss" (the plural). "Consissenny." This is both of them. I'm not cut out for this... Weapons inspekkers. In conjunkin. A sishuashin in wish... By-producks. Contrak. Conflick. The Soddiez. Presdunt. Sev-val things. Both of them talk this way... Adekkit. Patikkelur. Edwards and Kerry are going to do tax cuts and cut the deffcit in haff. Cheney and Bush will drive the deffcit down fiffy percen in the nex five years. Gay mairge is a hot issue.
Thank you for that exclnt repor, Steph. Now, I am going to go publickt with my offer for the WINNER of the 2004 US Presidential Election. I am offering, ABSOLULY FREE, elocution lessons to WHOEVER wins the 2004 US Presidential Election, and ALSO his running mate, AT NO EXRA COST!!! just so long as the winners are Demycrats.
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Ah-Pao is a dancer. Wen Hsin is a dancer. I'm not. I've never been a dancer. In junior high I dutifully attended Miss Callisher's ballroom dancing course, but soon was lured by the crushing death dances of martial arts. Dance like Shiva, dance the destruction of heaven and earth. My Serb blood ran quick with kolas in Russian class, but dancing with friends at parties was more a search for doom than celebration or fun. My friends were all heads. At our dances, they would all get thoroughly stoned and dance to frighten the ghosts, no beauty there. I never liked or needed dope. I danced them all to desperation, no beauty there.
Does the raging minotaur dance?
Dancing was not quite proper when I came to Taiwan, and they were doing the foxtrot anyway. I would rather die.
The last time I danced was with the old minister of Ulay church, proper Tayal dancing, fingers firmly attached to earlobes, in the old style. You never see people dance that way any more.
Does the raging minotaur dance?
Dancing was not quite proper when I came to Taiwan, and they were doing the foxtrot anyway. I would rather die.
The last time I danced was with the old minister of Ulay church, proper Tayal dancing, fingers firmly attached to earlobes, in the old style. You never see people dance that way any more.
Friday, October 01, 2004
I wrote this in the summer of 2000, when Tlahuy and Bengax were less than a year old.
Sunday I took the dogs to the stream. We swam and climbed upstream. We reached a rock in the middle of the stream. I climbed up, but the puppies couldn't. They were in the water, trying to get up, so when I was stable, I reached down and dragged Bengax up by her ... by her ... what do you call those, by her front shoulders? Anyway, I dragged her up. She frisked around the rock. Then I reached down for Tlahuy, still in the water clawing the rock. When he saw me reach down for him, he looked at me with an expression of total devotion and trust: he knew that no matter what, he is safe in my hands.
It takes courage to love.
Sunday I took the dogs to the stream. We swam and climbed upstream. We reached a rock in the middle of the stream. I climbed up, but the puppies couldn't. They were in the water, trying to get up, so when I was stable, I reached down and dragged Bengax up by her ... by her ... what do you call those, by her front shoulders? Anyway, I dragged her up. She frisked around the rock. Then I reached down for Tlahuy, still in the water clawing the rock. When he saw me reach down for him, he looked at me with an expression of total devotion and trust: he knew that no matter what, he is safe in my hands.
It takes courage to love.
Thursday, September 30, 2004
THE HOLIDAY
A month's dreary drizzle suddenly cleared to produce a dazzling Sunday. The mountains rimming Taipei basin were clear and shining in their spring greenery, enhanced by the rain. As the noon bus to Wulai reached the outskirts of the city, a man and his son got on. Judging from his hands and look, the father was most likely a machinist, making a living among the shrieking lathes and drills of some crowded little workshop as a radio added to the din. He was of slightly less than medium height, hard and wiry, with teeth stained and corroded by betel. He worked hard, with few luxuries and little leisure. Today was different, though. He had scrubbed his hands and face and put on his slippers and his best pants (the ones with few noticeable grease stains) and was out for a holiday with his son. His son was a bit taller than the father, in his second or third year of junior high school, probably one of his last years of schooling before he got a job like his father's.
Father and son beamed with happiness and excitement. The father announced to the bus driver, "We want to go to Wulai."
"Fine," said the bus driver, reasonably enough.
"How much is the fare?"
"33 for you, 17 for your son."
The father stood a moment in thought. His face cleared as he said, "Fifty all together." The bus driver nodded. The father fished in his jacket pocket and drew out a plastic bag with a fistful of coins. One, two, three, four, five 10NT coins makes fifty, which he carefully deposited in the slot. The driver handed him tickets, which father and son examined carefully. Their eyes were shining as they put the tickets in their pockets.
"We're going to Wulai," said the son.
"We can see the waterfall," said the father, "and take the cable car, and even watch the aborigines dance." Both turned their heads to the bus driver, clearly an aborigine.
The son nudged his father, looking curiously, but shyly, at a Westerner chatting lazily with the driver. "No, that was just after they got married, so it would have been only about two years ago," he was saying. The boy may never have seen a foreigner from so close up before.
They sat down, forward and back, and glued their noses to the windows. Wulai has some of the most superb mountains in an island noted for scenic beauty. Thick vegetation hides the practically vertical flanks of the mountains that rise sheer from the river bed, not high, but mighty, powerful for all that they rise only several hundred feet. A vigorous river winds next to the road.
They swayed with the bus making its way towards its destination. At one turn, the father and son suddenly looked at each other.
"Fishing," the father breathed, grinning.
"Fishing," his son repeated, as one who has been granted a glimpse of another realm.
The bus finally reached Wulai. The father and son were the last to leave the bus before the foreigner, still chatting with the driver. The father carefully asked, "What time is the last bus back to the city?"
"9:30," answered the driver. "There's one every half hour between 5 and 9:30.”
"Which way is the waterfall?”
"That way," pointed the driver. "If you’re not in any hurry to get back to the city, be sure to stick around, because tonight we're having a show, Aborigine Night.”
The father and son were radiant. The driver continued, "Do you know Gao Liyen, the famous pop singer?”
"Of course!" they both protested.
"She's a member of our tribe, and she's coming back to sing tonight, right there on that stage they're putting up now in the plaza. You can watch the show for free. All the best singers in the tribe will be performing, and there will be fireworks, too.”
Their joy was complete. Thanking the bus driver, father and son strolled leisurely off towards the waterfall, creating memories that some day, when the boy is an old man with grandchildren and great-grandchildren of his own, he will cherish. That was the day he visited Wulai with his father.
+++
written in 1997
民國八十六年二月二十三日
A month's dreary drizzle suddenly cleared to produce a dazzling Sunday. The mountains rimming Taipei basin were clear and shining in their spring greenery, enhanced by the rain. As the noon bus to Wulai reached the outskirts of the city, a man and his son got on. Judging from his hands and look, the father was most likely a machinist, making a living among the shrieking lathes and drills of some crowded little workshop as a radio added to the din. He was of slightly less than medium height, hard and wiry, with teeth stained and corroded by betel. He worked hard, with few luxuries and little leisure. Today was different, though. He had scrubbed his hands and face and put on his slippers and his best pants (the ones with few noticeable grease stains) and was out for a holiday with his son. His son was a bit taller than the father, in his second or third year of junior high school, probably one of his last years of schooling before he got a job like his father's.
Father and son beamed with happiness and excitement. The father announced to the bus driver, "We want to go to Wulai."
"Fine," said the bus driver, reasonably enough.
"How much is the fare?"
"33 for you, 17 for your son."
The father stood a moment in thought. His face cleared as he said, "Fifty all together." The bus driver nodded. The father fished in his jacket pocket and drew out a plastic bag with a fistful of coins. One, two, three, four, five 10NT coins makes fifty, which he carefully deposited in the slot. The driver handed him tickets, which father and son examined carefully. Their eyes were shining as they put the tickets in their pockets.
"We're going to Wulai," said the son.
"We can see the waterfall," said the father, "and take the cable car, and even watch the aborigines dance." Both turned their heads to the bus driver, clearly an aborigine.
The son nudged his father, looking curiously, but shyly, at a Westerner chatting lazily with the driver. "No, that was just after they got married, so it would have been only about two years ago," he was saying. The boy may never have seen a foreigner from so close up before.
They sat down, forward and back, and glued their noses to the windows. Wulai has some of the most superb mountains in an island noted for scenic beauty. Thick vegetation hides the practically vertical flanks of the mountains that rise sheer from the river bed, not high, but mighty, powerful for all that they rise only several hundred feet. A vigorous river winds next to the road.
They swayed with the bus making its way towards its destination. At one turn, the father and son suddenly looked at each other.
"Fishing," the father breathed, grinning.
"Fishing," his son repeated, as one who has been granted a glimpse of another realm.
The bus finally reached Wulai. The father and son were the last to leave the bus before the foreigner, still chatting with the driver. The father carefully asked, "What time is the last bus back to the city?"
"9:30," answered the driver. "There's one every half hour between 5 and 9:30.”
"Which way is the waterfall?”
"That way," pointed the driver. "If you’re not in any hurry to get back to the city, be sure to stick around, because tonight we're having a show, Aborigine Night.”
The father and son were radiant. The driver continued, "Do you know Gao Liyen, the famous pop singer?”
"Of course!" they both protested.
"She's a member of our tribe, and she's coming back to sing tonight, right there on that stage they're putting up now in the plaza. You can watch the show for free. All the best singers in the tribe will be performing, and there will be fireworks, too.”
Their joy was complete. Thanking the bus driver, father and son strolled leisurely off towards the waterfall, creating memories that some day, when the boy is an old man with grandchildren and great-grandchildren of his own, he will cherish. That was the day he visited Wulai with his father.
+++
written in 1997
民國八十六年二月二十三日
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
NUTS
I wrote this a couple years ago. I regret to report that I haven't seen him for some time now.
Taipei's southern edge is Hsindien (New Store); beyond that, mountains, east to Pinglin, south to Wulai. To enter the mountains, the two main roads out of Taipei converge in NewStore at Bitan, Green Lake, a scenic spot that was, thirty years ago, the edge of civilization, home to a few temples and a scattering of residents. Now the area is built up, and graced by the presence of a nut. A wonderful nut, but nonetheless, a nut, a great favorite of the busdrivers.
He loves to direct traffic. He appears at the intersection from time to time, especially on busy days when there is a lot of traffic to direct, with a string of whistles. He is apt to stuff three or four into his mouth at the same time as he stands at the intersection and directs traffic. And how he directs traffic! Influenced perhaps by martial arts and Chinese opera, many traffic directors in Taiwan are given to graceful gestures which can be delightful to watch, but none can come near the expressiveness and creativity of The Nut. As is the problem with so much modern art, the viewer can only watch in uncomprehending wonder, as he waves his arms, flaps his fingers, twists his elbows, and works his shoulders in a manner that an orchestra conductor would do well to emulate. Evan (Bus #390) and I were struck speechless by his beautiful bobbing wave of the hand. We speculate that this can mean nothing but "Beach ahead; surf's up!" That must be what it means, because he followed it with hula motions: beach, see? Never mind that the nearest shore is seventy kilometers ahead across a treacherous mountain road.
Old-timers pause to admire his gesticulations and then drive on. New-comers generally try to follow his directions, something a trapeze artist would find strenuous, much less someone confined within a humble Toyota. When he has traffic snarled, the real police come and chase him away. He runs around to the back of the subway terminal until they go away. Then, resurrected and triumphant, he appears once again at his post, for the further befuddlement of traffic.
I wrote this a couple years ago. I regret to report that I haven't seen him for some time now.
Taipei's southern edge is Hsindien (New Store); beyond that, mountains, east to Pinglin, south to Wulai. To enter the mountains, the two main roads out of Taipei converge in NewStore at Bitan, Green Lake, a scenic spot that was, thirty years ago, the edge of civilization, home to a few temples and a scattering of residents. Now the area is built up, and graced by the presence of a nut. A wonderful nut, but nonetheless, a nut, a great favorite of the busdrivers.
He loves to direct traffic. He appears at the intersection from time to time, especially on busy days when there is a lot of traffic to direct, with a string of whistles. He is apt to stuff three or four into his mouth at the same time as he stands at the intersection and directs traffic. And how he directs traffic! Influenced perhaps by martial arts and Chinese opera, many traffic directors in Taiwan are given to graceful gestures which can be delightful to watch, but none can come near the expressiveness and creativity of The Nut. As is the problem with so much modern art, the viewer can only watch in uncomprehending wonder, as he waves his arms, flaps his fingers, twists his elbows, and works his shoulders in a manner that an orchestra conductor would do well to emulate. Evan (Bus #390) and I were struck speechless by his beautiful bobbing wave of the hand. We speculate that this can mean nothing but "Beach ahead; surf's up!" That must be what it means, because he followed it with hula motions: beach, see? Never mind that the nearest shore is seventy kilometers ahead across a treacherous mountain road.
Old-timers pause to admire his gesticulations and then drive on. New-comers generally try to follow his directions, something a trapeze artist would find strenuous, much less someone confined within a humble Toyota. When he has traffic snarled, the real police come and chase him away. He runs around to the back of the subway terminal until they go away. Then, resurrected and triumphant, he appears once again at his post, for the further befuddlement of traffic.
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Monday, September 27, 2004
I came to Taiwan from Saigon when I was 18. On my first day, in the International House, I met Roger, who knew everything about twentieth century Chinese warlords. That was the beginning of a friendship that continues to this day.
After a year in the I House, Roger and I found an apartment nearby. To fill the other room and help with the rent, we rounded up Del Weeks, a slim, dark haired American with a slight stoop. Del had been in Viet Nam, and spoke excellent Viet Namese. I would occasionally practice with him, but my Viet Namese was nowhere near as good as his.
After a couple months living together, once when Del and I were shooting the breeze, the subject of Tet 1968 came up. That was when the Viet Namese communists made their great push to overthrow the Republic of Viet Nam. They laid waste to Hue, Viet Nam's ancient capital and cultural center. Communists do not like people who think for themselves, so they targeted the many universities of Hue. They had lists prepared of professors and student leaders, and buried them alive. Koreans were captured; the communists wired their hands behind their backs and threw them into the river. Only one foreigner, a legendary figure, survived the slaughter.
The Viet Cong also entered Saigon and caused great damage. My neighbors used to point out to me the spot where the Viet Cong killed a Swiss doctor because he had been doing humanitarian work among the poor. They tied his hands behind his back, dragged him to an empty lot, threw him to the ground, and slit his throat. That lot is built up now, but I can still point out the exact spot.
In the quiet of our apartment on Hsinsheng Street in Taipei, over two steaming mugs of tea, I asked Del, "You were in Viet Nam in Tet of 1968, weren't you?”
"Yeah,” he replied, quietly, his eyes far away.
"Where were you?”
"Hue.”
"Hue?" I sat up in my chair, realization dawning on me. I had never thought about it, but Del fit the descriptions to a T. "Was that you!?"
"Me? I was in Hue through the 1968 Tet Offensive.”
I had heard the story a dozen times in Viet Nam, but I asked him to tell me again, to hear it from his own lips.
Del had moved to Hue in 1967. He is a likable guy, speaks fluent Viet Namese, and with his dark hair, dark eyes, and medium height slim figure, doesn't oppress timorous people with his westerness. He roomed in a Viet Namese neighborhood, and made many friends.
When the Tet Offensive began, his neighbors, fearing for his safety, hid him in their own house, in a tiny loft under the roof. He brought along a Filipino friend. The neighbors slipped them food. Del spent most of his time lying on his stomach. He could peek out through the air vent to see the street below.
Soon the Viet Cong came looking for Del. Even though the whole neighborhood was in on the secret, everybody played dumb. "Nguoi my? (the American?) He ran away before the fighting came. We haven't seen him since then."
The cadres came back the next day, again asking for Del, but again the neighbors played dumb. The third time, the cadres came with loudspeakers, threatening dire reprisals for the whole neighborhood if Del was being sheltered by any one of them. They came again and again, searching houses, but never found Del's hideout. They trooped through the neighborhood wielding severed heads, and promised worse for anyone who knew where Del was but didn't report him to the Viet Cong. Over the loudspeakers, they bragged about what they would do with Del when they found him: they would cut off his head and put it in his stomach. Hidden Del secretly listened carefully.
By the fourth day, the Filipino's nerves had cracked. Del tussled with him, but he insisted that he could escape through the darkness of night. He urged Del to run, saying that it was only a matter of time before they were found. Del trusted to his neighbors. He stayed on his stomach near the vent, hidden in the tiny loft.
The next morning, the cadres showed a new trophy: the mutilated head of the Filipino. He had not disclosed where he had hidden. The communists were furious. The neighbors held firm.
Then the cadres stopped coming to threaten the people. American and ARVN troops reentered the ancient city, fighting step for step. A company of American Marines was picking its way through the rubble when a tattered figure emerged from a doorway and staggered towards them. The man on point swung his M16 towards him, preparing to shoot; he looked, looked again, his mouth dropped open, and in sheer astonishment he stuttered, “You're.... you're American!” The man collapsed in their arms and was taken to safety. Del's ordeal was over, and quickly passed into the legends of the war. He is the only foreigner known to have survived the Tet Offensive of 1968 in Hue.
Del was surprised to learn that I had heard the story many times. He was unaware that anybody remembered his nightmare. Of course his version contained many details I had never heard before. We nursed our tea until it cooled, and then retired to our rooms.
After a year in the I House, Roger and I found an apartment nearby. To fill the other room and help with the rent, we rounded up Del Weeks, a slim, dark haired American with a slight stoop. Del had been in Viet Nam, and spoke excellent Viet Namese. I would occasionally practice with him, but my Viet Namese was nowhere near as good as his.
After a couple months living together, once when Del and I were shooting the breeze, the subject of Tet 1968 came up. That was when the Viet Namese communists made their great push to overthrow the Republic of Viet Nam. They laid waste to Hue, Viet Nam's ancient capital and cultural center. Communists do not like people who think for themselves, so they targeted the many universities of Hue. They had lists prepared of professors and student leaders, and buried them alive. Koreans were captured; the communists wired their hands behind their backs and threw them into the river. Only one foreigner, a legendary figure, survived the slaughter.
The Viet Cong also entered Saigon and caused great damage. My neighbors used to point out to me the spot where the Viet Cong killed a Swiss doctor because he had been doing humanitarian work among the poor. They tied his hands behind his back, dragged him to an empty lot, threw him to the ground, and slit his throat. That lot is built up now, but I can still point out the exact spot.
In the quiet of our apartment on Hsinsheng Street in Taipei, over two steaming mugs of tea, I asked Del, "You were in Viet Nam in Tet of 1968, weren't you?”
"Yeah,” he replied, quietly, his eyes far away.
"Where were you?”
"Hue.”
"Hue?" I sat up in my chair, realization dawning on me. I had never thought about it, but Del fit the descriptions to a T. "Was that you!?"
"Me? I was in Hue through the 1968 Tet Offensive.”
I had heard the story a dozen times in Viet Nam, but I asked him to tell me again, to hear it from his own lips.
Del had moved to Hue in 1967. He is a likable guy, speaks fluent Viet Namese, and with his dark hair, dark eyes, and medium height slim figure, doesn't oppress timorous people with his westerness. He roomed in a Viet Namese neighborhood, and made many friends.
When the Tet Offensive began, his neighbors, fearing for his safety, hid him in their own house, in a tiny loft under the roof. He brought along a Filipino friend. The neighbors slipped them food. Del spent most of his time lying on his stomach. He could peek out through the air vent to see the street below.
Soon the Viet Cong came looking for Del. Even though the whole neighborhood was in on the secret, everybody played dumb. "Nguoi my? (the American?) He ran away before the fighting came. We haven't seen him since then."
The cadres came back the next day, again asking for Del, but again the neighbors played dumb. The third time, the cadres came with loudspeakers, threatening dire reprisals for the whole neighborhood if Del was being sheltered by any one of them. They came again and again, searching houses, but never found Del's hideout. They trooped through the neighborhood wielding severed heads, and promised worse for anyone who knew where Del was but didn't report him to the Viet Cong. Over the loudspeakers, they bragged about what they would do with Del when they found him: they would cut off his head and put it in his stomach. Hidden Del secretly listened carefully.
By the fourth day, the Filipino's nerves had cracked. Del tussled with him, but he insisted that he could escape through the darkness of night. He urged Del to run, saying that it was only a matter of time before they were found. Del trusted to his neighbors. He stayed on his stomach near the vent, hidden in the tiny loft.
The next morning, the cadres showed a new trophy: the mutilated head of the Filipino. He had not disclosed where he had hidden. The communists were furious. The neighbors held firm.
Then the cadres stopped coming to threaten the people. American and ARVN troops reentered the ancient city, fighting step for step. A company of American Marines was picking its way through the rubble when a tattered figure emerged from a doorway and staggered towards them. The man on point swung his M16 towards him, preparing to shoot; he looked, looked again, his mouth dropped open, and in sheer astonishment he stuttered, “You're.... you're American!” The man collapsed in their arms and was taken to safety. Del's ordeal was over, and quickly passed into the legends of the war. He is the only foreigner known to have survived the Tet Offensive of 1968 in Hue.
Del was surprised to learn that I had heard the story many times. He was unaware that anybody remembered his nightmare. Of course his version contained many details I had never heard before. We nursed our tea until it cooled, and then retired to our rooms.
Sunday, September 26, 2004
There was a terrible crash outside. When I went out to investigate, Yumin came prancing over, ears flapping, tail wagging, SOOOO happy to see me! He bounded around in delight. A pile of curing wood had fallen over, no harm done. I could barely put it back in place because of beagle exuberance. He kept bouncing back and forth between my legs, brushing against my arms and licking my face as I bent over to pick things up, and in general showing me how absolutely elated he was to see me, and OF COURSE the fallen wood pile had nothing to do with a beagle, oh no never, of course not. Tlahuy and Bengax watched from a distance. As things got straightened out, suddenly Yumin detected some threat on the outer perimeter, and rushed off boldly, barking fiercely, to protect us from all mischief.
Friday, September 24, 2004
附近溫泉館移植兩棵杉、一棵肖楠，結果都種死掉了。樹歪在那兒，等著倒踏腐朽。可惜，尤其那棵肖楠；圍一拱，高兩丈有餘，于是乎，我決定跟他們要。不認識老闆，但kneiring Masa 在那裡上班。 幾次路過，沒機會進去，不然就是外頭工人說老闆不在。幾個月了。
不能等太久。上禮拜提早出門，打算找老闆或留言。快到時，Ciwan 開車下山，叫我坐他便車。好吧，因緣如此，隨緣。上了車。
前天下山時又想去問。奇怪，沒人。好吧。再往下走，看到他們全體職員在Qalux家對面坐著。
"Yugan, musa su inu?”
"Tsbaq biru. Nanu sa? Mswa tama simu qani?" 你們怎麼在這裡?
"裡面消毒，不能進去。Hangaw ta la.”
"其實，我有事想找你們老闆。”
"甚麼事? Yugan.”
"路邊種死掉的那幾棵樹，你們不要的話，想幫你們鋸掉，木材給我。”
"他就是老闆，" 她指旁邊坐的一個打領帶的男的，"你問他。”
老闆說可以。我決定，如果平怡她們不來的話，早上鋸。平怡果然有事，但是半夜下大雨，我想,不妙。睡醒，還在下，又過半小時就停了。我拎著鋸子、開山刀，走後門沿小徑，從 Tetuq 家旁下去，鋸好，滿頭大汗，暫放兩棵杉在路側，走原路扛肖楠回來。Tetuq 家旁一塊地，政府一直想開一條路，說實話，沒有這個必要，加上地主不肯蓋章。 地主不肯蓋章，十年前政府不管他，索性就在那兒挖了一條路。地主不悅，就在路中概了一棟鐵皮屋；畢竟是他的地。一、兩個禮拜前，政府又偷偷地鋪了柏油，到鐵皮屋為止。
我把肖楠扛回來後二十分鐘，下起大雨了。我在玄關削肖楠皮、餵蚊子。
今天下午下山，發現那塊地地主火大了，昨天下午用籬笆把地圍起來了，截了Tetuq 家旁的'新路'、與我扛肖楠的小徑。
我們常說 "隨緣，該是你的，跑不掉，不該是你的，留不住。" 我們相信這個道理呢，或用這句安慰自己？
我把瑣碎細節敘述的那麼清楚，因為我想：那時雨沒停，我會錯過肖楠木。地主早幾個小時圍地，我沒辦法扛一棵很重的肖楠遶遠路，我就會錯過肖楠木。因緣起，因緣滅，在捷運上想著這個道理，就坐過頭，忘了下車。再下一站下車準備坐回來，等車時遇到一位失去聯絡多年的老友。
隨緣吧
不能等太久。上禮拜提早出門，打算找老闆或留言。快到時，Ciwan 開車下山，叫我坐他便車。好吧，因緣如此，隨緣。上了車。
前天下山時又想去問。奇怪，沒人。好吧。再往下走，看到他們全體職員在Qalux家對面坐著。
"Yugan, musa su inu?”
"Tsbaq biru. Nanu sa? Mswa tama simu qani?" 你們怎麼在這裡?
"裡面消毒，不能進去。Hangaw ta la.”
"其實，我有事想找你們老闆。”
"甚麼事? Yugan.”
"路邊種死掉的那幾棵樹，你們不要的話，想幫你們鋸掉，木材給我。”
"他就是老闆，" 她指旁邊坐的一個打領帶的男的，"你問他。”
老闆說可以。我決定，如果平怡她們不來的話，早上鋸。平怡果然有事，但是半夜下大雨，我想,不妙。睡醒，還在下，又過半小時就停了。我拎著鋸子、開山刀，走後門沿小徑，從 Tetuq 家旁下去，鋸好，滿頭大汗，暫放兩棵杉在路側，走原路扛肖楠回來。Tetuq 家旁一塊地，政府一直想開一條路，說實話，沒有這個必要，加上地主不肯蓋章。 地主不肯蓋章，十年前政府不管他，索性就在那兒挖了一條路。地主不悅，就在路中概了一棟鐵皮屋；畢竟是他的地。一、兩個禮拜前，政府又偷偷地鋪了柏油，到鐵皮屋為止。
我把肖楠扛回來後二十分鐘，下起大雨了。我在玄關削肖楠皮、餵蚊子。
今天下午下山，發現那塊地地主火大了，昨天下午用籬笆把地圍起來了，截了Tetuq 家旁的'新路'、與我扛肖楠的小徑。
我們常說 "隨緣，該是你的，跑不掉，不該是你的，留不住。" 我們相信這個道理呢，或用這句安慰自己？
我把瑣碎細節敘述的那麼清楚，因為我想：那時雨沒停，我會錯過肖楠木。地主早幾個小時圍地，我沒辦法扛一棵很重的肖楠遶遠路，我就會錯過肖楠木。因緣起，因緣滅，在捷運上想著這個道理，就坐過頭，忘了下車。再下一站下車準備坐回來，等車時遇到一位失去聯絡多年的老友。
隨緣吧
Monday, September 20, 2004
I am going to tell you something that will cause you to turn green with envy and to admire me immensely. Last Wednesday I posted a note bragging about my teaching skills: a student slept through more than two and a half hours of my three hour class. I know wish to inform you of a further advance in my expertise. Just now, I was chatting with Chiaoyi on MSN, and ~~ prepare yourself ~~ she fell asleep in the middle of our chat.
If I get any better, I'll have people falling asleep in the middle of my emails and …. hey, come on, wake up!
If I get any better, I'll have people falling asleep in the middle of my emails and …. hey, come on, wake up!
Saturday, September 18, 2004
Not the least of the joys of living in Wulai is watching the eagles. We have a good number of them, large, majestic birds with wings that stretch six feet. I never tire of watching them soar over the mountains, towering and swooping with the wind.
Today is a beautiful fall day, with a high blue ceiling, wispy white cirrus, and billowing puffy cumulus. As I sat eating lunch in the hammock, an eagle lifted from a tree in the slope to the north, circled the house a few times, and, with a sharp cry, flew straight across the valley, covering a kilometer in about a minute.
I whistled my imitation of its cry. It ignored me. Eagles always do. Even before I moved to Wulai, I always whistled back at eagles, and they have always ignored me. Now, I am not a very good whistler, but I have been working on this for a dozen years, so I should think I can do a reasonable imitation of an eagle's cry. They call back and forth between themselves, and always ignore land-bound me, whistling futilely below them.
In a burst of enlightenment, today I realized why:..... they can't hear me.... I am not a very good whistler, and even on a good day, I doubt my whistle could be heard more than twenty or thirty meters away, and here I am, whistling away at these glorious eagles soaring a hundred meters overhead.
That is, anyway, the comfort I have found for myself. Maybe the call I have spent so many years perfecting means, in eagle speak, "There's that guy again, ignore him.”
Today is a beautiful fall day, with a high blue ceiling, wispy white cirrus, and billowing puffy cumulus. As I sat eating lunch in the hammock, an eagle lifted from a tree in the slope to the north, circled the house a few times, and, with a sharp cry, flew straight across the valley, covering a kilometer in about a minute.
I whistled my imitation of its cry. It ignored me. Eagles always do. Even before I moved to Wulai, I always whistled back at eagles, and they have always ignored me. Now, I am not a very good whistler, but I have been working on this for a dozen years, so I should think I can do a reasonable imitation of an eagle's cry. They call back and forth between themselves, and always ignore land-bound me, whistling futilely below them.
In a burst of enlightenment, today I realized why:..... they can't hear me.... I am not a very good whistler, and even on a good day, I doubt my whistle could be heard more than twenty or thirty meters away, and here I am, whistling away at these glorious eagles soaring a hundred meters overhead.
That is, anyway, the comfort I have found for myself. Maybe the call I have spent so many years perfecting means, in eagle speak, "There's that guy again, ignore him.”
Friday, September 17, 2004
The Dogs of War
This morning when I took out the trash, I spotted a large dog about twenty paces in back of us. Fearless Yumin immediately charged. He ran so fast his whole body, from front feet to back, was like one straight line, he ran so fast even fleetfooted Bengax was left behind. Tlahuy stayed by me, bristling. The problem is, there was other dogs from that pack down around the bend, and Yumin and Bengax charged straight into them. There was a terrific clamor. Tlahuy left my side and raced down into the fray, which ended the war immediately; I have yet to see any dog or combination of dogs that can stand up to Tlahuy when he is protecting me or Bengax.
I rushed down. Tlahuy hurried to my side. Bengax looked sort of shocked, and ran up the stairs back home.
The dog pack had disappeared entirely. There were not even any stragglers in sight. But Yumin was nowhere in sight, either. I went down to the road and called him, but he was gone. I searched around the bushes, and inspected the road for blood, but there was nothing to be seen. Tlahuy stayed close by my side, never more than two steps from me, my own private SWAT team.
After a few minutes, I gave up and headed home, up the stairs. There were drops of blood on the steps. I ran up. More and more blood. When I got to my property, I heard Yumin roaring. I have never heard him barking like that. He was furious, racing back and forth and barking in rage. As soon as he saw me, he raced over to me. Bengax was standing on the back porch, waiting for me with imploring eyes. It was then that I realized she had a bad cut on her back left leg. I held her and inspected the gash, which was clean, about 6 centimeters long. Evidently, Yumin had chased the other dogs away, then circled around to escort Bengax home. Then he was holding down the fort, racing back and forth, protecting Bengax, issuing bloody challenges to all comers. There were none.
I phoned Lilly, the vet, and described the wound. She said, "Don't worry about it, put some iodine on it, it'll be okay… do you have iodine?”
"No, but I'll pick some up tonight.”
"It's nothing to worry about. Bengax craves attention. If it had been Yumin, you wouldn't even know about it.”
And indeed, an hour later, I discovered that Yumin also had a small wound on his back leg.
This morning when I took out the trash, I spotted a large dog about twenty paces in back of us. Fearless Yumin immediately charged. He ran so fast his whole body, from front feet to back, was like one straight line, he ran so fast even fleetfooted Bengax was left behind. Tlahuy stayed by me, bristling. The problem is, there was other dogs from that pack down around the bend, and Yumin and Bengax charged straight into them. There was a terrific clamor. Tlahuy left my side and raced down into the fray, which ended the war immediately; I have yet to see any dog or combination of dogs that can stand up to Tlahuy when he is protecting me or Bengax.
I rushed down. Tlahuy hurried to my side. Bengax looked sort of shocked, and ran up the stairs back home.
The dog pack had disappeared entirely. There were not even any stragglers in sight. But Yumin was nowhere in sight, either. I went down to the road and called him, but he was gone. I searched around the bushes, and inspected the road for blood, but there was nothing to be seen. Tlahuy stayed close by my side, never more than two steps from me, my own private SWAT team.
After a few minutes, I gave up and headed home, up the stairs. There were drops of blood on the steps. I ran up. More and more blood. When I got to my property, I heard Yumin roaring. I have never heard him barking like that. He was furious, racing back and forth and barking in rage. As soon as he saw me, he raced over to me. Bengax was standing on the back porch, waiting for me with imploring eyes. It was then that I realized she had a bad cut on her back left leg. I held her and inspected the gash, which was clean, about 6 centimeters long. Evidently, Yumin had chased the other dogs away, then circled around to escort Bengax home. Then he was holding down the fort, racing back and forth, protecting Bengax, issuing bloody challenges to all comers. There were none.
I phoned Lilly, the vet, and described the wound. She said, "Don't worry about it, put some iodine on it, it'll be okay… do you have iodine?”
"No, but I'll pick some up tonight.”
"It's nothing to worry about. Bengax craves attention. If it had been Yumin, you wouldn't even know about it.”
And indeed, an hour later, I discovered that Yumin also had a small wound on his back leg.
Wednesday, September 15, 2004
My teaching skills are getting better and better. This morning I taught 3 hours. I began at 9:10. By 9:20, a guy in the back row was already fast asleep. He woke up around 10:20. I called a ten minute break at 10:30. He was asleep again by 10:45, and slept until 11:20. He dozed off again at 11:30, and was still sleeping soundly when I left the classroom at 12.
Thursday, September 09, 2004
For various reasons, I had class on Wednesday morning two weeks in a row, the first time I've taught on weekday mornings for a couple years. But this entailed leaving the house at 7:15, ugh.
Walking past the Tribe, I came across Ulin, who is already in junior high now, and two little grade school girls, slowly making their way to Wulai Primary and Junior High School. Some aborigine women are extremely beautiful, and these two little girls are sure to be heartbreakers in another ten or fifteen years. Now they are giggling, sparkling, semi-wild mountain girls, dawdling on their way to class in their school uniforms, blue skirts and white shirts. Smiles and laughter, white teeth, huge dark eyes, long black braids, skinny arms and legs, squirming and wriggling like beagles.
Obviously when you are on your way to school, there is no need to be quick about it. They were wandering back and forth across road, looking at the mountains as if they had never seen mountains before, inspecting the clouds and the birds, jumping, skipping, laughing, circling hither and yon. They saw me coming. "YUGAN! Where are you going?"
"I am going to teach. Are you going to school?"
"Yes, we are third graders now," one of them piped up proudly.
"What time does school begin?"
"Eight."
"You have only 45 minutes, can you get there in time?" For me, it's a fifteen minute walk from the Tribe to the School. At the rate they were going, I doubted they would get there before New Year's. I told them I had to go catch a bus, so I was going to go on ahead, and encouraged them to get a move on.
The road there makes a big S turn. When I reached the turning, I looked back and didn't see any of them. I sighed, figuring they must have found something to fool around with, and kept hurrying down.
When I neared the part of the road that bends back right below the Tribe, I heard giggling in the trees above the supporting wall, and plop! Ulin dropped over the wall, which is a good two meters tall. Then she turned and held her arms out for the two little ones, who gleefully ignored her and launched themselves off the top of the wall. They had taken a shortcut, down the steep edge of the mountain there. They could barely contain themselves. "Yugan! We beat you! We won!"
"Just be careful you don't kill yourselves, jumping like that." Together we headed down the stairs there. Ulin walked with me, two steps at a time, and the little ones blasted off as fast as they could. "Hey, hey, laxi takuy!" I called, don't fall!
When we reached the road again, I told them to go straight to school, listen to the teacher, and study hard, and, waving furiously, we parted ways.
Soon a motorcycle ridden by three fourth grade boys came uphill. As soon as they saw me, the three boys yelled YUGAN! and three right hands stretched out. I held out my right hand and we slapped each others' palms as they went by while I shouted, "Wrong way! Turn around and go to school!"
I sighed and kept walking. Pretty soon I heard my name shouted again with great hilarity, and watched the same motorcycle come weaving down the road at me. It seems the second little boy had taken advantage of the driver's raised arms to start tickling him, so the little boy on back started tickling the one in the middle. They were giggling and laughing like goblins, having a grand time, as the motorcycle dipped from one side to the other. “GO TO SCHOOL!” Old spoilsport Yugan. At least this time they were headed in the right direction, if they survived the trip.
I caught the 7:45 bus. The driver pretended astonishment: "Yugan! Is something wrong? What are you doing on the bus at this hour?" I sat in front and we chatted idly.
As we approached the next village, the road makes a sharp turn around a ridge and enters the next valley. I told the driver, "Hey, look at that, that wasn't like that yesterday." The face of the opposing mountain was gone. We had heavy rains during the last typhoon, which saturated the land. That slope is too steep to be habitable. There was a good sized landslide during Typhoon Nari a few years ago, in which we got about six feet of rain, and now a larger wedge had slid ~~~ then we realized that the valley was full of dust, and that all traffic had stopped. The landslide had occurred moments before we got there. They had all gotten out of their cars to watch or left their motorcyles by the road. The people watching were frozen in place with their mouths open, awe-struck by the stupefying power of the landslide.
Have you ever seen or heard a landslide? One moment the mountain is there, and the next moment a section sloughs off with a tremendous rumble, the cracking of trees and smashing of rocks. We had not heard it because we were on the other side of the ridge. The face that fell was a good fifty meters across, and a hundred meters from top to bottom. This is probably the largest landslide in Wulai in living memory.
Walking past the Tribe, I came across Ulin, who is already in junior high now, and two little grade school girls, slowly making their way to Wulai Primary and Junior High School. Some aborigine women are extremely beautiful, and these two little girls are sure to be heartbreakers in another ten or fifteen years. Now they are giggling, sparkling, semi-wild mountain girls, dawdling on their way to class in their school uniforms, blue skirts and white shirts. Smiles and laughter, white teeth, huge dark eyes, long black braids, skinny arms and legs, squirming and wriggling like beagles.
Obviously when you are on your way to school, there is no need to be quick about it. They were wandering back and forth across road, looking at the mountains as if they had never seen mountains before, inspecting the clouds and the birds, jumping, skipping, laughing, circling hither and yon. They saw me coming. "YUGAN! Where are you going?"
"I am going to teach. Are you going to school?"
"Yes, we are third graders now," one of them piped up proudly.
"What time does school begin?"
"Eight."
"You have only 45 minutes, can you get there in time?" For me, it's a fifteen minute walk from the Tribe to the School. At the rate they were going, I doubted they would get there before New Year's. I told them I had to go catch a bus, so I was going to go on ahead, and encouraged them to get a move on.
The road there makes a big S turn. When I reached the turning, I looked back and didn't see any of them. I sighed, figuring they must have found something to fool around with, and kept hurrying down.
When I neared the part of the road that bends back right below the Tribe, I heard giggling in the trees above the supporting wall, and plop! Ulin dropped over the wall, which is a good two meters tall. Then she turned and held her arms out for the two little ones, who gleefully ignored her and launched themselves off the top of the wall. They had taken a shortcut, down the steep edge of the mountain there. They could barely contain themselves. "Yugan! We beat you! We won!"
"Just be careful you don't kill yourselves, jumping like that." Together we headed down the stairs there. Ulin walked with me, two steps at a time, and the little ones blasted off as fast as they could. "Hey, hey, laxi takuy!" I called, don't fall!
When we reached the road again, I told them to go straight to school, listen to the teacher, and study hard, and, waving furiously, we parted ways.
Soon a motorcycle ridden by three fourth grade boys came uphill. As soon as they saw me, the three boys yelled YUGAN! and three right hands stretched out. I held out my right hand and we slapped each others' palms as they went by while I shouted, "Wrong way! Turn around and go to school!"
I sighed and kept walking. Pretty soon I heard my name shouted again with great hilarity, and watched the same motorcycle come weaving down the road at me. It seems the second little boy had taken advantage of the driver's raised arms to start tickling him, so the little boy on back started tickling the one in the middle. They were giggling and laughing like goblins, having a grand time, as the motorcycle dipped from one side to the other. “GO TO SCHOOL!” Old spoilsport Yugan. At least this time they were headed in the right direction, if they survived the trip.
I caught the 7:45 bus. The driver pretended astonishment: "Yugan! Is something wrong? What are you doing on the bus at this hour?" I sat in front and we chatted idly.
As we approached the next village, the road makes a sharp turn around a ridge and enters the next valley. I told the driver, "Hey, look at that, that wasn't like that yesterday." The face of the opposing mountain was gone. We had heavy rains during the last typhoon, which saturated the land. That slope is too steep to be habitable. There was a good sized landslide during Typhoon Nari a few years ago, in which we got about six feet of rain, and now a larger wedge had slid ~~~ then we realized that the valley was full of dust, and that all traffic had stopped. The landslide had occurred moments before we got there. They had all gotten out of their cars to watch or left their motorcyles by the road. The people watching were frozen in place with their mouths open, awe-struck by the stupefying power of the landslide.
Have you ever seen or heard a landslide? One moment the mountain is there, and the next moment a section sloughs off with a tremendous rumble, the cracking of trees and smashing of rocks. We had not heard it because we were on the other side of the ridge. The face that fell was a good fifty meters across, and a hundred meters from top to bottom. This is probably the largest landslide in Wulai in living memory.
Thursday, September 02, 2004
Monday, August 30, 2004
I grew up reading science fiction. I wished I could travel beyond the reaches of the galaxy to see the wonders of the heavens.
Then I realized, what could be more beautiful than the mountains of earth? Than a tree? Search the ends of the universe to find any thing as beautiful as a white cloud billowing against a summer sky.
Friday I stood on the bridge waiting for the bus, watching the typhoon fed water of the stream swirl and twirl beneath me, endlessly whirling and spinning in thick grey brown patterns. A pure white egret flew downstream a few feet above the water, made a wide circle across the face of the stream, and continued its flight.
Then I realized, what could be more beautiful than the mountains of earth? Than a tree? Search the ends of the universe to find any thing as beautiful as a white cloud billowing against a summer sky.
Friday I stood on the bridge waiting for the bus, watching the typhoon fed water of the stream swirl and twirl beneath me, endlessly whirling and spinning in thick grey brown patterns. A pure white egret flew downstream a few feet above the water, made a wide circle across the face of the stream, and continued its flight.
Saturday, August 28, 2004
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
It's one of those typhoon-a-week summers. I'm sitting here watching the trees slash back and forth like windshield wipers, admiring the sheets of rain, and happy that classes were canceled today, because I had a full schedule. I am dry and comfortable, and have a nice pot of hot tea.
This is not Florida, thank you. We have what would be to Floridians a very strange habit: we prepare for typhoons before they strike, to minimize damage. Yesterday I took my mountain knife and chopped some bamboo that might whip the gutter off my roof. In the middle of the night, I realized I had forgotten to clear the power line, but did not worry about it too much. Last year a typhoon knocked the giant bamboo right onto the power line and it was okay, and this year there is nothing nearly as heavy. However, after I got up this morning, I took my mountain knife, a saw, and a length of nylon webbing to go clear the power line. In this weather, it's simplest just to go barefoot, because if you don't want your rainboots to fill – slosh, slosh, slosh – you have to wear rainpants, which are hot and cumbersome, so for me, it's barefoot, shorts, tanktop, raincoat, and I'm ready to go.
There was a branch brushing the line, but I couldn't reach it, so I prepared to throw the webbing over it to pull it in. Problem was, what to use for a weight? Aha! I tied it through the eye on the handle of the saw, tossed that, and after four or five tries, snagged the branch and pulled it in. It was then that I realized that a sharp saw might not have been the best choice of weights. However, I succeeded, with all my fingers intact, and spent the next hour or so hacking branches and vines. The dogs did their best to get in the way.
Now we are all relaxed and dry. I put some cardboard on the back porch for them to lie on. They are lined up, three curls, tail to nose, waiting out the typhoon. So far so good.
This is not Florida, thank you. We have what would be to Floridians a very strange habit: we prepare for typhoons before they strike, to minimize damage. Yesterday I took my mountain knife and chopped some bamboo that might whip the gutter off my roof. In the middle of the night, I realized I had forgotten to clear the power line, but did not worry about it too much. Last year a typhoon knocked the giant bamboo right onto the power line and it was okay, and this year there is nothing nearly as heavy. However, after I got up this morning, I took my mountain knife, a saw, and a length of nylon webbing to go clear the power line. In this weather, it's simplest just to go barefoot, because if you don't want your rainboots to fill – slosh, slosh, slosh – you have to wear rainpants, which are hot and cumbersome, so for me, it's barefoot, shorts, tanktop, raincoat, and I'm ready to go.
There was a branch brushing the line, but I couldn't reach it, so I prepared to throw the webbing over it to pull it in. Problem was, what to use for a weight? Aha! I tied it through the eye on the handle of the saw, tossed that, and after four or five tries, snagged the branch and pulled it in. It was then that I realized that a sharp saw might not have been the best choice of weights. However, I succeeded, with all my fingers intact, and spent the next hour or so hacking branches and vines. The dogs did their best to get in the way.
Now we are all relaxed and dry. I put some cardboard on the back porch for them to lie on. They are lined up, three curls, tail to nose, waiting out the typhoon. So far so good.
Friday, August 20, 2004
A Tayal married a lady from the Vunun, a neighboring tribe, mostly in Taiwan's central mountains. She knew enough Tayal to get along when she moved in with her husband, so her yaki (mother-in-law) could communicate with her new ina' (daughter-in-law).
The mother-in-law called out to her, "Ina'! Time to eat!" The family was astonished to see the bride burst into tears and rush out of the house. By the time her husband caught up with her, she was halfway down the road.
Explanation: In Vunun, Ina' means "Get out of here!"
The mother-in-law called out to her, "Ina'! Time to eat!" The family was astonished to see the bride burst into tears and rush out of the house. By the time her husband caught up with her, she was halfway down the road.
Explanation: In Vunun, Ina' means "Get out of here!"
Saturday, August 14, 2004
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
The day is so beautiful that I ate lunch sitting in the hammock-chair on the second floor porch.
My eye was attracted by an eagle rising above a distant ridge, a black mite against the white summer clouds, only about half the size of a period on this screen. It towered until it caught the higher winds, and sailed off in back of Wulai Peak.
My eye was attracted by an eagle rising above a distant ridge, a black mite against the white summer clouds, only about half the size of a period on this screen. It towered until it caught the higher winds, and sailed off in back of Wulai Peak.
Sunday, August 08, 2004
Wulai's hot springs bubble up on the bank at Punko and at Tbaqsiso. Spa entrepreneurs – almost exclusively outside investors – suck so much water from Tbabsiso that the bank threatened to collapse, so the local government had to spend a considerable amount of tax money to shore up the road that goes by there. This has cut off the old path from the road down to the stream, a pretty steep drop of over twenty meters.
Democracy in action: a new path has been put in, by person or persons unknown. Somehow large hunks of cement curb were hauled in and stacked on both sides of the safety wall by the road, providing a stile of sorts. Then the path zigzags down. The slope is too steep for anything but the narrowest steps, so a safety rope has been rigged up on the in-side. Your outer side is exposed. Clutch the manila rope as you descend, but watch your step. The steps were made by banging in segments of rebar, against which were set old tiles; then the backside was filled with earth. The tiles stick up an inch or two over the 'step,' so lift your feet high. Don't trip. It’s almost straight down, especially in the part where the outer side has caved in and been shored up with sandbags. Of course, if you trip over the tile there and go down the sandbags, you'll probably bounce off the metal stairs just by the stream and land in the water. Maybe. Parts of you might.
Every time I go down those stairs, I imagine American lawyers looking and salivating.
Democracy in action: a new path has been put in, by person or persons unknown. Somehow large hunks of cement curb were hauled in and stacked on both sides of the safety wall by the road, providing a stile of sorts. Then the path zigzags down. The slope is too steep for anything but the narrowest steps, so a safety rope has been rigged up on the in-side. Your outer side is exposed. Clutch the manila rope as you descend, but watch your step. The steps were made by banging in segments of rebar, against which were set old tiles; then the backside was filled with earth. The tiles stick up an inch or two over the 'step,' so lift your feet high. Don't trip. It’s almost straight down, especially in the part where the outer side has caved in and been shored up with sandbags. Of course, if you trip over the tile there and go down the sandbags, you'll probably bounce off the metal stairs just by the stream and land in the water. Maybe. Parts of you might.
Every time I go down those stairs, I imagine American lawyers looking and salivating.
Friday, August 06, 2004
On July 14, I posted a short sketch of Hozin's adventures with Apin's motorcycle. He hurt his right leg, but was otherwise unscathed after driving it into the stream.
The other day, Tokan borrowed Yagi's car to go get a bite to eat. Next door, Hozin was getting drunk, so to keep him from driving, Tasiy drove his (Hozin's) car away and hid it. Soon Hozin came out and couldn't find his car, but "Never mind, there is Yagi's car, and he certainly won't mind my borrowing it." So he got in and drove off before Tokan realized what was happening.
Now, Hozin had hurt his right leg, so he couldn't step on the gas pedal, but he managed both the gas pedal and the brake with his left foot. He discovered a problem just as he reached the curve at Tbaqsiso: Yagi's car is a stick shift. He immediately was faced with an urgent problem: choose between the clutch and the brake. He chose the clutch, and, as the car sailed off the road, he reflected that the brake would have been a better choice.
He swam to the bank, but someone had seen the car sink and phoned the police. This was obviously an outsider's doing. Someone from Wulai would have seen that it was Hozin swimming to the shore, and known not to worry. Not to worry too much.
Wulai police used to be mostly Tayal, but now they have Han Chinese policemen, because things were getting too cozy. A Han policeman it was who hauled the dripping Hozin into the police station and started shouting at him.
"Shout all you like," said Hozin, "Wait until my two big brothers get here. You know they are both policemen, and they both outrank you.”
In a moment the brothers arrived, and asked why their little brother was in handcuffs. The Han policeman explained, "He drove a car into the stream." Whereupon the brothers started beating Hozin: "You disgrace our ancestors!”
When they finished beating him, the Han police told Hozin, "If I see you driving again, I will beat you again."
So this story probably stops here.
Thursday, August 05, 2004
The Aborigines are still seething over Vice President Lu Hsiulien's racist remarks (posted on this blog July 17).
Outside the Aborigine community there has been no hue and cry for her removal – people in Taiwan have become inured to rudeness and arrogance from politicians nowadays. They are used to the Administration's noises and promises, which mean nothing.
Members of her party, the Democratic Progressive Party, have defended her remarks. President Chen Shuibian suggested that she apologize; she refuses to apologize. Apparently, insulting disadvantaged minorities struck by natural disasters does not seem improper to her. She is, after all, a rich, powerful politician, so she feels little to fear from the Aborigines, who she regards as a bunch of savages. (Fortunately, she has not gone as far as my acquaintance H, a hardline DPP Taiwan Independence backer, who advocates genocide: "The best thing we can do with the aborigines is wipe them all out, exterminate the race.") She has, however, retracted her statement about the negritoes, and is now trying to ignore the whole incident.
Outside the Aborigine community there has been no hue and cry for her removal – people in Taiwan have become inured to rudeness and arrogance from politicians nowadays. They are used to the Administration's noises and promises, which mean nothing.
Members of her party, the Democratic Progressive Party, have defended her remarks. President Chen Shuibian suggested that she apologize; she refuses to apologize. Apparently, insulting disadvantaged minorities struck by natural disasters does not seem improper to her. She is, after all, a rich, powerful politician, so she feels little to fear from the Aborigines, who she regards as a bunch of savages. (Fortunately, she has not gone as far as my acquaintance H, a hardline DPP Taiwan Independence backer, who advocates genocide: "The best thing we can do with the aborigines is wipe them all out, exterminate the race.") She has, however, retracted her statement about the negritoes, and is now trying to ignore the whole incident.
The aborigines have not been ignoring it. If you want to make instant friends with a Taiwan aborigine these days, any tribe, just say, “I hate the DPP, and I think Vice President Lu should be recalled.”
The aborigines are trying to institute dialogue with the Vice President. She told them to emigrate to South America if they don't like the DPP. Now the Aborigines say, “Okay, Vice President, first you find a husband in South America and move there. Then we will all follow you.” She has yet to respond to this proposal. (VP Lu has never been married.)
This proposal has also occasioned some discussion among the Tribes. “The Republic of China's diplomatic relations are few and tenuous. If Vice President Lu did manage to find someone in South America to marry her, wouldn't that spell the end of the ROC's good reputation throughout the region? They would hate us forever.”
Also, continued reflection has led to a tempering of certain rash statements the aborigines made in the heat of the moment. In a saber-rattling mood, some of the Tribes reminded people of the Aborigine tradition of headhunting, mostly among the Tayal tribe. However, the Tayal now say they will not remove Vice President Lu's head, because “it's too ugly.”
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