You have to shout in order to be heard by someone who's hard of hearing. For people with normal hearing, speak in a normal voice.
An ad for New Zealand tourism shows a guy bungee-jumping off a bridge saying something like I'VE NEVER FELT SO ALIVE. On youtube.com I saw a clip about a surfer who says that only when he rides giant waves does he feel alive.
I can feel very much alive doing something as prosaic as hanging up the laundry to dry. Why do I need to scream and shout to make myself aware of my life?
The advantage of finding joy in everyday pleasures is precisely that: they are everyday, so I live every day, unlike people who have to launch themselves off bridges to feel alive. They walk dead for 364 days a year, and live only a few minutes.
Admire the weeds making their way through cracks in the pavement, or the gasoline rainbows in a puddle. Disadvantage: everyday pleasures can't be packaged, bar-coded, and sold. When I stop to watch a cloud pass over a building, nobody's making a penny off of it. Can't have that. There should be a law that you can't watch clouds without official an Cloud Watching hat, glasses, and adiabatic measuring devices; in other words, it should be illegal to watch clouds unless you have spent at least a week's pay on it. Then you can feel alive. Then and only then.
Come to think of it, I would even go so far as to say that the times I feel most alive are often when I am bored to the point of irritation, such as waiting for a tardy bus on a hot, muggy day. It may not be the most memorable experience, but then I am acutely aware of life, mortality, and body, as the sweat trickles down my back when I should be sitting inside an air-conditioned bus making progress towards my destination.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Much has been made of Reagan's tough stand on the Soviet Union. Less well known is Reagan's standing upon the faithful ally, the Republic of China, Taiwan.
When Reagan took office, in Taiwan very few boys smoked before their military service, to keep themselves healthy. Even fewer women of any ages smoked. Oddly enough, even among Taiwan's smokers, cancer rates were far below the worldwide average; if I remember correctly, they were the world's lowest. This is because tobacco and liquor were government monopolies. Tobacco was cured by traditional, time consuming methods that were lousy on economic efficiency, but it was a government monopoly, so who cares? That curing method greatly reduced the amount of nicotine.
People drank lots of liquor, but held it well: public drunkenness was almost unknown. There were no liquor stores. Liquor was sold along with other products, but there was no advertising. No advertising for either liquor or tobacco. Tobacco and liquor were controlled by government monopoly. Little was imported, and duties kept it out of most people's mouths.
Overall, the people were slim and tough. A slight bulge in the waistline was enough to earn the label 'fat.' The government successfully resisted incursions by McDonald's, preferring to protect the populace's health rather than profits. 7/11 tried to enter too, but the government protected mom & pop stores, which kept communities close.
That all changed with Reagan. He demanded that Taiwan import American cigarets and alcohol, or else he would use 301 to enact sanctions and reprisals to cripple the economy. The ROC had no choice but to buckle under this intense pressure. American tobacco and liquor roared into the market like barbarians sacking a library.
Where there had been no advertising, American advertising strategies filled the market. Not only advertising, but also promotions. For example, concerts were thrown, and free packs of cigarets were given to all as they entered, regardless of age or sex.
The problem was the beer drinkers preferred Taiwan Beer, which has always won high marks in international competitions. Nobody wanted Budweiser or the other American brands that were imported. Reagan got mad and demanded people buy American beer, but the consumers didn't want it. Finally, to move the stuff off the shelves and make the US happy, businessmen gave a can of American beer with every can of Taiwan beer. I remember a lot of beer drinkers tossing out the American cans unopened.
No such problem with tobacco. The Marlboro Man rode into Taiwan, bringing death and devastation with him, but hey those ads look great. Large numbers of young people started smoking.
Once the door had been wedged open, MacDonald's muscled its way in. Now there are fast food chains all over, and overall people have noticeably put on weight, although obesity is nowhere near the problem it is in the US. The Aborigines in Wulai are terrified that MacDonald's will open a branch here; we already have three 7/11s in a village of 2500 people (lots of sightseers), so why not MacDonald's? Presently, the nearest McD is a half hour drive away, so Tayal parents can keep their children away from that garbage except on special, controlled occasions at great intervals. But what if McD does decide to come? The Aborigines feel helpless against that sort of economic firepower, and say that "If MacDonald's comes to Wulai, it will destroy the health of our tribe." But think of the profits!
It all started with Reagan, and what particularly galls me about it is, tobacco and liquor! If he had insisted Taiwan buy more American cosmetics or electronic goods, okay. But tobacco and liquor!
I recall reading (the Atlantic Monthly, I think) that the negotiating room in the State Department in which the ROC representatives were forced to their knees was beautifully decorated. The wooden wall panels were adorned by hand-carved bunches of tobacco leaves. The decoration for that negotiating room alone cost US$1 million (at the time), but at no expense to the taxpayer: the entire fee was covered by tobacco companies. 羊毛出在羊身上.
Apparently Americans were wising up then and cutting down on their consumption of cigarets and drinks, so to keep profits up, Reagan used the might of the US to cram those down our throats. At least he didn't insist on Taiwan's importing guns. But what would Teddy Roosevelt have had to say about that? That's not what the big stick should be used for.
Friday I took the dogs to the stream to introduce Byajing to swimming. There was a group of high school girls there enjoying the stream, and they were all smoking. Such a scene would have been unthinkable before Reagan. Now it's common.
Every child born unhealthy because its parents succumbed to advertising and smoked American cigarets; every person who dies a miserable death from lung cancer caused by smoking imported cigarets; every heart destroyed by tobacco; each family ruined by alcoholism; each body ruined by American junk food. Each and every one has Reagan to thank. This is his legacy in Taiwan.
When Reagan took office, in Taiwan very few boys smoked before their military service, to keep themselves healthy. Even fewer women of any ages smoked. Oddly enough, even among Taiwan's smokers, cancer rates were far below the worldwide average; if I remember correctly, they were the world's lowest. This is because tobacco and liquor were government monopolies. Tobacco was cured by traditional, time consuming methods that were lousy on economic efficiency, but it was a government monopoly, so who cares? That curing method greatly reduced the amount of nicotine.
People drank lots of liquor, but held it well: public drunkenness was almost unknown. There were no liquor stores. Liquor was sold along with other products, but there was no advertising. No advertising for either liquor or tobacco. Tobacco and liquor were controlled by government monopoly. Little was imported, and duties kept it out of most people's mouths.
Overall, the people were slim and tough. A slight bulge in the waistline was enough to earn the label 'fat.' The government successfully resisted incursions by McDonald's, preferring to protect the populace's health rather than profits. 7/11 tried to enter too, but the government protected mom & pop stores, which kept communities close.
That all changed with Reagan. He demanded that Taiwan import American cigarets and alcohol, or else he would use 301 to enact sanctions and reprisals to cripple the economy. The ROC had no choice but to buckle under this intense pressure. American tobacco and liquor roared into the market like barbarians sacking a library.
Where there had been no advertising, American advertising strategies filled the market. Not only advertising, but also promotions. For example, concerts were thrown, and free packs of cigarets were given to all as they entered, regardless of age or sex.
The problem was the beer drinkers preferred Taiwan Beer, which has always won high marks in international competitions. Nobody wanted Budweiser or the other American brands that were imported. Reagan got mad and demanded people buy American beer, but the consumers didn't want it. Finally, to move the stuff off the shelves and make the US happy, businessmen gave a can of American beer with every can of Taiwan beer. I remember a lot of beer drinkers tossing out the American cans unopened.
No such problem with tobacco. The Marlboro Man rode into Taiwan, bringing death and devastation with him, but hey those ads look great. Large numbers of young people started smoking.
Once the door had been wedged open, MacDonald's muscled its way in. Now there are fast food chains all over, and overall people have noticeably put on weight, although obesity is nowhere near the problem it is in the US. The Aborigines in Wulai are terrified that MacDonald's will open a branch here; we already have three 7/11s in a village of 2500 people (lots of sightseers), so why not MacDonald's? Presently, the nearest McD is a half hour drive away, so Tayal parents can keep their children away from that garbage except on special, controlled occasions at great intervals. But what if McD does decide to come? The Aborigines feel helpless against that sort of economic firepower, and say that "If MacDonald's comes to Wulai, it will destroy the health of our tribe." But think of the profits!
It all started with Reagan, and what particularly galls me about it is, tobacco and liquor! If he had insisted Taiwan buy more American cosmetics or electronic goods, okay. But tobacco and liquor!
I recall reading (the Atlantic Monthly, I think) that the negotiating room in the State Department in which the ROC representatives were forced to their knees was beautifully decorated. The wooden wall panels were adorned by hand-carved bunches of tobacco leaves. The decoration for that negotiating room alone cost US$1 million (at the time), but at no expense to the taxpayer: the entire fee was covered by tobacco companies. 羊毛出在羊身上.
Apparently Americans were wising up then and cutting down on their consumption of cigarets and drinks, so to keep profits up, Reagan used the might of the US to cram those down our throats. At least he didn't insist on Taiwan's importing guns. But what would Teddy Roosevelt have had to say about that? That's not what the big stick should be used for.
Friday I took the dogs to the stream to introduce Byajing to swimming. There was a group of high school girls there enjoying the stream, and they were all smoking. Such a scene would have been unthinkable before Reagan. Now it's common.
Every child born unhealthy because its parents succumbed to advertising and smoked American cigarets; every person who dies a miserable death from lung cancer caused by smoking imported cigarets; every heart destroyed by tobacco; each family ruined by alcoholism; each body ruined by American junk food. Each and every one has Reagan to thank. This is his legacy in Taiwan.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Friday, July 07, 2006
一個問題我想很久了，也該認真研究~~
我揣測，華語本是一種creole。Bickerton著Language and Human Behavior 說明，各種族群、語言雜處會形成pidgin共用簡語，而第二代孩子快速將pidgin綜合成新語言，是為creole。中國話具有creole的許多特徵。
石器時代，華夏各居溪豁，各豁自有文化類型；交通不便，必各自有語言，不得互通。商合諸侯伐夏，成湯興師帥諸侯，把鉞伐夏桀，令師作湯誓，曰，格汝眾庶，來，汝悉聽朕言。若諸侯聽湯言无重譯，必有共同語言。後踐天子位，平定四海，更加需要共通語言。
由于交通漸漸進步，商政遠達，各方相聚，必通其語言，生 creole焉，斯為中國話濫觴。吧。
我揣測，華語本是一種creole。Bickerton著Language and Human Behavior 說明，各種族群、語言雜處會形成pidgin共用簡語，而第二代孩子快速將pidgin綜合成新語言，是為creole。中國話具有creole的許多特徵。
石器時代，華夏各居溪豁，各豁自有文化類型；交通不便，必各自有語言，不得互通。商合諸侯伐夏，成湯興師帥諸侯，把鉞伐夏桀，令師作湯誓，曰，格汝眾庶，來，汝悉聽朕言。若諸侯聽湯言无重譯，必有共同語言。後踐天子位，平定四海，更加需要共通語言。
由于交通漸漸進步，商政遠達，各方相聚，必通其語言，生 creole焉，斯為中國話濫觴。吧。
Thursday, July 06, 2006
On their deathbed, nobody says, "I wish I had spent more time in meetings at the office! I wish I had spent more time working overtime!”Only the most emotionally deprived say, "I wish I had earned more money." But for them, life never had any meaning, anyway. Neither did money.
What regrets do you think you may have on your last breath? Work to put an end to those now.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Monday, July 03, 2006
Sunday, July 02, 2006
This photo was taken in Singapore in February of this year by Angela Thompson (who is not to be held answerable for any views expressed in this blog). It shows two parades of celebration, one of the Indian community, one of the Chinese. The Chinese are dancing a dragon. The Indian paraders have secured heavy strands of metal to themselves by means of sharp metal points digging into their flesh; then they pierced their cheeks with one needle and their tongue with another, and tied their hands behind their heads around a weighted pole. The two parades happened to pass through each other.
This photo is an excellent illustration of differences between Chinese and Indian culture. After the dragon has danced, you can be sure all the Chinese are going to eat a lot of good food and enjoy talking with friends and family. After the Indian parade is over, I have no idea what they will do. I wouldn't feel like eating after removing a needle from my tongue, but maybe that's just me.
If we use yoga and 太極拳\taichichuan to exemplify the two outlooks, Indian and Chinese, it is instructive to compare dedicated practitioners of each after a lifetime of practice.
Think a moment about a 70 year old yogi and a 70 year old taichi master. What kind of images do you conjure up? Even if they are stereotypes.
Speaking generally, probably the yogi is scrawny, tough as old shoe leather, bearded, and has hard, unrelenting eyes. He is perfectly at ease sitting next to, or even in, a blazing fire under a hot sun. He has mortified his flesh. The taichi man is probably roly-poly and loves to stuff his grandchildren with candy. If he is sitting anywhere near a hot fire on a hot day, he's cooking something to eat, and you're invited. Of course he could throw you across the room and bounce you off the wall as easily and lightly as a tennis ball, but eat, eat, the food is good, have something to eat!
India wants to leave the world behind. China wants to enjoy the world since we are here.
My mother once made an interesting comment. She was an art major, so they studied world art history. On Asia, first they did India and then China. She said moving from India to China was like moving from darkness into light.
As for me, I'm glad I chose China. Dance a dragon? Ok, should be fun, let's eat. Pierce my cheeks with long needles? No thank you, not today.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Friday, June 30, 2006
A wooden house needs periodic repainting. The painters began their work yesterday. They came early in the morning (8 is early in the morning for me) and worked all morning. I cooked them lunch; they assured me that my cooking is fine and that they ate their full. They worked all afternoon and left around 5, having done a good day's work.
Same this morning. At 11:40, while the rice was cooking and I was talking on the phone to Ling, they snuck out the back way and removed themselves to a restaurant for a long lunch. They did not return to the job until the danger of my cuisine was past.
Maybe they don't like bitter melon with mountain pepper?
Same this morning. At 11:40, while the rice was cooking and I was talking on the phone to Ling, they snuck out the back way and removed themselves to a restaurant for a long lunch. They did not return to the job until the danger of my cuisine was past.
Maybe they don't like bitter melon with mountain pepper?
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Bush is so cute. From the news:
President Bush on Monday sharply condemned the disclosure of a program to secretly monitor the financial transactions of suspected terrorists. "The disclosure of this program is disgraceful," he said.
"For people to leak that program and for a newspaper to publish it does great harm to the United States of America," Bush said, jabbing his finger for emphasis. He said the disclosure of the program "makes it harder to win this war on terror."
See, it's ok for Rove to name CIA agents, that doesn't matter in the war on terror~~
Bush signs laws with one hand and contravenesthose very laws with the other, and has challenged more than 750 statutes passed by Congress, far more than any other president. The White House does not dispute that number. It's the War on Terror, see? That's why we absolutely have to drill for oil in the arctic, and if you don't agree, you must hate America and want the terrorists to win.
On another front, customs official found Our Hero Rush Limbaugh with a bunch of Viagra that was not in his name. Maybe it was for the White House? Also part of the War on Terror. But at least Limbaugh is not using Viagra in same sex marriages while he burns a flag, so he's an A-OK All American Patriot.
What? You think poor children should be educated properly? You must be trying to make it harder to win this war on terror. You think air quality is important? You must be trying to make it harder to win this war on terror. You think global warming is real? You must be trying to make it harder to win this war on terror. You THINK?? You must be trying to make it harder to win this war on terror.
What a wonderful catchall!
President Bush on Monday sharply condemned the disclosure of a program to secretly monitor the financial transactions of suspected terrorists. "The disclosure of this program is disgraceful," he said.
"For people to leak that program and for a newspaper to publish it does great harm to the United States of America," Bush said, jabbing his finger for emphasis. He said the disclosure of the program "makes it harder to win this war on terror."
See, it's ok for Rove to name CIA agents, that doesn't matter in the war on terror~~
Bush signs laws with one hand and contravenesthose very laws with the other, and has challenged more than 750 statutes passed by Congress, far more than any other president. The White House does not dispute that number. It's the War on Terror, see? That's why we absolutely have to drill for oil in the arctic, and if you don't agree, you must hate America and want the terrorists to win.
On another front, customs official found Our Hero Rush Limbaugh with a bunch of Viagra that was not in his name. Maybe it was for the White House? Also part of the War on Terror. But at least Limbaugh is not using Viagra in same sex marriages while he burns a flag, so he's an A-OK All American Patriot.
What? You think poor children should be educated properly? You must be trying to make it harder to win this war on terror. You think air quality is important? You must be trying to make it harder to win this war on terror. You think global warming is real? You must be trying to make it harder to win this war on terror. You THINK?? You must be trying to make it harder to win this war on terror.
What a wonderful catchall!
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
As part of my ongoing endeavor to raise all readers' hackles equally, regardless of age, blood type, tribal affiliation (Tayal excepted; you Circassians can go suck lemons*),income bracket, or color of cufflinks, today I will discuss same sex marriage. O how nice, I can hear outraged screams already, this is going to be a real popular piece.
What's the fuss? One third of Americans don't have health insurance and the White House is trying to pass a Constitutional amendment banning same sex marriage? Our bravest and best are getting killed in Iraq and Afghanistan, the administration is rotten with corruption, spies on Americans, and tortures prisoners, global warming may well doom the human race, the incarceration rate under Bush is higher than it was under Stalin, how important is same sex marriage? That, I believe is the point. There are so many problems Bush is working to create and maintain, he wants the public out of his hair. While he tramples on the Constitution, he points and says, “LOOK! There are two homosexuals trying to undermine the sacred institution of marriage! We must mobilize!” 障眼法.
That's almost as stupid as amending the Constitution to prohibit flag burning. I would never burn a flag contemptuously, but I also feel that there are a lot more pressing problems that should be dealt with first. Strengthen the country: why are so many Blacks and Latinos on a treadmill to jail? why are there so many homeless people? why are so many Americans obese? why is American education such a joke? why is there so much drug use and alcoholism in the US? why has American foreign policy almost never succeeded since the country was founded? why does America pollute so much? why doesn't tax reform benefit the majority? why don't Americans have secure retirement plans? The list goes on and on. Make the country strong from the inside, and nobody will want to burn the flag anyway. A Constitutional Amendment against flag burning makes as much sense as passing a law saying that heavy smokers are not to get cancer.
If the institution of marriage were in tune with the needs of society, it would not need protection.
In this day and age, even normal people can't hold a marriage together, why not give homosexuals a go at it?
Where did all these homosexuals come from, anyway? (Get ready to howl and punch your computer screen.) Of course a lot have been there all along, hidden back in the closet, but their numbers seem to have increased. I think it has to do with all the hormones they pump into meat animals to force them to grow quicker. Then the cow or chicken or whatever gets the ax before it works all those drugs out of its system and the hormone goes straight into your jolly consumer, where dog knows what it does to the consumer's physiology.
None of the vegetarians I know are homosexual. Rather, the people I know who are most vehemently or derisively opposed to vegetarianism are homosexuals.
So maybe it does have something to do with what you eat. But no matter what, I don't think a Constitutional amendment is going to do anybody any good. If anything, people will use civil onions or other means to engage in same sex marriage under a different name. I still think it's just Bush's ploy to distract people from his wrongdoings.
Let's be realistic, how much of a deterrent would a constitutional amendment be? It may even turn out to be an incentive, you know, the thrill of being defiant and perverse. They want to get married, let them get married. Let them have a go at it. See how they like it.
That may be the way: like Christians. If you don't want Christians in your country, the worst, absolutely the worst thing you can do is persecute them. They thrive on persecution, it makes them feel holy and righteous so they really dig in their heels. How many Western European countries persecute Christians? None. And how is Christianity faring in Western Europe? Moribund. Look at all the fanatic Christians Communist oppression fostered in Eastern Europe.
Maybe it's the same for homosexuals. Prohibit them from marrying and it's till death do us part. Legalize it, take all the fun out of it. Ok, you two are bound together in legal matrimony, you're STUCK ha ha ha! That might be the best way to break up homosexual couples, if that's what you're after.
However, some people might object on the grounds that matrimonial bonds are cruel and unusual punishment, and thereby should be forbidden by a closer reading of the Constitution.
_______________________
*written with full knowledge that the chances of a Circassian actually reading this are more remote than the outskirts of Mustang, Tibet, and if any do, well, of course ha ha ha we all know what a great sense of humor you guys have. Right? Right? Please put down that Kalashnikov.
What's the fuss? One third of Americans don't have health insurance and the White House is trying to pass a Constitutional amendment banning same sex marriage? Our bravest and best are getting killed in Iraq and Afghanistan, the administration is rotten with corruption, spies on Americans, and tortures prisoners, global warming may well doom the human race, the incarceration rate under Bush is higher than it was under Stalin, how important is same sex marriage? That, I believe is the point. There are so many problems Bush is working to create and maintain, he wants the public out of his hair. While he tramples on the Constitution, he points and says, “LOOK! There are two homosexuals trying to undermine the sacred institution of marriage! We must mobilize!” 障眼法.
That's almost as stupid as amending the Constitution to prohibit flag burning. I would never burn a flag contemptuously, but I also feel that there are a lot more pressing problems that should be dealt with first. Strengthen the country: why are so many Blacks and Latinos on a treadmill to jail? why are there so many homeless people? why are so many Americans obese? why is American education such a joke? why is there so much drug use and alcoholism in the US? why has American foreign policy almost never succeeded since the country was founded? why does America pollute so much? why doesn't tax reform benefit the majority? why don't Americans have secure retirement plans? The list goes on and on. Make the country strong from the inside, and nobody will want to burn the flag anyway. A Constitutional Amendment against flag burning makes as much sense as passing a law saying that heavy smokers are not to get cancer.
If the institution of marriage were in tune with the needs of society, it would not need protection.
In this day and age, even normal people can't hold a marriage together, why not give homosexuals a go at it?
Where did all these homosexuals come from, anyway? (Get ready to howl and punch your computer screen.) Of course a lot have been there all along, hidden back in the closet, but their numbers seem to have increased. I think it has to do with all the hormones they pump into meat animals to force them to grow quicker. Then the cow or chicken or whatever gets the ax before it works all those drugs out of its system and the hormone goes straight into your jolly consumer, where dog knows what it does to the consumer's physiology.
None of the vegetarians I know are homosexual. Rather, the people I know who are most vehemently or derisively opposed to vegetarianism are homosexuals.
So maybe it does have something to do with what you eat. But no matter what, I don't think a Constitutional amendment is going to do anybody any good. If anything, people will use civil onions or other means to engage in same sex marriage under a different name. I still think it's just Bush's ploy to distract people from his wrongdoings.
Let's be realistic, how much of a deterrent would a constitutional amendment be? It may even turn out to be an incentive, you know, the thrill of being defiant and perverse. They want to get married, let them get married. Let them have a go at it. See how they like it.
That may be the way: like Christians. If you don't want Christians in your country, the worst, absolutely the worst thing you can do is persecute them. They thrive on persecution, it makes them feel holy and righteous so they really dig in their heels. How many Western European countries persecute Christians? None. And how is Christianity faring in Western Europe? Moribund. Look at all the fanatic Christians Communist oppression fostered in Eastern Europe.
Maybe it's the same for homosexuals. Prohibit them from marrying and it's till death do us part. Legalize it, take all the fun out of it. Ok, you two are bound together in legal matrimony, you're STUCK ha ha ha! That might be the best way to break up homosexual couples, if that's what you're after.
However, some people might object on the grounds that matrimonial bonds are cruel and unusual punishment, and thereby should be forbidden by a closer reading of the Constitution.
_______________________
*written with full knowledge that the chances of a Circassian actually reading this are more remote than the outskirts of Mustang, Tibet, and if any do, well, of course ha ha ha we all know what a great sense of humor you guys have. Right? Right? Please put down that Kalashnikov.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Monday, June 26, 2006
I have noticed that when I have spent several days at home without going on a road, the first car I encounter I can smell from about 20 paces away. Let me tell you, it's not a nice smell.
This brings to mind Lost in the Taiga, the story of a family of Old Believers who lived for decades hidden away in the remotest mountains of Siberia, where their children grew to adulthood without ever having seen outsiders. In her 40s, the daughter Agafia visited relatives in an inaccessible village deep in another pocket of the Siberian forest. She did not like the awful stench, and covered her nose with a handkerchief, complaining, "An automobile went through this morning – there is the smell of gasoline." One car for miles around, and she still couldn't stand the smell in the late afternoon.
What about city dwellers, who are surrounded by hundreds, even thousands, of cars all day long, day after day, year after year?久入鮑魚之肆，不聞其臭. But how good can that be for your health?
In the mountains, I frequently smell someone smoking long before I see him. Especially if you've got a heavy smoker, someone who's been smoking for years and his lungs are rotting in his chest, depending on the direction of the wind, sometimes I can smell someone like that from fifty paces away and more. It's an indescribably filthy smell.
I love these people who drive up to the mountains for a breath of fresh air and light up a cigaret.
This brings to mind Lost in the Taiga, the story of a family of Old Believers who lived for decades hidden away in the remotest mountains of Siberia, where their children grew to adulthood without ever having seen outsiders. In her 40s, the daughter Agafia visited relatives in an inaccessible village deep in another pocket of the Siberian forest. She did not like the awful stench, and covered her nose with a handkerchief, complaining, "An automobile went through this morning – there is the smell of gasoline." One car for miles around, and she still couldn't stand the smell in the late afternoon.
What about city dwellers, who are surrounded by hundreds, even thousands, of cars all day long, day after day, year after year?久入鮑魚之肆，不聞其臭. But how good can that be for your health?
In the mountains, I frequently smell someone smoking long before I see him. Especially if you've got a heavy smoker, someone who's been smoking for years and his lungs are rotting in his chest, depending on the direction of the wind, sometimes I can smell someone like that from fifty paces away and more. It's an indescribably filthy smell.
I love these people who drive up to the mountains for a breath of fresh air and light up a cigaret.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
A ruckus downstairs broke the quiet of a drowsy Sunday afternoon. Judging from his barking, Yumin had spotted a snake. I went down to investigate. Next to the front door, the dogs were in attack mode. Little Byajing was safe in the rear, Tlahuy guarded her, ready to pounce into action the moment Yumin needed support, and Yumin was on point, barking furiously was fearlessly keeping at bay… a turtle.
A turtle had crawled up almost to my front door. I put it in the water of the stone trough, and asked it to wait a minute while I rushed inside for my camera. After a few portraits, it lumbered off into the bushes, continuing its errand.
Nothing out of the ordinary, there are plenty of turtles around. What I find amusing about this is, how fast does a turtle go? It had crossed all the way across the tile porch before my alert guardians noticed it and sounded the alarm.
A turtle had crawled up almost to my front door. I put it in the water of the stone trough, and asked it to wait a minute while I rushed inside for my camera. After a few portraits, it lumbered off into the bushes, continuing its errand.
Nothing out of the ordinary, there are plenty of turtles around. What I find amusing about this is, how fast does a turtle go? It had crossed all the way across the tile porch before my alert guardians noticed it and sounded the alarm.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Recently I have found a great site, www.overheardinnewyork.com
I have my own Overheard, but it is way too late. I visited New York for the first time in years last December, just in time for the subway strike. Passing a group of striking subway workers clustered around a subway entrance in Flushing, I actually heard one of them say, in reference to management,"Those dirty rats!" That is a direct quote, unaltered, authentic, I did not make it up, he actually said that.
Maybe it's part of joining a union, they teach you how to say this properly, and then you are required to say it during strikes. I was pretty impressed. It made the whole visit to New York seem more authentic.
I have my own Overheard, but it is way too late. I visited New York for the first time in years last December, just in time for the subway strike. Passing a group of striking subway workers clustered around a subway entrance in Flushing, I actually heard one of them say, in reference to management,"Those dirty rats!" That is a direct quote, unaltered, authentic, I did not make it up, he actually said that.
Maybe it's part of joining a union, they teach you how to say this properly, and then you are required to say it during strikes. I was pretty impressed. It made the whole visit to New York seem more authentic.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
I wrote this in the summer of 1982. This is non-fiction. I didn't make any of this up.
A new restaurant has opened in back of the Lai Lai Sheraton – Mama Roma Italiano Ristoranto Kosher Food.
The bosses are foreigners. I imagine their names to be Moses Vinorelli and Giuseppe Rosenstein. I really wonder how kosher their meat is. Who knows the rituals in Taiwan? They probably just put a yarmulke on each beast before they slaughter it. Or after.
Actually, there is a scattering of Jews in Taiwan. Hsiao Hui has a classmate named 王來貝嘉 Wang Lai-bei-jia, Chinese for Rebecca Wang. She's a Mongolian Jew. ("Funny, you don't look Jewish.") There is a selection of European Jews living in Shipai, near the old GI settlement. They are tended by a robust Dutch lady, Kitty Katts, who beat a drum and tugged a trombone for twelve years in Singapore for the Salvation Army. She's ready to preach at the drop of a hat – Jewish, Catholic, Protestant of all denominations, just aim her at the congregation and let her rip.
I met her at the Language Center (語言訓練測驗中心的前名), where she was vigorously teaching Inglitch Krammar in her indomitable Dutch aaksent, jah. She was a terror in the Teachers' Room. If anybody was smoking, and someone always was, she would demand in loud, clear, staccato jabs that 'dish! ish der air! for! effrybotty!' – nobody ever stopped smoking for her, and she would carry on for the time it would take to smoke a cigar.
One time Richard brought the paper into my office to read in the more comfortable chair. We heard the main door swoosh open, Kitty march into the main room, stomp several laps around the desks, plant her feet firmly, and announce:
KHOO hass der noosepaper! I vant to read der noosepaper, aand I do NOT KNOW vie ANYBOTTY took der noosepaper!
aand she stamp out der door.
That was nothing compared to the time somebody told her the wrong time to report to a briefing. Mixups like that happen all the time. When she realized she was an hour early, she marched down to the Director's Office. He had heard her coming, and barred the door to his Inner Sanctum. She steamed back up to the Teachers' Room. The secretaries could not explain why she had been told the wrong time, so she went howling up to the 4th floor cafeteria to find some responsible person. She yanked the hamburger out of mouth of the Training Section chief, but the briefing wasn't under his jurisdiction, so she hauled back down to the first floor to find the Testing Section who, forewarned by the uproar, had lit out the back door to find refuge on the other side of campus. When I got off work, the briefing was long past, but she was still making a ruckus in the tape lab. Eyewitnesses all swear that she grabbed the Training Section chief's wrist and pulled the hamburger away from his mouth so he could give her a clear explanation. That sure wasn't part of his job description! For months afterwards, he carried lunch from home and ate hunched over his lunchbox in his office, with the door shut.
Now that I think of it, her name was Kitty Kratz.
A new restaurant has opened in back of the Lai Lai Sheraton – Mama Roma Italiano Ristoranto Kosher Food.
The bosses are foreigners. I imagine their names to be Moses Vinorelli and Giuseppe Rosenstein. I really wonder how kosher their meat is. Who knows the rituals in Taiwan? They probably just put a yarmulke on each beast before they slaughter it. Or after.
Actually, there is a scattering of Jews in Taiwan. Hsiao Hui has a classmate named 王來貝嘉 Wang Lai-bei-jia, Chinese for Rebecca Wang. She's a Mongolian Jew. ("Funny, you don't look Jewish.") There is a selection of European Jews living in Shipai, near the old GI settlement. They are tended by a robust Dutch lady, Kitty Katts, who beat a drum and tugged a trombone for twelve years in Singapore for the Salvation Army. She's ready to preach at the drop of a hat – Jewish, Catholic, Protestant of all denominations, just aim her at the congregation and let her rip.
I met her at the Language Center (語言訓練測驗中心的前名), where she was vigorously teaching Inglitch Krammar in her indomitable Dutch aaksent, jah. She was a terror in the Teachers' Room. If anybody was smoking, and someone always was, she would demand in loud, clear, staccato jabs that 'dish! ish der air! for! effrybotty!' – nobody ever stopped smoking for her, and she would carry on for the time it would take to smoke a cigar.
One time Richard brought the paper into my office to read in the more comfortable chair. We heard the main door swoosh open, Kitty march into the main room, stomp several laps around the desks, plant her feet firmly, and announce:
KHOO hass der noosepaper! I vant to read der noosepaper, aand I do NOT KNOW vie ANYBOTTY took der noosepaper!
aand she stamp out der door.
That was nothing compared to the time somebody told her the wrong time to report to a briefing. Mixups like that happen all the time. When she realized she was an hour early, she marched down to the Director's Office. He had heard her coming, and barred the door to his Inner Sanctum. She steamed back up to the Teachers' Room. The secretaries could not explain why she had been told the wrong time, so she went howling up to the 4th floor cafeteria to find some responsible person. She yanked the hamburger out of mouth of the Training Section chief, but the briefing wasn't under his jurisdiction, so she hauled back down to the first floor to find the Testing Section who, forewarned by the uproar, had lit out the back door to find refuge on the other side of campus. When I got off work, the briefing was long past, but she was still making a ruckus in the tape lab. Eyewitnesses all swear that she grabbed the Training Section chief's wrist and pulled the hamburger away from his mouth so he could give her a clear explanation. That sure wasn't part of his job description! For months afterwards, he carried lunch from home and ate hunched over his lunchbox in his office, with the door shut.
Now that I think of it, her name was Kitty Kratz.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Be sure to watch this, if you haven't seen it yet.
This was a live interview broadcast on BBC on May 8, 2006.
BBC wanted to interview an authority on patent law concerning downloading from the Internet, Apple vs Apple. The person who appeared on the set had gone to the studio to apply for a job, and through some mixup, he suddenly found himself on camera, live.
Watch his expression when he realizes what is going on. Priceless!
He caught on a lot quicker than the interviewer did, and pulled through magnificently. He has become something of a folk hero, and now there's a website for him: www.guygoma.com
This was a live interview broadcast on BBC on May 8, 2006.
BBC wanted to interview an authority on patent law concerning downloading from the Internet, Apple vs Apple. The person who appeared on the set had gone to the studio to apply for a job, and through some mixup, he suddenly found himself on camera, live.
Watch his expression when he realizes what is going on. Priceless!
He caught on a lot quicker than the interviewer did, and pulled through magnificently. He has become something of a folk hero, and now there's a website for him: www.guygoma.com
Monday, June 19, 2006
"Berlin is one of the few places I know where ideas can make a concrete difference in daily life," says philosopher Susan Neiman, head of a think tank, the Einstein Forum. (Smithsonian, 0606p99)
This wins my nomination for one of the most asinine remarks of the decade. Everything we do is the result of an idea; turn left at the next intersection, apply for a loan, have another cup of coffee, take the dog out for a walk, build a spaceship, carve a statue, step on a cockroach, pick up a bite to eat, design new software, take out the garbage, compose music, turn off that desk lamp, blow up a bridge, sharpen a pencil, which one is not begotten by an idea?
Or maybe the exalted Head of the Think Tank supposes that if it hasn't been presented at a symposium by someone with an advanced academic degree it does not merit the title idea?
I just hope the remark was taken out of context. One Richard Rorty is more than enough for this world.
(note: RR is an academic in Virginia or somewhere who delights in fatuous pronouncements such as 'The brain is the most relevant organ we have.')
This wins my nomination for one of the most asinine remarks of the decade. Everything we do is the result of an idea; turn left at the next intersection, apply for a loan, have another cup of coffee, take the dog out for a walk, build a spaceship, carve a statue, step on a cockroach, pick up a bite to eat, design new software, take out the garbage, compose music, turn off that desk lamp, blow up a bridge, sharpen a pencil, which one is not begotten by an idea?
Or maybe the exalted Head of the Think Tank supposes that if it hasn't been presented at a symposium by someone with an advanced academic degree it does not merit the title idea?
I just hope the remark was taken out of context. One Richard Rorty is more than enough for this world.
(note: RR is an academic in Virginia or somewhere who delights in fatuous pronouncements such as 'The brain is the most relevant organ we have.')
Sunday, June 18, 2006
The other day I was in the city for class. The place I ate dinner had the tv on to the World Cup, with thousands of people getting hysterical about the game. The game, it's just a game, for Pete's sake!
I've never been one to get excited (or for that matter even care much) about watching other people play games. For some reason, as I was eating dinner and glancing at the screen from time to time, I kept flashing on a night long ago in Dalat, in the central highlands of Viet Nam during the war. I don't know why, but nights in the tropics seem darker:: pitch black:: there was a light drizzle, I was groping my way along the street to my friend's place where I was staying, when I met an ARVN patrol heading out into the pitch black night. I was in the town, they were heading out of town. They had ponchos on, and water dripped down their faces. They held their fingers on their triggers, ready to fight, if only they could see the enemy. They were walking forward steadily, without emotion, into the night, and I was thinking, jeeezus, that's dangerous! They simply had no way of knowing if they would survive the next thirty seconds.
I don't want to get on my high horse or anything, and it's fine to enjoy watching trained athletes perform, but shouldn't there be some sort of sense of proportion? It's just a game.
I've never been one to get excited (or for that matter even care much) about watching other people play games. For some reason, as I was eating dinner and glancing at the screen from time to time, I kept flashing on a night long ago in Dalat, in the central highlands of Viet Nam during the war. I don't know why, but nights in the tropics seem darker:: pitch black:: there was a light drizzle, I was groping my way along the street to my friend's place where I was staying, when I met an ARVN patrol heading out into the pitch black night. I was in the town, they were heading out of town. They had ponchos on, and water dripped down their faces. They held their fingers on their triggers, ready to fight, if only they could see the enemy. They were walking forward steadily, without emotion, into the night, and I was thinking, jeeezus, that's dangerous! They simply had no way of knowing if they would survive the next thirty seconds.
I don't want to get on my high horse or anything, and it's fine to enjoy watching trained athletes perform, but shouldn't there be some sort of sense of proportion? It's just a game.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Friday, June 16, 2006
Thursday, June 15, 2006
on foreign adventure
On June 7, Reverend Theodore Parker of the 28th Congregational Society of Boston, said this in a sermon.
"I maintain that aggressive war is a sin; that it is a national infidelity, a denial of Christianity and of God… treason against the people, against mankind, against God, is a great sin, not lightly to be spoken of. The political authors of the war… are either utterly incapable of a statesman's work, or else guilty of that sin.”
June 7, 1846, that was, concerning the invasion of Mexico, but please someone read this to Our Exalted President Bush.
On June 7, Reverend Theodore Parker of the 28th Congregational Society of Boston, said this in a sermon.
"I maintain that aggressive war is a sin; that it is a national infidelity, a denial of Christianity and of God… treason against the people, against mankind, against God, is a great sin, not lightly to be spoken of. The political authors of the war… are either utterly incapable of a statesman's work, or else guilty of that sin.”
June 7, 1846, that was, concerning the invasion of Mexico, but please someone read this to Our Exalted President Bush.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Americans say prolly or probly for probably. Have you ever wondered where the missing syllables go?
We've got them. In Taiwan, probably is pronounced probabably. By mysterious means involving quantum physics and worm holes, the syllables Americans drop transport to Taiwan.
That's why Taiwan exports so many socks. You know all those socks that disappear in the washing machine and you could never figure out where they got off to? They reappear in Taiwan, where they are sorted, bundled, and sold back to the US.
That's why those socks you bought the other day look familiar. They are the ones you lost last winter, and they have come back to you via the wondrous workings of the universe. You probabably didn't know that.
We've got them. In Taiwan, probably is pronounced probabably. By mysterious means involving quantum physics and worm holes, the syllables Americans drop transport to Taiwan.
That's why Taiwan exports so many socks. You know all those socks that disappear in the washing machine and you could never figure out where they got off to? They reappear in Taiwan, where they are sorted, bundled, and sold back to the US.
That's why those socks you bought the other day look familiar. They are the ones you lost last winter, and they have come back to you via the wondrous workings of the universe. You probabably didn't know that.
Monday, June 12, 2006
He said there's a ship that's wanting hands
and on her you quickly sign
O her mate is a bastard, her boson's worse,
and she will suit you fine.
- Paddy West
"It was Hozin. In those days a lot of young Tayal were getting jobs on fishing boats and going to sea. Hozin said, "Let's go to sea,' so I went. You know Tayal just don't use our heads sometimes. I should have known better. When I was little my mother would take me on the bus back to galang na, mita yutas ru yagi, and I would throw up all the way across the mountains. I should have known better, but Hozin called, and sometimes we Tayal just don't use our heads.
"I went to sea on a little fishing boat, I was at sea for three years, and I was seasick for three years. I should have known better than to listen to Hozin. Everything I ate came right back up. At first the rest of the crew thought I was faking, but after three years I was still throwing up, and they finally believed me. I was young and strong in those days and I worked hard, so the captain would not let me go because I did the work of 4 men. I worked hard and ate a lot and every time I ate I meal I would rush to the stern and throw everything up.”
"You could have saved some energy by just tossing your meals from the bowls into the ocean.”
"Balay! The only time I was not seasick was when I was working so I worked hard. We had some older seamen on board, from the Puyuma tribe. I felt sorry for them so I did their work, because it kept me from feeling seasick anyway.
"I didn't even get trained before I went to sea, so I may be the only aborigine seaman with an appendix. When you signed up, they gave you two month's training before you went to sea, and the first thing they did was take out your appendix.
"But Hozin said, 'Let's go to sea,' so I got on the bus with him and we went to Kaohsiung. I was 18. When we signed up, they said, 'There is a berth on a ship sailing tomorrow,' so I went. That's why I still have my appendix. But I didn't have any training, I learned on the job. Before the ship sailed I phoned home but my Ma was out, so I left word with Qalux to tell her, Ma I have gone to sea, I will be home in three years. Then we sailed.
"I started vomiting before we left the harbor and kept vomiting until we returned home three years later. We had some old Puyuma seamen on board, one of them looked sickly, another was short and skinny but very strong. One night when we went to bed, the strong one was still washing. He took a long shower that night. As I fell asleep, I wondered why he was taking such a long shower. When he finished, he went to his bunk and fell asleep and never woke up. He died in his sleep. Nobody expected that. He was strong and healthy, and he didn't say he felt bad. He acted normal the night before. I think he must have felt something, which is why he took such a long shower. That was his last chance to wash his body.
"Well, he was dead and we were far at sea, so the captain put his body in the freezer with the catch. But every time they opened the freezer to freeze the catch, there was this body in there, so the sailors complained, and finally the captain sailed for Singapore. In Singapore they took him out of the freezer and notified his family. His family flew to Singapore. They cremated him and took his ashes home to Taitung.
"I almost died at sea, and not just from vomiting. One time we caught a shark, it was a great white shark, it was on the deck and thrashing. I was too close to it and it gashed me with a tooth, see? I still have the scar. It hurt! I lost a bowful of blood. Somebody rushed up with a knife, a long curved butcher knife, and severed its spine. But with a great white shark, you can't hack with the knife because the skin is too thick, you have to slice, and they sliced five or six times before they severed its spine.
"I came back to Taiwan when I was 21 because I had to serve in the army. After I got discharged, my captain came to Wulai to sign me up again because I worked so hard, but I said, No, I was seasick for three years, that's enough. I got a job driving a truck instead. I get carsick, but not when I'm driving. So I never went to sea again.”
and on her you quickly sign
O her mate is a bastard, her boson's worse,
and she will suit you fine.
- Paddy West
"It was Hozin. In those days a lot of young Tayal were getting jobs on fishing boats and going to sea. Hozin said, "Let's go to sea,' so I went. You know Tayal just don't use our heads sometimes. I should have known better. When I was little my mother would take me on the bus back to galang na, mita yutas ru yagi, and I would throw up all the way across the mountains. I should have known better, but Hozin called, and sometimes we Tayal just don't use our heads.
"I went to sea on a little fishing boat, I was at sea for three years, and I was seasick for three years. I should have known better than to listen to Hozin. Everything I ate came right back up. At first the rest of the crew thought I was faking, but after three years I was still throwing up, and they finally believed me. I was young and strong in those days and I worked hard, so the captain would not let me go because I did the work of 4 men. I worked hard and ate a lot and every time I ate I meal I would rush to the stern and throw everything up.”
"You could have saved some energy by just tossing your meals from the bowls into the ocean.”
"Balay! The only time I was not seasick was when I was working so I worked hard. We had some older seamen on board, from the Puyuma tribe. I felt sorry for them so I did their work, because it kept me from feeling seasick anyway.
"I didn't even get trained before I went to sea, so I may be the only aborigine seaman with an appendix. When you signed up, they gave you two month's training before you went to sea, and the first thing they did was take out your appendix.
"But Hozin said, 'Let's go to sea,' so I got on the bus with him and we went to Kaohsiung. I was 18. When we signed up, they said, 'There is a berth on a ship sailing tomorrow,' so I went. That's why I still have my appendix. But I didn't have any training, I learned on the job. Before the ship sailed I phoned home but my Ma was out, so I left word with Qalux to tell her, Ma I have gone to sea, I will be home in three years. Then we sailed.
"I started vomiting before we left the harbor and kept vomiting until we returned home three years later. We had some old Puyuma seamen on board, one of them looked sickly, another was short and skinny but very strong. One night when we went to bed, the strong one was still washing. He took a long shower that night. As I fell asleep, I wondered why he was taking such a long shower. When he finished, he went to his bunk and fell asleep and never woke up. He died in his sleep. Nobody expected that. He was strong and healthy, and he didn't say he felt bad. He acted normal the night before. I think he must have felt something, which is why he took such a long shower. That was his last chance to wash his body.
"Well, he was dead and we were far at sea, so the captain put his body in the freezer with the catch. But every time they opened the freezer to freeze the catch, there was this body in there, so the sailors complained, and finally the captain sailed for Singapore. In Singapore they took him out of the freezer and notified his family. His family flew to Singapore. They cremated him and took his ashes home to Taitung.
"I almost died at sea, and not just from vomiting. One time we caught a shark, it was a great white shark, it was on the deck and thrashing. I was too close to it and it gashed me with a tooth, see? I still have the scar. It hurt! I lost a bowful of blood. Somebody rushed up with a knife, a long curved butcher knife, and severed its spine. But with a great white shark, you can't hack with the knife because the skin is too thick, you have to slice, and they sliced five or six times before they severed its spine.
"I came back to Taiwan when I was 21 because I had to serve in the army. After I got discharged, my captain came to Wulai to sign me up again because I worked so hard, but I said, No, I was seasick for three years, that's enough. I got a job driving a truck instead. I get carsick, but not when I'm driving. So I never went to sea again.”
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Saturday, June 10, 2006
On Yahoo, I saw a headline,
5 reasons you should care about the NBA finals
Yeah, good point, maybe you can list five reasons I should care, but I am sure that with a little thought, I could list hundreds or thousands of reasons I need not care. Big deal, watching millionaires sweat. I would rather watch my dogs scuffle.
The World Cup: who cares? It's just a bunch of guys kicking a ball around, which is fun, but hardly something to get all worked up about. I have a life.
5 reasons you should care about the NBA finals
Yeah, good point, maybe you can list five reasons I should care, but I am sure that with a little thought, I could list hundreds or thousands of reasons I need not care. Big deal, watching millionaires sweat. I would rather watch my dogs scuffle.
The World Cup: who cares? It's just a bunch of guys kicking a ball around, which is fun, but hardly something to get all worked up about. I have a life.
Friday, June 09, 2006
I am not even pretending this is formal historical research. Rather, just a few comments.
The first half of the twentieth century was a bad time for your typical farmer in Taiwan, because landlords cooperating with Japanese authorities oppressed them. Before the Japanese occupation, laws were lax, and the landlords did not hold great sway over the average peasant. It goes without saying that not all landlords were bad, but enough collaborated with the Japanese to make life hard for the peasantry. Stay in your village and till the land for your landlord. The Japanese provided security inside the villages, but outside were bandits and danger. Don't think of going elsewhere or doing anything new. Just keep doing what you've done forever and obey the authorities.
After the liberation of Taiwan, the KMT enacted perhaps the most successful land reform in history. The slogan was Land to the Tiller. Landlords were given government bonds for their land, and the peasants were given title to the land they tilled. No landlords were shot or struggled to death or branded as kulaks, and the government bonds eventually made them very rich, but the KMT had freed their peasants, and they never forgave that.
When I first came to Taiwan, your typical middle class, lower middle class, lower class, factory worker, farm worker, truck driver, laborer was pleased with his lot (or her), because he had a bicycle and plans to buy a motor scooter, his kids were in school, and he could buy shoes for them, or at least plan on it. By about 1970, almost all kids had shoes to wear to school, something far beyond the peasantry's reach under the Japanese. Something that set me on guard was that I noticed that in the 1970s the only people who were really against the government and involved in Taiwan independence were people from the landlord clans. Ten years later, the only others interested in the movement were Presbyterians who had been taught by foreign missionaries that the government was bad because it did not obey the church. Then politicians realized there was power to be had.
A few weeks ago I was flipping through photography books in a bookstore, looking at old photos of Taiwan. Something struck me. The photos from 1865 are not too different from 1885 are not too different from 1905 are not too different from 1940. The peasants are peasants, plodding along as ever. Then Liberation, and bang! by 1955 you are clearly in a different world. People are wearing more up-to-date clothing and taking part in the modern world. They are not just plowing fields with water buffalo, they have tractors, they are working with machines, they are learning to be barbers or woodcarvers or machinists, and they have whole new fields of endeavor that had been closed to them. They are questioning and learning about the twentieth century. The children wear school uniforms and factory produced clothes, people have movies to watch, and start thinking of places to go beyond the village. They have plans! They are still poor then, but the whole attitude had changed. They were joining the modern world.
There, I think, is the crux of a lot of political tumult in Taiwan. Some people simply cannot forgive the KMT for modernizing this island.
The first half of the twentieth century was a bad time for your typical farmer in Taiwan, because landlords cooperating with Japanese authorities oppressed them. Before the Japanese occupation, laws were lax, and the landlords did not hold great sway over the average peasant. It goes without saying that not all landlords were bad, but enough collaborated with the Japanese to make life hard for the peasantry. Stay in your village and till the land for your landlord. The Japanese provided security inside the villages, but outside were bandits and danger. Don't think of going elsewhere or doing anything new. Just keep doing what you've done forever and obey the authorities.
After the liberation of Taiwan, the KMT enacted perhaps the most successful land reform in history. The slogan was Land to the Tiller. Landlords were given government bonds for their land, and the peasants were given title to the land they tilled. No landlords were shot or struggled to death or branded as kulaks, and the government bonds eventually made them very rich, but the KMT had freed their peasants, and they never forgave that.
When I first came to Taiwan, your typical middle class, lower middle class, lower class, factory worker, farm worker, truck driver, laborer was pleased with his lot (or her), because he had a bicycle and plans to buy a motor scooter, his kids were in school, and he could buy shoes for them, or at least plan on it. By about 1970, almost all kids had shoes to wear to school, something far beyond the peasantry's reach under the Japanese. Something that set me on guard was that I noticed that in the 1970s the only people who were really against the government and involved in Taiwan independence were people from the landlord clans. Ten years later, the only others interested in the movement were Presbyterians who had been taught by foreign missionaries that the government was bad because it did not obey the church. Then politicians realized there was power to be had.
A few weeks ago I was flipping through photography books in a bookstore, looking at old photos of Taiwan. Something struck me. The photos from 1865 are not too different from 1885 are not too different from 1905 are not too different from 1940. The peasants are peasants, plodding along as ever. Then Liberation, and bang! by 1955 you are clearly in a different world. People are wearing more up-to-date clothing and taking part in the modern world. They are not just plowing fields with water buffalo, they have tractors, they are working with machines, they are learning to be barbers or woodcarvers or machinists, and they have whole new fields of endeavor that had been closed to them. They are questioning and learning about the twentieth century. The children wear school uniforms and factory produced clothes, people have movies to watch, and start thinking of places to go beyond the village. They have plans! They are still poor then, but the whole attitude had changed. They were joining the modern world.
There, I think, is the crux of a lot of political tumult in Taiwan. Some people simply cannot forgive the KMT for modernizing this island.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
前不久Rosa Parks葬禮給我一種感覺，美國黑人與本省人有個很大的不同。
美國黑人回顧1950年代，國家強盛，大家有錢就是黑人窮，被民眾吊死被歧視，就業機會有限，幾乎沒有教育機會，常被警察打。現在呢，黑人還是窮的居多，還是受到各種歧視，就業、教育機會還是比別人差，現在警察還是愛打黑人，可是現在有黑人當警察！有的黑人有錢有地位！不念舊惡，不要停留在以前的陰影，要看現在的進步，繼續努力！現在比以前好！
本省人回顧1950年代，臺灣看樣隨時要被中共「血洗」，局面極不穩，大家窮，就業機會慢慢多，大家都有同樣的教育機會，不分貧富；不想讀書當警察也不錯，有固定收入有很好的福利，不分原住民漢人都可以。至少，因為三七五減租，耕者有其田，不再被惡霸地主壓榨。有機會，有希望，日子苦，大家苦，因為戰後很多地方過的不好：起碼可以買甘蔗給小孩吃，英國、法國，德國，俄國，很多國家連糖也沒有，實在太窮。現在時代不同，臺灣大家有錢，要讀書的話，到處都有技術學院大學。吃甘蔗？對不起，減肥中。當警察？對不起，薪水太差，要找舒服的差事。台灣五十年來的進步，是世界奇聞，台灣土地改革大概是歷史上最成功的例子。可是很多人不看五十年來的成就，一直抱怨，以前的日子苦。現在好沒有用，以前的日子苦。以前的日子苦。以前的日子苦。以前的日子苦。
以前的日子已經過了，知道很苦，可不可以不要ㄧ直唸？明天要怎麼過，比較重要。
美國黑人回顧1950年代，國家強盛，大家有錢就是黑人窮，被民眾吊死被歧視，就業機會有限，幾乎沒有教育機會，常被警察打。現在呢，黑人還是窮的居多，還是受到各種歧視，就業、教育機會還是比別人差，現在警察還是愛打黑人，可是現在有黑人當警察！有的黑人有錢有地位！不念舊惡，不要停留在以前的陰影，要看現在的進步，繼續努力！現在比以前好！
本省人回顧1950年代，臺灣看樣隨時要被中共「血洗」，局面極不穩，大家窮，就業機會慢慢多，大家都有同樣的教育機會，不分貧富；不想讀書當警察也不錯，有固定收入有很好的福利，不分原住民漢人都可以。至少，因為三七五減租，耕者有其田，不再被惡霸地主壓榨。有機會，有希望，日子苦，大家苦，因為戰後很多地方過的不好：起碼可以買甘蔗給小孩吃，英國、法國，德國，俄國，很多國家連糖也沒有，實在太窮。現在時代不同，臺灣大家有錢，要讀書的話，到處都有技術學院大學。吃甘蔗？對不起，減肥中。當警察？對不起，薪水太差，要找舒服的差事。台灣五十年來的進步，是世界奇聞，台灣土地改革大概是歷史上最成功的例子。可是很多人不看五十年來的成就，一直抱怨，以前的日子苦。現在好沒有用，以前的日子苦。以前的日子苦。以前的日子苦。以前的日子苦。
以前的日子已經過了，知道很苦，可不可以不要ㄧ直唸？明天要怎麼過，比較重要。
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
烏龍院的師兄還在練功!!
China: it takes thousands of years of culture to produce such intellectual performing art. It takes years of careful observation and study to be able to appreciate the intricacies of such a tournament as this. Very, very deep.
There seems to be a lag between audio and visual. At the end, the announcer says, "He is watching the tree carefully with both eyes." That would be before the tree fell, I think. He may have been watching carefully (with both eyes) but he forgot to catch it, or, failing that, dodge.
I suppose he didn't win the tree-catching tournament.
First place gets a trophy.
Second place gets a full body cast.
Third place, a casket.
China: it takes thousands of years of culture to produce such intellectual performing art. It takes years of careful observation and study to be able to appreciate the intricacies of such a tournament as this. Very, very deep.
There seems to be a lag between audio and visual. At the end, the announcer says, "He is watching the tree carefully with both eyes." That would be before the tree fell, I think. He may have been watching carefully (with both eyes) but he forgot to catch it, or, failing that, dodge.
I suppose he didn't win the tree-catching tournament.
First place gets a trophy.
Second place gets a full body cast.
Third place, a casket.
Aha! I always thought so!
Dr Alan Hirsch, Director of the Smell and Taste Institute in Chicago, reports the three smells that most inhibit female sexual arousal are cherries, barbecued meat, and cologne.
And it gets better. Dr Hirsch says, "Men have a worse ability to smell than women, so they tend to use too great a level of scent." And as they age, their sense of smell only gets worse. "So the odor you choose may be very different from what a woman likes.”
This should be engraved on the doors of every men's toilet on the planet.
Dr Alan Hirsch, Director of the Smell and Taste Institute in Chicago, reports the three smells that most inhibit female sexual arousal are cherries, barbecued meat, and cologne.
And it gets better. Dr Hirsch says, "Men have a worse ability to smell than women, so they tend to use too great a level of scent." And as they age, their sense of smell only gets worse. "So the odor you choose may be very different from what a woman likes.”
This should be engraved on the doors of every men's toilet on the planet.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
3PM Customer Service
via Overheard in the Office, Jun 5, 2006
Bank teller: I was working drive-through this morning and offered a customer a bone for her dog in the back seat.
Associate: I think it's nice that we do that.
Bank teller: The customer said it wasn't a dog, it was her mother.
801 West Big Beaver Road
Troy, Michigan
via Overheard in the Office, Jun 5, 2006
說有多無聊~~
Oh boy, it's 060606, and I am making a note of this, just like I did for 050505 last year. Just wait for July 7 next year! Think you can bear the waiting?
PS: Christians are wonderful. Here they have been worried for centuries about 666 being the mark of the beast, and now it turns out an early scribe made a mistake, it should be 696 or something. All those ulcers and accusations about numbers. Well, it keeps them busy.
Guess what I'm going to write about on August 8, 2008?
Oh boy, it's 060606, and I am making a note of this, just like I did for 050505 last year. Just wait for July 7 next year! Think you can bear the waiting?
PS: Christians are wonderful. Here they have been worried for centuries about 666 being the mark of the beast, and now it turns out an early scribe made a mistake, it should be 696 or something. All those ulcers and accusations about numbers. Well, it keeps them busy.
Guess what I'm going to write about on August 8, 2008?
Monday, June 05, 2006
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Tlahuy and Bengax used to sing together. They had a routine. Tlahuy would sound the first notes, then Bengax would join in, barking in a higher pitch as Tlahuy bayed. When they finished, if I called out "Thank you" they would do a short encore.
It was all very rhythmic. Some people think dogs singing\狗唳 is not lucky, but nobody who saw them sing thought so. They too clearly enjoyed it. They would wag their tails together, croon with half shut eyes, dance a bit. You could see it was sheer bliss for them. They sang four or five times a day.
When Yumin came, sometimes he would join in, but usually it was Tlahuy and Bengax.
Then Bengax died. It broke my heart to hear poor old Tlahuy tuning up, and then petering out when nobody joined in. After a couple months, Yumin would sing with him, but only once every several days.
Enter Byajing, who quickly took the role of soprano. The boys dote on her. But she is still just a puppy, so for the time being, I keep her in the first floor bathroom when I am gone or at night.
In the morning, an hour or so after dawn, Tlahuy and Yumin begin to sing at the front door, and Byajing joins them from her dungeon (the bathroom). When they have awakened me, I go down and take her outside to widdle and play with the boys while I go back to sleep.
This morning as usual I woke to the canine chorus, carried Byajing out, and deposited her out front. As she widdled, Yumin very purposefully trotted over to a clump of grass. He nuzzled around there and retrieved a little plastic bottle, which he brought over and very carefully deposited before Byajing.
Apparently during his morning beagle rounds, Yumin had found this treasure somewhere and brought it home for Byajing to play with. He was just bursting with pleasure. He had deposited it in the grass for safekeeping until she came out. I thought that was about the sweetest thing I have ever seen a dog do, and crawled back into bed with a smile, to the sound of the bottle ricocheting all over.
The little plastic bottle is one of those calligraphy ink bottles, for when you don't want to grind your own ink. This ink was, as is often the case, strongly scented, which is probably what attracted Yumin's beagle nose to it in the first place. Anybody has used that kind of ink knows that a drop or two goes a long way, and whoever discarded the bottle had not used it all up. By the time I got out of bed for the day, all three dogs looked like they had put on black booties, and the porch\玄關 resembled a Jackson Pollock.
I bought Byajing a squeaky toy the other day, but the bottle is her favorite toy, as well it should be. When I shut her in the bathroom, Yumin hides the bottle somewhere so it will be ready for her next time she is out.
It was all very rhythmic. Some people think dogs singing\狗唳 is not lucky, but nobody who saw them sing thought so. They too clearly enjoyed it. They would wag their tails together, croon with half shut eyes, dance a bit. You could see it was sheer bliss for them. They sang four or five times a day.
When Yumin came, sometimes he would join in, but usually it was Tlahuy and Bengax.
Then Bengax died. It broke my heart to hear poor old Tlahuy tuning up, and then petering out when nobody joined in. After a couple months, Yumin would sing with him, but only once every several days.
Enter Byajing, who quickly took the role of soprano. The boys dote on her. But she is still just a puppy, so for the time being, I keep her in the first floor bathroom when I am gone or at night.
In the morning, an hour or so after dawn, Tlahuy and Yumin begin to sing at the front door, and Byajing joins them from her dungeon (the bathroom). When they have awakened me, I go down and take her outside to widdle and play with the boys while I go back to sleep.
This morning as usual I woke to the canine chorus, carried Byajing out, and deposited her out front. As she widdled, Yumin very purposefully trotted over to a clump of grass. He nuzzled around there and retrieved a little plastic bottle, which he brought over and very carefully deposited before Byajing.
Apparently during his morning beagle rounds, Yumin had found this treasure somewhere and brought it home for Byajing to play with. He was just bursting with pleasure. He had deposited it in the grass for safekeeping until she came out. I thought that was about the sweetest thing I have ever seen a dog do, and crawled back into bed with a smile, to the sound of the bottle ricocheting all over.
The little plastic bottle is one of those calligraphy ink bottles, for when you don't want to grind your own ink. This ink was, as is often the case, strongly scented, which is probably what attracted Yumin's beagle nose to it in the first place. Anybody has used that kind of ink knows that a drop or two goes a long way, and whoever discarded the bottle had not used it all up. By the time I got out of bed for the day, all three dogs looked like they had put on black booties, and the porch\玄關 resembled a Jackson Pollock.
I bought Byajing a squeaky toy the other day, but the bottle is her favorite toy, as well it should be. When I shut her in the bathroom, Yumin hides the bottle somewhere so it will be ready for her next time she is out.
Friday, June 02, 2006
I don't intend to go on and on about Bruce Lee, but I would like to comment on two things.
First, somebody was proclaiming the legend of Bruce Lee, which got me to thinking. In the late 60s in the karate crowds around LA, Lee was considered good and was respected, but among his peers, he was not considered a superstar or anything.
Ok, back up a bit: in the 60s, people didn't use the term martial arts very much, and fortunately the misnomer kungfu had not spread. Karate was the term used for Oriental fighting arts in general, and at the time, most people thought karate was some sort of Mexican food or something anyway. LA was a center of oriental fighting arts in the US at the time, or as much a center as existed. There were good fighters elsewhere, but everybody passed through LA at some time or another, especially for the Internationals. At the time we are talking about, I was the youngest instructor in Ed Parker's home studio, on Walnut in Pasadena, and the top fighters dropped in the studio, and on my head, and back, and ribs.
Back to Bruce Lee. Fighters of all styles thought he was good, but I never saw or heard of Lee sparring with anybody but his students, when he was dishing it out. I never saw him get hit, and for a fighter, it's important to be able to take a hit without falling apart.
I would say that at the time, it was taken for granted that Lee never wanted to come close to the top teachers or competitors in a sparring match. Someone like Tiki Matali'i (sp?) would have walked right over him. Lesser known experts such as Deon Steckling or Dannie Rodarte would have tied him up. Louis Solis was about Lee's size, and probably would have gone through him like a bulldozer through a motorscooter. Lee spent a lot of time on glittery tricks like making change in your palm, which were impressive, but tricks nonetheless. He wouldn't spar.
After I left the States, of course I met more fighters. Some Koreans I met in Viet Nam during the War wouldn't have broken a sweat on Lee. They were fighting to the death in the jungles, not shooting movies. A lot of these old soldiers in Taiwan who grew up fighting Japanese soldiers, bandits, and communist guerillas ate people like Bruce Lee for snacks. They just didn't have publicists or makeup artists.
I am flashing on an amusing imaginary scene of Lee fighting my old Mantis teacher, Mr Chang 張三鮮老師; that would have been like a puppy going at a bear. Lee was good, but he was not anywhere near the best, and he was all flash and sparkle.
While I'm at it, another topic comes to mind before I drop the discussion. How did Lee die? I remember the shock at his death in actress Ting Pei's apartment. Rumors and speculation filled the sky: he was murdered by communist agents; he was beaten to death by Koreans in a final showdown in a godown; the CIA killed him; he died of drug overdose; he jumped out the window; he actually entered a secret monastery in central China; the Soviets hired him to train the KGB; he was hit by a taxi, and that was too great a loss of face so they said it was the actress; and so forth ad infinitum.
About fifteen years after the event, I happened to be chatting with a disciple of Teacher South (those who know who I'm talking about can figure it out; those who can't figure it out, never mind). Now Teacher South is a well known 密宗上師 tantric guru and a thorough old fox. My friend happened to mention that in the early 70s Ting Pei was also a disciple of Teacher South. I asked if Ting had practiced double-body techniques with South 有沒有修雙身, and he said, Of course, that's why she improved so quickly.
There, I believe, is the answer to the death of Bruce Lee. Ting screwed him to death. At the time Lee was into some really strange training methods which probably disordered his chi 氣岔掉了, so his body couldn't meet her demands.
That is my theory, anyway. I hope it's true, because wouldn't that be a great way to go?
First, somebody was proclaiming the legend of Bruce Lee, which got me to thinking. In the late 60s in the karate crowds around LA, Lee was considered good and was respected, but among his peers, he was not considered a superstar or anything.
Ok, back up a bit: in the 60s, people didn't use the term martial arts very much, and fortunately the misnomer kungfu had not spread. Karate was the term used for Oriental fighting arts in general, and at the time, most people thought karate was some sort of Mexican food or something anyway. LA was a center of oriental fighting arts in the US at the time, or as much a center as existed. There were good fighters elsewhere, but everybody passed through LA at some time or another, especially for the Internationals. At the time we are talking about, I was the youngest instructor in Ed Parker's home studio, on Walnut in Pasadena, and the top fighters dropped in the studio, and on my head, and back, and ribs.
Back to Bruce Lee. Fighters of all styles thought he was good, but I never saw or heard of Lee sparring with anybody but his students, when he was dishing it out. I never saw him get hit, and for a fighter, it's important to be able to take a hit without falling apart.
I would say that at the time, it was taken for granted that Lee never wanted to come close to the top teachers or competitors in a sparring match. Someone like Tiki Matali'i (sp?) would have walked right over him. Lesser known experts such as Deon Steckling or Dannie Rodarte would have tied him up. Louis Solis was about Lee's size, and probably would have gone through him like a bulldozer through a motorscooter. Lee spent a lot of time on glittery tricks like making change in your palm, which were impressive, but tricks nonetheless. He wouldn't spar.
After I left the States, of course I met more fighters. Some Koreans I met in Viet Nam during the War wouldn't have broken a sweat on Lee. They were fighting to the death in the jungles, not shooting movies. A lot of these old soldiers in Taiwan who grew up fighting Japanese soldiers, bandits, and communist guerillas ate people like Bruce Lee for snacks. They just didn't have publicists or makeup artists.
I am flashing on an amusing imaginary scene of Lee fighting my old Mantis teacher, Mr Chang 張三鮮老師; that would have been like a puppy going at a bear. Lee was good, but he was not anywhere near the best, and he was all flash and sparkle.
While I'm at it, another topic comes to mind before I drop the discussion. How did Lee die? I remember the shock at his death in actress Ting Pei's apartment. Rumors and speculation filled the sky: he was murdered by communist agents; he was beaten to death by Koreans in a final showdown in a godown; the CIA killed him; he died of drug overdose; he jumped out the window; he actually entered a secret monastery in central China; the Soviets hired him to train the KGB; he was hit by a taxi, and that was too great a loss of face so they said it was the actress; and so forth ad infinitum.
About fifteen years after the event, I happened to be chatting with a disciple of Teacher South (those who know who I'm talking about can figure it out; those who can't figure it out, never mind). Now Teacher South is a well known 密宗上師 tantric guru and a thorough old fox. My friend happened to mention that in the early 70s Ting Pei was also a disciple of Teacher South. I asked if Ting had practiced double-body techniques with South 有沒有修雙身, and he said, Of course, that's why she improved so quickly.
There, I believe, is the answer to the death of Bruce Lee. Ting screwed him to death. At the time Lee was into some really strange training methods which probably disordered his chi 氣岔掉了, so his body couldn't meet her demands.
That is my theory, anyway. I hope it's true, because wouldn't that be a great way to go?
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Somebody on youtube.com said Bruce Lee whopped Chuck Norris. Really? When? And if so, so what? Chuck Norris and Joe Louis fought many times; sometimes Norris won, sometimes Louis.
But that got me thinking. Bruce Lee was a showman, and he was good, no doubt about that, but he was not a fighter. He demonstrated moves, always keeping the situation under control, but he was not like Tom Garriga, Huk Planas, or Mike Pick, who were always ready to get out on the mats and spar for as long as you could last.
Bruce Lee would show up at tournaments in the late 60s, but he never competed. Again, he was good, but he was a movie star, not a fighter, even in tournaments, which are nowhere near as challenging as getting on the mats in Ed Parker's Pasadena studio, where I trained, and got thrashed more times than I can remember: it's good for you!!
I had never looked at it this way, so I am searching my memory. For a while around 1969, 1970, Lee used to come to the Pasadena studio every week, but I never heard of him getting on the mats and sparring with anybody. He wanted adulation, not competitors. Somebody like Steve Sanders, Bill Wallace, or Tom Kelly, they'd be on the mats and ready to freestyle as soon as they could change out of their street clothes. Most of the martial artists were like that, but not Lee. If I remember correctly, if Lee was going to demonstrate a move, he always chose his body, usually one of his own worshipful students. He would never show something on, say, Joe Louis. Louis would hit back.
Now, Mr Parker loved to spar, if he could find anyone foolish to take him up. Well, it's how you learn, take your lumps and learn a lesson. If you don't want to get hit (or kicked or elbowed or kneed), take up basketball or tiddlywinks or ballroom dancing. Mr Parker was a fighter! Getting hit by him, even when he was just carefully demonstrating something, was like getting hit by a baseball bat. But Bruce Lee was a showman.
Now I'm probably going to get hate mail from Lee worshippers.
But that got me thinking. Bruce Lee was a showman, and he was good, no doubt about that, but he was not a fighter. He demonstrated moves, always keeping the situation under control, but he was not like Tom Garriga, Huk Planas, or Mike Pick, who were always ready to get out on the mats and spar for as long as you could last.
Bruce Lee would show up at tournaments in the late 60s, but he never competed. Again, he was good, but he was a movie star, not a fighter, even in tournaments, which are nowhere near as challenging as getting on the mats in Ed Parker's Pasadena studio, where I trained, and got thrashed more times than I can remember: it's good for you!!
I had never looked at it this way, so I am searching my memory. For a while around 1969, 1970, Lee used to come to the Pasadena studio every week, but I never heard of him getting on the mats and sparring with anybody. He wanted adulation, not competitors. Somebody like Steve Sanders, Bill Wallace, or Tom Kelly, they'd be on the mats and ready to freestyle as soon as they could change out of their street clothes. Most of the martial artists were like that, but not Lee. If I remember correctly, if Lee was going to demonstrate a move, he always chose his body, usually one of his own worshipful students. He would never show something on, say, Joe Louis. Louis would hit back.
Now, Mr Parker loved to spar, if he could find anyone foolish to take him up. Well, it's how you learn, take your lumps and learn a lesson. If you don't want to get hit (or kicked or elbowed or kneed), take up basketball or tiddlywinks or ballroom dancing. Mr Parker was a fighter! Getting hit by him, even when he was just carefully demonstrating something, was like getting hit by a baseball bat. But Bruce Lee was a showman.
Now I'm probably going to get hate mail from Lee worshippers.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
固時俗之流從兮，又孰能無變化？
::離騷
No matter what you think of same sex marriage, you have to admit that it's good this issue has caused people to reconsider that tired old institution, marriage. Times change, social structures change, so roles change too. We can't expect people to enter marriage with the same expectations and behavior as they did a hundred years ago. Here in the Taiwan the divorce rate is something like 1:4, and in the US it's probably more like 99.99:100, closer to purity than silver or gold.
Partly the problem is that people aren't used to fixing things in today's throw-away society. Partly till death do us part takes so much longer to happen, people don't want to wait so long. If a couple can stay together, more power to them; I wish all couples could. But most can't. Everybody dances the 5 step tango, Single, Engaged, Married, Separated, Divorced, over and over again until it's coffin time.
The standard issue idea of marriage now really needs rethinking, with the awareness that our parents' ideas of marriage were also just the product of a particular set of circumstances, and not something passed down immutable since the dawn of humanity.
But what is marriage? 1 man + 1 woman? 1 man + 4 women? 1 man + 1 man? 7 men + 1 woman? 1 man + 2 women + 3 goats?
It would be nice if we could just let society muddle through and work these things out over a couple of generations, as happened in the past. However, today's society worships standardization, conformity, and the law, so only one standard answer is permissible, and all must comply. The legal issues are complicated, because that entails what to do with those in comas, inheritance, insurance, and a whole bundle of problems.
I'm not giving any answers, and actually my topic today is not just marriage, but our views of how men and women should behave. Or men and women and goats, if you insist. I didn't have this blog during the Clinton years, but here's something I wanted to say then. I will post this now in my continuing effort to alienate all readers equally, regardless of race, religion, numerology, or credit rating.
You remember Clinton. I personally thought his only impeachable offense was horrible taste. Since when did Americans, of all people, become so prudish? The US is a country where you can't even sell toothpaste without promising sex appeal. Americans can't have a television show or movie or even a conversation for more than three minutes without bringing up intercourse; they beat the issue to death, sex in every possible nook and cranny, and then the electorate acts surprised that their leader is not just Jimmy Cartering, but doing something about sex. This surprises anybody with any knowledge of human society?
Politicians are chest thumpers, it's the nature of the beast. They are politicians because they want to get on top, no pun intended, and screwing around is part and parcel of the personality. Since the US is so open about (obsessed with) sex, and there seems to be a certain demand in the Oval Office, I propose that the White House should have a harem. In our free, open, liberated society, that should be okay.
Of course the harem would have to be updated to meet current conventions. You couldn't ask all the women to go into nunneries when the President leaves office, and they certainly wouldn't be bought and sold. But it wouldn't be hard to fill the harem. As Kiss said, power is the ultimate aphrodisiac. You could even have volunteers, sending The Chosen home with tee shirts that say on them, I BOPPED THE PREZ! You could have that superimposed very tastefully on top of the presidential seal or the White House. What a souvenir!
I'm sure lots of people will see the wisdom of my suggestion and this will gain support. Especially in Utah. If it needed to be passed into law, that wouldn't be any problem. All the White House would have to do would be to let out word that there would be trickle-down effect. Again, no pun intended.
Since the US is supposed to be so free and open and eager to discuss these things, I think we the people should give the White House a harem and stop worrying about it.
^^
Well, that's what I wanted to say when Clinton was President. Now the harem could be replaced by a sandbox to better effect.
::離騷
No matter what you think of same sex marriage, you have to admit that it's good this issue has caused people to reconsider that tired old institution, marriage. Times change, social structures change, so roles change too. We can't expect people to enter marriage with the same expectations and behavior as they did a hundred years ago. Here in the Taiwan the divorce rate is something like 1:4, and in the US it's probably more like 99.99:100, closer to purity than silver or gold.
Partly the problem is that people aren't used to fixing things in today's throw-away society. Partly till death do us part takes so much longer to happen, people don't want to wait so long. If a couple can stay together, more power to them; I wish all couples could. But most can't. Everybody dances the 5 step tango, Single, Engaged, Married, Separated, Divorced, over and over again until it's coffin time.
The standard issue idea of marriage now really needs rethinking, with the awareness that our parents' ideas of marriage were also just the product of a particular set of circumstances, and not something passed down immutable since the dawn of humanity.
But what is marriage? 1 man + 1 woman? 1 man + 4 women? 1 man + 1 man? 7 men + 1 woman? 1 man + 2 women + 3 goats?
It would be nice if we could just let society muddle through and work these things out over a couple of generations, as happened in the past. However, today's society worships standardization, conformity, and the law, so only one standard answer is permissible, and all must comply. The legal issues are complicated, because that entails what to do with those in comas, inheritance, insurance, and a whole bundle of problems.
I'm not giving any answers, and actually my topic today is not just marriage, but our views of how men and women should behave. Or men and women and goats, if you insist. I didn't have this blog during the Clinton years, but here's something I wanted to say then. I will post this now in my continuing effort to alienate all readers equally, regardless of race, religion, numerology, or credit rating.
You remember Clinton. I personally thought his only impeachable offense was horrible taste. Since when did Americans, of all people, become so prudish? The US is a country where you can't even sell toothpaste without promising sex appeal. Americans can't have a television show or movie or even a conversation for more than three minutes without bringing up intercourse; they beat the issue to death, sex in every possible nook and cranny, and then the electorate acts surprised that their leader is not just Jimmy Cartering, but doing something about sex. This surprises anybody with any knowledge of human society?
Politicians are chest thumpers, it's the nature of the beast. They are politicians because they want to get on top, no pun intended, and screwing around is part and parcel of the personality. Since the US is so open about (obsessed with) sex, and there seems to be a certain demand in the Oval Office, I propose that the White House should have a harem. In our free, open, liberated society, that should be okay.
Of course the harem would have to be updated to meet current conventions. You couldn't ask all the women to go into nunneries when the President leaves office, and they certainly wouldn't be bought and sold. But it wouldn't be hard to fill the harem. As Kiss said, power is the ultimate aphrodisiac. You could even have volunteers, sending The Chosen home with tee shirts that say on them, I BOPPED THE PREZ! You could have that superimposed very tastefully on top of the presidential seal or the White House. What a souvenir!
I'm sure lots of people will see the wisdom of my suggestion and this will gain support. Especially in Utah. If it needed to be passed into law, that wouldn't be any problem. All the White House would have to do would be to let out word that there would be trickle-down effect. Again, no pun intended.
Since the US is supposed to be so free and open and eager to discuss these things, I think we the people should give the White House a harem and stop worrying about it.
^^
Well, that's what I wanted to say when Clinton was President. Now the harem could be replaced by a sandbox to better effect.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Sweet sappy Tlahuy looks mild or even bashful, but he is ferocious when he's serious. Take another look and realize how strongly muscled he is: not a dog to trifle with. With his new little sister, Byajing, he is very aloof, generally not deigning to sport and frolic like Yumin. He acts like she is beneath notice. But the other day Byajing yelped, and I noticed Tlahuy speeding over silently. He checked her out from behind the ferns; everything ok, so he just as silently backed away. Since then I have noticed that when Yumin is out doing his beagling (which he has curtailed drastically to spend more time with Byajing), Tlahuy is generally somewhere off on the sidelines watching over her.
Tlahuy has evidently established his position, and is now joining in the fun, acting silly with the puppy. The other evening the three of them were having a grand tussle, Tlahuy and Yumin against tiny little Byajing. She is a spirited little puppy, and was putting up a vigorous fight. I was beginning to get worried that in the heat of the moment Tlahuy might forget himself, so I reached down to pull him off Byajing. Then I realized that his mouth was shut, and he was batting her back and forth with the sides of his muzzle. His powerful movements are closely controlled, and although the fight looks savage, he is actually handling her very gently so she won't get hurt.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Curtis brought this year's students from the University of Michigan Grand Valley to learn Chinese as she is spoke. Part of their introduction to Taiwan is a trip to Wulai. I met them down near the bus station, but as it was raining, we didn't go past the waterfall, but turned towards my house from there. At least there was no lightning.
Rain notwithstanding, we had a pleasant walk, enjoying the scenery, conversation, and fresh air. Byajing is too little for such an outing, so I left her home. Tlahuy and Yumin accompanied us. For every kilometer we walked, Yumin ran four, hither and yon, back and forth, a very busy beagle.
Tlahuy stayed by my side, as usual. Not Yumin. I called him to me. He glanced at me and raced further up the road. I futilely called again and again. At most Yumin would toss a glance in my direction and continue on his beagle errands. This went on for a good ten minutes, giving all a good laugh. Beagle discipline.
When we arrived home, I introduced Byajing. How can anybody resist such an adorable little pup? (if they can, they keep their mouths shut, if they know what's good for them) We started drying off. As usual, Curtis fell asleep. The students sat around looking at the scenery, wandering around the house, chatting. Time spent with friendly, intelligent people is time well spent indeed. Some wandered into my study. On the pile of books by my reading chair, one young man noticed Training Your Beagle, which I bought when Yumin was little and got out recently to review for Byajing. With a disbelieving expression and a voice laden with skepticism, he asked me, "Have you actually read that?”
Sunday, May 28, 2006
The Lesson
"During the Cultural Revolution, students from my high school were sent in groups away from Beijing to the countryside /下鄉 to work on farms with peasants.
"One day we were walking along the road and saw an Old Peasant/老農. Mao said Old Peasants are founts of wisdom, knowledge, and revolutionary fervor; learn from Old Peasants. Our group leader decided to give us a quick lesson in ideology.
"'Comrade,' he asked the Old Peasant, 'Tell us about the repressions and injustices of the Kuomintang.’
"The Old Peasant answered, 'Aaah, those were the good old days. I had my own land and my own water buffalo. We were rich and happy before the Revolution.’
"Our group leader quickly changed the topic. 'Then tell us of the atrocities and excesses of your demonic landlord!’
"'My demonic landlord? Yes, we often wonder whatever became of him. He was such a good man. Why, one year there was a flood and everybody would have starved, but our landlord fed us all, and saved us. Everybody here really misses him.’
"End of lesson.”
=|=
Told me by a defector from the PRC, spring 1983
"During the Cultural Revolution, students from my high school were sent in groups away from Beijing to the countryside /下鄉 to work on farms with peasants.
"One day we were walking along the road and saw an Old Peasant/老農. Mao said Old Peasants are founts of wisdom, knowledge, and revolutionary fervor; learn from Old Peasants. Our group leader decided to give us a quick lesson in ideology.
"'Comrade,' he asked the Old Peasant, 'Tell us about the repressions and injustices of the Kuomintang.’
"The Old Peasant answered, 'Aaah, those were the good old days. I had my own land and my own water buffalo. We were rich and happy before the Revolution.’
"Our group leader quickly changed the topic. 'Then tell us of the atrocities and excesses of your demonic landlord!’
"'My demonic landlord? Yes, we often wonder whatever became of him. He was such a good man. Why, one year there was a flood and everybody would have starved, but our landlord fed us all, and saved us. Everybody here really misses him.’
"End of lesson.”
=|=
Told me by a defector from the PRC, spring 1983
Saturday, May 27, 2006
民無信不立，泰雅篇
我搬來烏來第二、三年，還沒養狗之前，部落一個泰雅在我後面山坡smirusa (放夾子)。我不喜歡有人在家附近狩獵。他來巡視時，我請他把夾子撤了，因為我常在那邊走動，也有登山客從旁邊小徑過，有的帶狗，萬一狗被夾住怎麼辦？他聽我講完，二話不說，一聲「好」，馬上把所有夾子拿走，從沒再來放過。
民無信不立，閩南篇
前幾天中午聽到拔筍的聲音，往窗外喊一聲；如果是地住或熟人，會回應。沒有人回應。我出去看，有一個人在竹林整理袋子，我看到的有兩三個麻布袋、兩個大型塑膠垃圾袋。我大聲喊，那人站住不動，不要讓我看到。我叫第二聲，那人轉過身，不要讓我看到臉。我叫到第四聲，還沒有回應，我想這一定是來偷筍的，我繞去靠近再大聲喊，才發現是中年太太。我問，「妳是誰？」
她用閩南語說，「我是阿姨，我的朋友住下面。」她邊講邊拔筍往袋子塞。
「我剛叫，妳怎麼不回答？」
「我沒聽到。」繼續拔筍。
「這是私有地，筍不能拔。」
「沒要緊。」繼續拔筍。
「妳拔一點自己吃沒有關係，可是不能拔太多。」
「沒要緊，我不拔了。」繼續拔筍。一個麻布袋已經裝了一半。
「地主要我看，說有人拔筍就報警，妳不要拔太多。」
「沒要緊，竹子還會再長。」繼續拔筍。
「對呀，所以地主三兩天就來拔，看到拔走了那麼多，我不好交代。」
「沒要緊，我不拔了。」繼續拔筍。
拉扯沒意思，她的袋子快滿了，我就叫她不可以再拔，她很不情願背起袋子好像要走，我轉身回去；她看我走開了，馬上到上坡繼續拔筍。
我跟過去問，「妳是要拿去賣的，是不是？」
「不是，我自己吃。」
「那麼妳這樣已經夠吃了，不要再拔了，好不好？不然我怎麼跟地主交代？這樣我怎麼作人？」她看我站那裡不走了，非常不情願地背起重重的袋子往下面走，每幾步回頭看我有沒有離開。
我搬來烏來第二、三年，還沒養狗之前，部落一個泰雅在我後面山坡smirusa (放夾子)。我不喜歡有人在家附近狩獵。他來巡視時，我請他把夾子撤了，因為我常在那邊走動，也有登山客從旁邊小徑過，有的帶狗，萬一狗被夾住怎麼辦？他聽我講完，二話不說，一聲「好」，馬上把所有夾子拿走，從沒再來放過。
民無信不立，閩南篇
前幾天中午聽到拔筍的聲音，往窗外喊一聲；如果是地住或熟人，會回應。沒有人回應。我出去看，有一個人在竹林整理袋子，我看到的有兩三個麻布袋、兩個大型塑膠垃圾袋。我大聲喊，那人站住不動，不要讓我看到。我叫第二聲，那人轉過身，不要讓我看到臉。我叫到第四聲，還沒有回應，我想這一定是來偷筍的，我繞去靠近再大聲喊，才發現是中年太太。我問，「妳是誰？」
她用閩南語說，「我是阿姨，我的朋友住下面。」她邊講邊拔筍往袋子塞。
「我剛叫，妳怎麼不回答？」
「我沒聽到。」繼續拔筍。
「這是私有地，筍不能拔。」
「沒要緊。」繼續拔筍。
「妳拔一點自己吃沒有關係，可是不能拔太多。」
「沒要緊，我不拔了。」繼續拔筍。一個麻布袋已經裝了一半。
「地主要我看，說有人拔筍就報警，妳不要拔太多。」
「沒要緊，竹子還會再長。」繼續拔筍。
「對呀，所以地主三兩天就來拔，看到拔走了那麼多，我不好交代。」
「沒要緊，我不拔了。」繼續拔筍。
拉扯沒意思，她的袋子快滿了，我就叫她不可以再拔，她很不情願背起袋子好像要走，我轉身回去；她看我走開了，馬上到上坡繼續拔筍。
我跟過去問，「妳是要拿去賣的，是不是？」
「不是，我自己吃。」
「那麼妳這樣已經夠吃了，不要再拔了，好不好？不然我怎麼跟地主交代？這樣我怎麼作人？」她看我站那裡不走了，非常不情願地背起重重的袋子往下面走，每幾步回頭看我有沒有離開。
Friday, May 26, 2006
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Albert Einstein said, "Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds."
But before you get all pleased with yourself, allow me to point out that all those who encounter violent opposition are not necessarily great spirits.
On the other end of the stick, here's an interesting idea from Steve Stringer in Los Alamos NM (in The Atlantic Monthly 06 06 p24) "Marxist thinking has always been a dullard’s pursuit, and those still consumed by it are far from the intellectual vanguard." Marxists cling to their ideas so tenaciously precisely because they are dullards, and they lack the imagination, courage, and mental power to question their beliefs.
But before you get all pleased with yourself, allow me to point out that all those who encounter violent opposition are not necessarily great spirits.
On the other end of the stick, here's an interesting idea from Steve Stringer in Los Alamos NM (in The Atlantic Monthly 06 06 p24) "Marxist thinking has always been a dullard’s pursuit, and those still consumed by it are far from the intellectual vanguard." Marxists cling to their ideas so tenaciously precisely because they are dullards, and they lack the imagination, courage, and mental power to question their beliefs.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
There are three kinds of mind.
The first is full of cement. Society, school, television, church, peers, and movies pour in cement. It sets and hardens and that's the end of it.
The second is full of cement. The person sucks in cement from society, school, television, textbooks, bibles, magazines, learned books, and scholarly journals. The cement sets and hardens and that's the end of it.
The third is rich, fertile soil, in which a seed can germinate, sprout, and grow. This mind is rare.
The first is full of cement. Society, school, television, church, peers, and movies pour in cement. It sets and hardens and that's the end of it.
The second is full of cement. The person sucks in cement from society, school, television, textbooks, bibles, magazines, learned books, and scholarly journals. The cement sets and hardens and that's the end of it.
The third is rich, fertile soil, in which a seed can germinate, sprout, and grow. This mind is rare.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Monday, May 22, 2006
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Michael Robert Smith escaped from prison in California on June 7, 1968 while serving time for a robbery conviction. He has never had any trouble with the law since. For the last five years, he has lived in a tiny trailer in the woods of Oklahoma, doing menial, low paying jobs so he could feed himself without a social security number or drivers license.
Last Thursday, law enforcement officers from California tracked him down after 38 years and are now hauling him back to jail.
What are prisons for? If prisons are institutes of correction, I would say that 38 years without a run-in with the law is proof that he has been corrected, and can live as a useful citizen.
If prisons are institutes of punishment, 38 years of low paying hard labor should be punishment enough. This man was not jailed for murder or rape.
My solution is, return him to jail, just to prove that those who escape will be tracked down. Then give him a parole and a job after three months.
Unless my memory fails me, the President and Vice President both have criminal records, as do many members of Congress. That is irrelevant; they are rich, powerful people, and Smith is poor. Stomp on him!
Last Thursday, law enforcement officers from California tracked him down after 38 years and are now hauling him back to jail.
What are prisons for? If prisons are institutes of correction, I would say that 38 years without a run-in with the law is proof that he has been corrected, and can live as a useful citizen.
If prisons are institutes of punishment, 38 years of low paying hard labor should be punishment enough. This man was not jailed for murder or rape.
My solution is, return him to jail, just to prove that those who escape will be tracked down. Then give him a parole and a job after three months.
Unless my memory fails me, the President and Vice President both have criminal records, as do many members of Congress. That is irrelevant; they are rich, powerful people, and Smith is poor. Stomp on him!
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Men's rooms and women's rooms are separated by sex for the sake of decency and safety. Toilets are separated so no one feels sexual pressure while relieving bladder and bowel pressure.
That is the theory, anyway. Straight men steer clear of the public toilets in the 228 Park, if they know what's good for them.
This raises a question. If toilets are segregated by sex, and if we are supposed to respect all sexual orientations, there should be four toilets: Men's, Women's, Gay, and Lesbian. You should probably even add some extras for transsexuals, drag, and so forth.
That adds up to enormous costs in space and equipment. How far is society willing to go to accommodate homosexuals? Put your money where your mouth is; do people really want to respect homosexuals, or do people just pay lip service when it is trendy, convenient, and doesn't cost anything (anything tangible, that is)?
Simplify life: take down the signs and make all toilets unisex.
No?
That is the theory, anyway. Straight men steer clear of the public toilets in the 228 Park, if they know what's good for them.
This raises a question. If toilets are segregated by sex, and if we are supposed to respect all sexual orientations, there should be four toilets: Men's, Women's, Gay, and Lesbian. You should probably even add some extras for transsexuals, drag, and so forth.
That adds up to enormous costs in space and equipment. How far is society willing to go to accommodate homosexuals? Put your money where your mouth is; do people really want to respect homosexuals, or do people just pay lip service when it is trendy, convenient, and doesn't cost anything (anything tangible, that is)?
Simplify life: take down the signs and make all toilets unisex.
No?
Friday, May 19, 2006
The White House has spoken out concerning the fights over the immigration bills and making English the national language. The president says he wants to make sure that people who become American citizens have a command of the English language.
Very well said, sir, and I suggest you teach by example. Why don't you learn some English grammar and work on your vocabulary too?
Very well said, sir, and I suggest you teach by example. Why don't you learn some English grammar and work on your vocabulary too?
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
We are having the first typhoon of the season, coming up the Taiwan Strait, which is unusual. Sort of early for a typhoon, anyway. Rain, rain, rain, but the mountains are spectacular.
Just now I looked out the window and saw the sky full of flying bugs. At first glance I thought it was dragonflies. You know those black bugs, sort of like termites, only larger? They seemed to be swarming out of the slope to the north, hundreds and hundreds of them. From my porch, the whole sky is full of them, everywhere you look.
I had never seen that before.
天下甚麼事情最難？
爬聖母峰難？不難。花幾十年鍛鍊身體、培養技術、儲蓄錢，早兩個月去適應，就可以爬上去，解決了。
中樂透難嗎？不難。碰運氣就中了，留住巨財才比較難，冷靜一下就不難。
作曲難嗎？Mozart五歲能作曲。畫畫難嗎？Picasso十三歲的油畫嚇人。
天下最難的事情是甚麼？修行。從無始劫帶來的業、習氣、緣，要想轉它，必須狠狠地面對自己，而人最不願意作的事情，就是面對自己。修行要觀照起心動念、明了自己在幹甚麼，徹知自己為甚麼要作這些事 (幹麼要爬聖母峰？喜歡這種音樂，是甚麼個念頭？選購這件襯衫，把另一個放回架上，是基于何種心？對店員的態度是甚麼道理？對蜘蛛有恐懼、對兔子有喜愛，是怎麼來的？)
你以為讀了佛經就免費贈送答案嗎？對不起，若有人說佛有所說法，是為謗佛，無有定法，只有筏。把它丟掉！
時時刻刻，清醒時反省所作所為，到底是在幹甚麼，睡眠就有夢攷。修行是二十四小時，死時未了，還要過許多關才能了，牛頭馬面、阿彌陀佛，該如何處置？都是修行。
比起來，爬聖母峰、叫公雞生蛋，還算甚麼呢？
爬聖母峰難？不難。花幾十年鍛鍊身體、培養技術、儲蓄錢，早兩個月去適應，就可以爬上去，解決了。
中樂透難嗎？不難。碰運氣就中了，留住巨財才比較難，冷靜一下就不難。
作曲難嗎？Mozart五歲能作曲。畫畫難嗎？Picasso十三歲的油畫嚇人。
天下最難的事情是甚麼？修行。從無始劫帶來的業、習氣、緣，要想轉它，必須狠狠地面對自己，而人最不願意作的事情，就是面對自己。修行要觀照起心動念、明了自己在幹甚麼，徹知自己為甚麼要作這些事 (幹麼要爬聖母峰？喜歡這種音樂，是甚麼個念頭？選購這件襯衫，把另一個放回架上，是基于何種心？對店員的態度是甚麼道理？對蜘蛛有恐懼、對兔子有喜愛，是怎麼來的？)
你以為讀了佛經就免費贈送答案嗎？對不起，若有人說佛有所說法，是為謗佛，無有定法，只有筏。把它丟掉！
時時刻刻，清醒時反省所作所為，到底是在幹甚麼，睡眠就有夢攷。修行是二十四小時，死時未了，還要過許多關才能了，牛頭馬面、阿彌陀佛，該如何處置？都是修行。
比起來，爬聖母峰、叫公雞生蛋，還算甚麼呢？
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
A refugee's story
I tried to make a verbatim copy of this story as I heard it. This was told to me in 1981, in English, by a refugee from mainland China who made his home in Singapore. The events took place in the late 1960s.
My friend same me come from the mainland, but he come out during Culture Revolution, an he go Singapore, same me.
But when he go Singapore, he dint have the money, an he very poor an hungry, so he very worry, what to do? But he don't know how many people, an he have no job, so he very worry, maybe he could starve to death.
So one day he notice a bank, the Moscow Numbalubnim Bank. You know the Moscow Numbalubnim Bank registered in London, but owned by the Soviet government, they have branches only Moscow, London, Singapore. My friend saw this, he studied Russian many years in China. He can speak not very well but he knows Russian an can speak, so he go into bank an ask to open account, but he speak only Russian. The clerk they only speak English, they don't understand Russian, an they speak English an Chinese to him, but he dint say anything else, he just keeps speaking Russian.
So finally they get an official out to talk to him, a Soviet Union man, an he is very happy, Oh! You speak Russian? Everybody in Singapore speak English, you can speak Russian it is very good. So my friend he speak very long with the Russian, an open an account in the Moscow Bank, an the Russian says, you have an overdraft it is not the matter, for ten thousand dollars Singapore the overdraft is all right.
An my friend he very happy with the Russian. The Russian he is very happy too. The Russian also he likes to fish very much, he loves to fish but where to fish in Singapore? With no boat, have no place to fish.
So my friend tells the Russian, you want to fish is okay, this weekend we go fish, an he went to seaside to dock, have many boat there, can rent some an some people like to go fish. So my friend he call all the fish people together an says, Tomorrow I rent one boat, I take foreigner go fish, no matter he says what, you smile an say yes, yes, an I pay ten times price. All fish people very happy because he said one foreigner, he did not say is one Soviet Union people. He use overdraft money for do this.
So the weekend, weather very nice. He borrow car an drive bank officer to the dock, and says, What boat you like fish in? An the bank officer he sees many many boat, all beautiful an nice fishing boat. He says, Is all right? My friend says of course! Just say what boat you want ride in, I own thirty per cent of every these boat. So the Russian he very happy, and he choose one boat, and they go on an go out to sea an fish an oh, so happy!
So they fish all day an Russian very very happy. Then he say to my friend, Are you brave to take adventure? An my friend says, I don't know. The Russian then says, Much much money if you brave for adventure, an my friend thinks, I don't have money, I don't have job, I someday will starve, maybe take adventure is okay.
The Russian say, You take boat an go to Viet Nam, buy machines an bring back to Singapore, can sell much money. My friend say, But I don't have much money, how can I buy many machines? The Russian says, We give you bank draft from Moscow Numbalubnim Bank, you take to Viet Nam can buy many machine, you sell in Singapore an later pay back Moscow Bank is okay.
So my friend he find another friend, also is Culture Revolution come from mainland China, also was starve, my friend ask him, You are brave to take adventure? If we didn't adventure, maybe we starve to death in Singapore, so take adventure is okay.
They take the bank draft from the Moscow Bank an they go to Viet Nam on a boat they rent from fish people. They have address of a man in Viet Nam, Moscow bank man give them the address. So in Viet Nam they find this one man, and for bank draft he bring to dock many many machine, bulldozer and backhoe and earthmover, many many machine because the boat is big an they fill the boat. All these machines are from US Army an all are very very new, how you say, brand new, never been used. Each one drives on boat in Viet Nam with its own power, an my friend gives Moscow Bank draft for man in Viet Nam, an my friend he go back Singapore. In Singapore is have big crane pick up each machine from deck an put on dock. The customs man stand on deck an see crane put machine on dock. Why not drive down? Because these scrap metal, cannot be used, so we bring to Singapore to sell as scrap metal.
So he paid scrap metal rate for customs duty an then he take brand new US Army machine an paint the another color and he sell for very high price. He paid back to Moscow bank an had plenty money left after an now he is a very very rich man.
I tried to make a verbatim copy of this story as I heard it. This was told to me in 1981, in English, by a refugee from mainland China who made his home in Singapore. The events took place in the late 1960s.
My friend same me come from the mainland, but he come out during Culture Revolution, an he go Singapore, same me.
But when he go Singapore, he dint have the money, an he very poor an hungry, so he very worry, what to do? But he don't know how many people, an he have no job, so he very worry, maybe he could starve to death.
So one day he notice a bank, the Moscow Numbalubnim Bank. You know the Moscow Numbalubnim Bank registered in London, but owned by the Soviet government, they have branches only Moscow, London, Singapore. My friend saw this, he studied Russian many years in China. He can speak not very well but he knows Russian an can speak, so he go into bank an ask to open account, but he speak only Russian. The clerk they only speak English, they don't understand Russian, an they speak English an Chinese to him, but he dint say anything else, he just keeps speaking Russian.
So finally they get an official out to talk to him, a Soviet Union man, an he is very happy, Oh! You speak Russian? Everybody in Singapore speak English, you can speak Russian it is very good. So my friend he speak very long with the Russian, an open an account in the Moscow Bank, an the Russian says, you have an overdraft it is not the matter, for ten thousand dollars Singapore the overdraft is all right.
An my friend he very happy with the Russian. The Russian he is very happy too. The Russian also he likes to fish very much, he loves to fish but where to fish in Singapore? With no boat, have no place to fish.
So my friend tells the Russian, you want to fish is okay, this weekend we go fish, an he went to seaside to dock, have many boat there, can rent some an some people like to go fish. So my friend he call all the fish people together an says, Tomorrow I rent one boat, I take foreigner go fish, no matter he says what, you smile an say yes, yes, an I pay ten times price. All fish people very happy because he said one foreigner, he did not say is one Soviet Union people. He use overdraft money for do this.
So the weekend, weather very nice. He borrow car an drive bank officer to the dock, and says, What boat you like fish in? An the bank officer he sees many many boat, all beautiful an nice fishing boat. He says, Is all right? My friend says of course! Just say what boat you want ride in, I own thirty per cent of every these boat. So the Russian he very happy, and he choose one boat, and they go on an go out to sea an fish an oh, so happy!
So they fish all day an Russian very very happy. Then he say to my friend, Are you brave to take adventure? An my friend says, I don't know. The Russian then says, Much much money if you brave for adventure, an my friend thinks, I don't have money, I don't have job, I someday will starve, maybe take adventure is okay.
The Russian say, You take boat an go to Viet Nam, buy machines an bring back to Singapore, can sell much money. My friend say, But I don't have much money, how can I buy many machines? The Russian says, We give you bank draft from Moscow Numbalubnim Bank, you take to Viet Nam can buy many machine, you sell in Singapore an later pay back Moscow Bank is okay.
So my friend he find another friend, also is Culture Revolution come from mainland China, also was starve, my friend ask him, You are brave to take adventure? If we didn't adventure, maybe we starve to death in Singapore, so take adventure is okay.
They take the bank draft from the Moscow Bank an they go to Viet Nam on a boat they rent from fish people. They have address of a man in Viet Nam, Moscow bank man give them the address. So in Viet Nam they find this one man, and for bank draft he bring to dock many many machine, bulldozer and backhoe and earthmover, many many machine because the boat is big an they fill the boat. All these machines are from US Army an all are very very new, how you say, brand new, never been used. Each one drives on boat in Viet Nam with its own power, an my friend gives Moscow Bank draft for man in Viet Nam, an my friend he go back Singapore. In Singapore is have big crane pick up each machine from deck an put on dock. The customs man stand on deck an see crane put machine on dock. Why not drive down? Because these scrap metal, cannot be used, so we bring to Singapore to sell as scrap metal.
So he paid scrap metal rate for customs duty an then he take brand new US Army machine an paint the another color and he sell for very high price. He paid back to Moscow bank an had plenty money left after an now he is a very very rich man.
Monday, May 15, 2006
Pesky little Yumin is quite a changed dog. I can pinpoint the time he changed: around 10:30 Tuesday morning, when I brought Byajing home, and Cupid shot Tlahuy and Yumin, burying the fletches in Yumin. He suddenly became a mature, attentive gentleman, ready to scamper tenderly so as not to hurt her, equally ready to leap into action to protect her from the slightest harm.
The first afternoon she came, we were outdoors, Byajing was prancing back and forth in puppy clumsiness. I happened to glance back and saw Yumin sitting tranquilly, gazing at little Byajing in quiet adoration. Yumin was so embarrassed to be found out that he leapt to his feet and went charging uphill barking clamorously to protect us from any potential danger.
I had planned to keep Byajing in the first floor bathroom for a while, taking her out maybe an hour a day to acclimate her and let the big dogs get used to her. That isn't working out. Byajing hates to be indoors, and the big boys linger at the front door waiting for her. So now she's outdoors all day, and comes in only after dark or when I'm gone.
She begins barking at daybreak, so I deposit her outdoors. The first couple of days, when I took her out, I carried my blanket downstairs to sleep by the living room door, just in case. When she had done her duty, she wanted back indoors, and she snuggled up inside my blanket. After three days, she was big enough to stay outdoors without coming in for that extra cuddle.
Denise the Vet came to give Tlahuy and Yumin their annual shots. Isn't that great? A veterinarian who makes house calls. This way the dogs don't have to make the trek to the city. It is too early to give Byajing more shots, but Denise planned to check her temperature.
I sat on a chair and called Tlahuy to me. I pulled him across my lap and her assistant fed him treats as Denise gave Tlahuy his shots. He was very brave. Yumin got wind of what was up and started balking. I finally got him into my lap and he got his shots. His dignity had been wounded. As soon as I let him down, he walked off very briskly (walked, mind you, not ran) and sat in thick grass, sulking as far away from us as he could on the property. I went to comfort him and give him a snack, which helped, but he stayed there, still pouting, refusing to move. I called him and offered more snacks, but Yumin stayed put.
Then it was baby Byajing's turn. I held her as Denise took her temperature: rectal thermometer. Byajing yelped, and Yumin came charging to the rescue, eyes blazing, ears flapping, hackles up, tail aloft! When he saw Byajing safe in my arms, he turned around and returned to his thicket to continue sulking where he had left off.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
民國九十一年四月在臺大參加人類學國際學術研討會後寫的：
最近在臺大參加人類學研討會，最吸引我的是一位著名學者的邵族歌謠研究。書面報告稱以音樂學探討邵族的情形，但僅做幾首歌詞的翻譯，至於音樂學分析、人類學詮釋，則全無。
該教授口述報告，先說明他本來要做音樂學的分析，但是完全不懂音樂，也找不到專家跟他配合。接著花了不少時間依語音論邵族的族屬(炒冷飯)，然後用cd 放了兩三首邵族的歌，就收場了，謝謝各位。口述報告內容完全不討論歌的內涵、意義、傳承、曲調、節奏、章法。「廣告期間」說是人類學、音樂學的結合，結果只做了一些疏鬆表面的翻譯。
講完之後，評論人歌功頌德，只隱隱約約提了一兩個不管緊要的疑問，教授艴然不樂，裝模作樣拿起書本看，表明不理睬評論教授。
這是台灣學術界的制學態度嗎？大學部的學生如果上台作這麼膚淺、敷衍的報告已經很丟臉，而這位李教授是中央研究院的研究員。反正他名氣很大，挐他有甚麼辦法？
最近在臺大參加人類學研討會，最吸引我的是一位著名學者的邵族歌謠研究。書面報告稱以音樂學探討邵族的情形，但僅做幾首歌詞的翻譯，至於音樂學分析、人類學詮釋，則全無。
該教授口述報告，先說明他本來要做音樂學的分析，但是完全不懂音樂，也找不到專家跟他配合。接著花了不少時間依語音論邵族的族屬(炒冷飯)，然後用cd 放了兩三首邵族的歌，就收場了，謝謝各位。口述報告內容完全不討論歌的內涵、意義、傳承、曲調、節奏、章法。「廣告期間」說是人類學、音樂學的結合，結果只做了一些疏鬆表面的翻譯。
講完之後，評論人歌功頌德，只隱隱約約提了一兩個不管緊要的疑問，教授艴然不樂，裝模作樣拿起書本看，表明不理睬評論教授。
這是台灣學術界的制學態度嗎？大學部的學生如果上台作這麼膚淺、敷衍的報告已經很丟臉，而這位李教授是中央研究院的研究員。反正他名氣很大，挐他有甚麼辦法？
Saturday, May 13, 2006
臺灣有個現象我實在無法接受。舉個例吧。 兩三年前有一位老先生，輕微老人癡呆多年，家人沒照顧好，有一天在羅斯福路騎摩托車，歪歪斜斜的，突然倒下去，後方來車來不及煞車，壓過去了，年邁無照駕駛就這樣騎車歸西去了，結果後面倒楣司機還要賠失職家屬十幾萬，叫做「道義上的責任」。出錢司機寬宏大量沒話說，可是我問你，道與義在哪裡？直接說「倒楣勒索」好了。
Temu開烏來線公車；有一次在該轉彎的地方轉彎，中規中矩，忽然一部黑色BMW衝來搶路；Temu按喇叭煞車，來車太猛，撞上Temu的巴士。BMW司機一臉流氓相，凶得很；凶甚麼凶，是你自己笨蛋撞上來；Temu大概看出我想打人，叫我先離開。後來Temu還賠了幾千塊。我真不懂怎會有人拿得下這種錢。開BMW就是想炫耀有錢，公車司機賺錢辛苦，好意思開口要錢嗎？
拿去作棺材本吧。
Temu開烏來線公車；有一次在該轉彎的地方轉彎，中規中矩，忽然一部黑色BMW衝來搶路；Temu按喇叭煞車，來車太猛，撞上Temu的巴士。BMW司機一臉流氓相，凶得很；凶甚麼凶，是你自己笨蛋撞上來；Temu大概看出我想打人，叫我先離開。後來Temu還賠了幾千塊。我真不懂怎會有人拿得下這種錢。開BMW就是想炫耀有錢，公車司機賺錢辛苦，好意思開口要錢嗎？
拿去作棺材本吧。
Friday, May 12, 2006
I was probably the only person to register for the draft at the US Embassy in Saigon during the Viet Nam war.
I didn't intend to secure this honor, it just happened. I was in Saigon on my 18th birthday and you had to register for the draft when you turned 18, and the Embassy was the place to do it. There was a war going on, you weren't supposed to be in Viet Nam if you were an American minor, unless you had a uniform and a gun, in which case you didn't need to register for the draft. But there I was, no uniform, no gun. Visa? Let's not get into the details, I did some fancy footwork with my visa application and when it was time to apply for an exit visa, explained to the authorities that I had lost all my papers to cowboys, a reasonable explanation they accepted without question. Cowboys were what young robbers were called, because they rode scooters and shot like cowboys on a spree.
So as a law-abiding citizen (let's not talk about that visa, ok?) I was duty bound to register for the draft. The people at the bakery took me to a Chinese restaurant for a memorable lunch. Oh those mushrooms! Oh five bowls of rice! They neglected to tell me they had made me a cake, so I ate more than my full at lunch, only to be presented with this cake the memory of which still makes me drool, so I packed away a good portion of that. I could barely waddle when I stood up from the table.
Off to the Embassy, then, a horrid place we disliked, avoided, maligned, and distrusted. I showed my passport to the Marine Guard and was allowed in through the barricades and guns. I explained my mission to the clerk in American Services, a middle aged lady with a sprayed hairdo and tight pants over a thick behind, and you could tell she had excelled in her Foreign Service training in Advanced Superciliousness and Unpleasantry. She directed me to the Consul's office. The Consul! A few months later he broke his leg in a traffic accident and all the American contract workers in Viet Nam went out and got drunk in celebration, and most of the Koreans.
I entered his office, showed him my passport, and announced that as a good law-abiding American citizen, I was presenting myself to him to register for the draft, as it was my 18th birthday. He actually was civil to me. It was either an off day, or the novelty of the situation diluted the acid. He said, "Oh goody, nobody's ever done this before. We should have the forms, we are required by law to have the forms even if nobody uses them, but I have no idea where they are." He searched through his file cabinets and procured the forms we needed. "I've never done this before," he confided.
"Neither have I," said I, returning his confidence. In retrospect, I realize he was being very diplomatic in not asking me just what I was doing in country. My only recourse would have been to wave my Tri 9 Pizza Company ID at him.
He made his way through the form. The solemn ceremony of Swearing the Oath was not quite solemn. He didn't even lift his head from the form. I flipped up my right palm and swore that … I forget what I swore. All of the above is true and factual and I am eager to go out and die for my country, something like that.
When we finished, Consul smiled (I thought Foreign Service officers weren't allowed to do that)(I later reported to Frank and Chuck that Consul didn't really have fangs OR a forked tongue, but they didn't believe me) and said, "Since you're overseas, I doubt that they'll draft you, and if they do, they'll probably send you to Peoria or Indianapolis." I would have preferred Hue or Can Tho, but they never did bother to draft me anyway.
So that is the true, genuine, authentic, bona fide story of how I registered for the draft at the US Embassy in Saigon. All true except the part about losing my papers to cowboys.
I didn't intend to secure this honor, it just happened. I was in Saigon on my 18th birthday and you had to register for the draft when you turned 18, and the Embassy was the place to do it. There was a war going on, you weren't supposed to be in Viet Nam if you were an American minor, unless you had a uniform and a gun, in which case you didn't need to register for the draft. But there I was, no uniform, no gun. Visa? Let's not get into the details, I did some fancy footwork with my visa application and when it was time to apply for an exit visa, explained to the authorities that I had lost all my papers to cowboys, a reasonable explanation they accepted without question. Cowboys were what young robbers were called, because they rode scooters and shot like cowboys on a spree.
So as a law-abiding citizen (let's not talk about that visa, ok?) I was duty bound to register for the draft. The people at the bakery took me to a Chinese restaurant for a memorable lunch. Oh those mushrooms! Oh five bowls of rice! They neglected to tell me they had made me a cake, so I ate more than my full at lunch, only to be presented with this cake the memory of which still makes me drool, so I packed away a good portion of that. I could barely waddle when I stood up from the table.
Off to the Embassy, then, a horrid place we disliked, avoided, maligned, and distrusted. I showed my passport to the Marine Guard and was allowed in through the barricades and guns. I explained my mission to the clerk in American Services, a middle aged lady with a sprayed hairdo and tight pants over a thick behind, and you could tell she had excelled in her Foreign Service training in Advanced Superciliousness and Unpleasantry. She directed me to the Consul's office. The Consul! A few months later he broke his leg in a traffic accident and all the American contract workers in Viet Nam went out and got drunk in celebration, and most of the Koreans.
I entered his office, showed him my passport, and announced that as a good law-abiding American citizen, I was presenting myself to him to register for the draft, as it was my 18th birthday. He actually was civil to me. It was either an off day, or the novelty of the situation diluted the acid. He said, "Oh goody, nobody's ever done this before. We should have the forms, we are required by law to have the forms even if nobody uses them, but I have no idea where they are." He searched through his file cabinets and procured the forms we needed. "I've never done this before," he confided.
"Neither have I," said I, returning his confidence. In retrospect, I realize he was being very diplomatic in not asking me just what I was doing in country. My only recourse would have been to wave my Tri 9 Pizza Company ID at him.
He made his way through the form. The solemn ceremony of Swearing the Oath was not quite solemn. He didn't even lift his head from the form. I flipped up my right palm and swore that … I forget what I swore. All of the above is true and factual and I am eager to go out and die for my country, something like that.
When we finished, Consul smiled (I thought Foreign Service officers weren't allowed to do that)(I later reported to Frank and Chuck that Consul didn't really have fangs OR a forked tongue, but they didn't believe me) and said, "Since you're overseas, I doubt that they'll draft you, and if they do, they'll probably send you to Peoria or Indianapolis." I would have preferred Hue or Can Tho, but they never did bother to draft me anyway.
So that is the true, genuine, authentic, bona fide story of how I registered for the draft at the US Embassy in Saigon. All true except the part about losing my papers to cowboys.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Lately I have been reading Chang and Halliday's Mao: the Unknown Story, a horrible book. They back everything up with ample evidence, so I have no reason to doubt what they say. Even if only one per cent were true, Mao would still be a monster. (If you like, please read my review of the book on amazon.com)
I say it is a horrible book not because I distrust it, but because of the content, the evil life of Chairman Mao. This has brought to mind a lot of stories I have heard over the years, which I have been writing down. I am posting some here just so there is a record.
Around 1965, a Chinese family in Indonesia, the Fans, wanted their son to get higher education. In the 1960s, everybody was sure that Taiwan was doomed; Mao was prepared to bring death and destruction to this island. Instead of sending their son to Taiwan, they sent him to mainland China. He got there shortly before the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, which convulsed his school. He was pressured to join one of the Red Guard factions. He chose the wrong one, and after desperate fighting, most of the students in his faction were killed or sent to prison. In prison he was tortured by the victorious Red Guards. I have mercifully forgotten the details, but he still has the scars. They strung him up so he stood on tiptoe for a week. Finally, the torture was ended and he was put in a cell with an old man. Coming from a good family, Fan was very respectful of age, and treated the old man like his own father. The old man was sick and broken, but Fan nursed him back to health. When the old man was stronger, he told Fan that he had been a highly placed official with close ties to Teng Hsiaoping / Deng Xiaoping, and that the Cultural Revolution was designed to purge anyone with any power.
After a period of time, Fan was dragged off to the Chinese Gulag, which was called勞改're-education.' The old man told him, "Without your help, I would have died in this prison cell. I will remember." Cold comfort for Fan. He was put into the fields to do slave labor. He doesn't know where he was, probably somewhere in 新疆Hsinkiang/Xinjiang, and he doesn't even know how long he labored there. Maybe several years.
One day a car came to the camp, always an ominous sign. Everybody stopped working and stood in dread. A cadre got out of the car and called out Fan's name; Fan dropped senseless in a heap, because when they did that, they were taking you away to shoot you.
Fan was placed in the car and driven away. The cadre said only, "I have an envelope for you." 我有一封信要給你
Fan opened the envelope. Inside were travel documents and a one hundred Hong Kong dollar bill. There was no note, not even Fan's name written on the envelope, but Fan understood. Evidently the old man had weathered prison and been rehabilitated when Teng Hsiaoping regained power, and he had not forgotten that he owed his life to Fan.
Fan made his way to Hong Kong and returned to his family, which had long since given him up for dead.
I say it is a horrible book not because I distrust it, but because of the content, the evil life of Chairman Mao. This has brought to mind a lot of stories I have heard over the years, which I have been writing down. I am posting some here just so there is a record.
Around 1965, a Chinese family in Indonesia, the Fans, wanted their son to get higher education. In the 1960s, everybody was sure that Taiwan was doomed; Mao was prepared to bring death and destruction to this island. Instead of sending their son to Taiwan, they sent him to mainland China. He got there shortly before the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, which convulsed his school. He was pressured to join one of the Red Guard factions. He chose the wrong one, and after desperate fighting, most of the students in his faction were killed or sent to prison. In prison he was tortured by the victorious Red Guards. I have mercifully forgotten the details, but he still has the scars. They strung him up so he stood on tiptoe for a week. Finally, the torture was ended and he was put in a cell with an old man. Coming from a good family, Fan was very respectful of age, and treated the old man like his own father. The old man was sick and broken, but Fan nursed him back to health. When the old man was stronger, he told Fan that he had been a highly placed official with close ties to Teng Hsiaoping / Deng Xiaoping, and that the Cultural Revolution was designed to purge anyone with any power.
After a period of time, Fan was dragged off to the Chinese Gulag, which was called勞改're-education.' The old man told him, "Without your help, I would have died in this prison cell. I will remember." Cold comfort for Fan. He was put into the fields to do slave labor. He doesn't know where he was, probably somewhere in 新疆Hsinkiang/Xinjiang, and he doesn't even know how long he labored there. Maybe several years.
One day a car came to the camp, always an ominous sign. Everybody stopped working and stood in dread. A cadre got out of the car and called out Fan's name; Fan dropped senseless in a heap, because when they did that, they were taking you away to shoot you.
Fan was placed in the car and driven away. The cadre said only, "I have an envelope for you." 我有一封信要給你
Fan opened the envelope. Inside were travel documents and a one hundred Hong Kong dollar bill. There was no note, not even Fan's name written on the envelope, but Fan understood. Evidently the old man had weathered prison and been rehabilitated when Teng Hsiaoping regained power, and he had not forgotten that he owed his life to Fan.
Fan made his way to Hong Kong and returned to his family, which had long since given him up for dead.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
When poor little Bengax died last year, Tlahuy and Yumin were morose. Tlahuy and Bengax were born in the same litter. The only time they were apart was the time a typhoon spooked Bengax and she ran away for a few days. They were always together. They even sat and lay down at the same angle.
When Yumin came, Tlahuy and Bengax picked on him fiercely. Once their positions were established, Tlahuy was more aloof. Bengax would act crazy with Yumin, but she was sometimes very mean to him. Yumin adored Bengax.
When Bengax died, there was nobody to lie outside with Tlahuy, as pesky Yumin is always off somewhere into mischief. There was nobody to frolic madly with Yumin, because Tlahuy is really too dignified for that.
I decided we needed another little girl, and I decided on a Taiwan Dog 臺灣土狗. Tlahuy and Bengax are 1/8 Taiwan Dog, and I figured the loyalty of the breed would keep her close to Tlahuy, but she would be frisky enough for Yumin.
Chi's purebred TD had puppies on March 20. I originally hoped for a striped pup, but the only striped one in the litter was a male, and I hoped for a female. However, two of the pups were grey, which is extremely rare. One was a girl, so I asked for her. Now she is showing stripes; perhaps like a Dalmatian's spots, these don't always show up immediately. So it looks like I'll get my striped dog after all.
She arrived this morning. Her name is Byajing, moon in Tayal, because Bengax means star. I was a bit worried that the boys would be rough, but they are both treating her like a little princess. I think they are both in love with her. After we all got to know each other, I put Byajing in the bathroom, and she promptly fell asleep. Tlahuy and Yumin waited outside the front door like boys waiting for an actress to appear.
I have posted more photos at http://www.flickr.com/photos/94448433@N00/
Monday, May 08, 2006
桂竹筍
This is a lovely season in Wulai: the bamboo is shooting. If you see a shoot that doesn't seem large enough to eat, why, just wait a bit; the other day I passed up a shoot that was almost waist high, and the next day it was taller than I. When I am ready to make lunch, out the back door I go, and after a leisurely five minute stroll return with an armful of bamboo shoots. I boil water as I peel them. They could be fresher only if I had the water boiling when I came in the door.
Part of the pleasure is the deliciously fresh shoots; the other part is informing people, especially those abroad, of how fresh they are, and oh that's true, you can get only canned shoots in the US, right? How sad. And not even canned shoots in the UK, right? Oh, you must miss the bamboo shoots in Taiwan! Mmm, these are so fresh, right out of the ground and taste so good, yum yum, straight from the ground to the pot.
Those I can't irritate by email, I use my blog to reach.
This is a lovely season in Wulai: the bamboo is shooting. If you see a shoot that doesn't seem large enough to eat, why, just wait a bit; the other day I passed up a shoot that was almost waist high, and the next day it was taller than I. When I am ready to make lunch, out the back door I go, and after a leisurely five minute stroll return with an armful of bamboo shoots. I boil water as I peel them. They could be fresher only if I had the water boiling when I came in the door.
Part of the pleasure is the deliciously fresh shoots; the other part is informing people, especially those abroad, of how fresh they are, and oh that's true, you can get only canned shoots in the US, right? How sad. And not even canned shoots in the UK, right? Oh, you must miss the bamboo shoots in Taiwan! Mmm, these are so fresh, right out of the ground and taste so good, yum yum, straight from the ground to the pot.
Those I can't irritate by email, I use my blog to reach.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Saturday, May 06, 2006
剛學佛時，訝異發現原來很多僧侶是穿著出家衣的庸俗人。照理說，出家是多難的事呀！需要多大的福報、多堅強的毅力，才可圓頂為天人師。可是很多出家人，上殿作課，應付應付；頂禮合掌，敷衍塞責。為甚麼不像廣欽老和尚、苑裡師父？這些出家眾明明是飯桶屎囊，為甚麼戒律上我們要敬之如菩薩？大失所望。
後來慢慢了解，來果禪師不可多得，蓮池大師曠世無幾。即使玄奘法師，也不能獨當一面，需要僧團的傳承、護持，才能有所成就。沒有這些庸俗僧，大和尚要接電話、報稅、擦大殿、買菜；這都是修行沒錯，打坐誦經洗衣炒菜，無有高下。但根器深淺是事實；洗衣服，大家都會，可是可以上座帶眾有幾個？倘若沒有人劈柴擦地，就沒有大殿上的高僧；如果沒有這些庸懶頑強僧，就沒有廣欽老和尚、苑裡師父。因此，遇到出家人，必須敬之如菩薩。
世尊菩提樹下打坐時，如果沒有魔女獻攷，或許世尊更難成就。因此我們也該感激魔女。連魔女都該敬之如菩薩，何況不起眼的出家眾！
後來慢慢了解，來果禪師不可多得，蓮池大師曠世無幾。即使玄奘法師，也不能獨當一面，需要僧團的傳承、護持，才能有所成就。沒有這些庸俗僧，大和尚要接電話、報稅、擦大殿、買菜；這都是修行沒錯，打坐誦經洗衣炒菜，無有高下。但根器深淺是事實；洗衣服，大家都會，可是可以上座帶眾有幾個？倘若沒有人劈柴擦地，就沒有大殿上的高僧；如果沒有這些庸懶頑強僧，就沒有廣欽老和尚、苑裡師父。因此，遇到出家人，必須敬之如菩薩。
世尊菩提樹下打坐時，如果沒有魔女獻攷，或許世尊更難成就。因此我們也該感激魔女。連魔女都該敬之如菩薩，何況不起眼的出家眾！
Friday, May 05, 2006
Mr 鄒/Tsou was born in central China, I forget just where. During WWII, he fought with the KMT against the Japanese. After the war, they fought against the communists, but were forced back.
Through all the fighting, he had been inseparable from a childhood friend from his village. They held together through thick and thin.
Finally, they had to decide. Tsou wanted to follow Chiang Kai Shek to Taiwan. His friend said, "Taiwan is so small, what will you eat there?” The friend stayed, and Tsou came to Taiwan. Eventually he left the army, got married, and raised three beautiful daughters.
After Mao died, tensions loosened, and return to mainland China was possible for the first time in decades. Tsou went to his hometown, and found his old friend. When the friend saw Tsou, he took Tsou's hand and cried and cried and cried. All he could say was, "You have no idea how we suffered.”
Finally they composed themselves enough to talk. He had bad news for Tsou. Because Tsou had gone to Taiwan, it was assumed that he must come from a rich background; in backcountry China, 'rich' might mean having a jade bracelet passed down for generations. The communists forced Tsou's family to turn over their gold, but they had none. The cadres accused them of hiding gold, so their home was torn down, but no gold was found. The family was accused of burying gold, so the whole house plot was dug up to a depth of a meter, in search of gold, but none was found.
More bad news: Tsou's father had survived for years by eating bark, but died in the early 1960s. The communists were starving all of the peasants, and especially those with any ties to the KMT. Tsou's entire family starved to death, as did his friend's. His friend was the sole survivor of either family, and he survived for over ten years on bark, wild grasses, insects, and dirt.
Through all the fighting, he had been inseparable from a childhood friend from his village. They held together through thick and thin.
Finally, they had to decide. Tsou wanted to follow Chiang Kai Shek to Taiwan. His friend said, "Taiwan is so small, what will you eat there?” The friend stayed, and Tsou came to Taiwan. Eventually he left the army, got married, and raised three beautiful daughters.
After Mao died, tensions loosened, and return to mainland China was possible for the first time in decades. Tsou went to his hometown, and found his old friend. When the friend saw Tsou, he took Tsou's hand and cried and cried and cried. All he could say was, "You have no idea how we suffered.”
Finally they composed themselves enough to talk. He had bad news for Tsou. Because Tsou had gone to Taiwan, it was assumed that he must come from a rich background; in backcountry China, 'rich' might mean having a jade bracelet passed down for generations. The communists forced Tsou's family to turn over their gold, but they had none. The cadres accused them of hiding gold, so their home was torn down, but no gold was found. The family was accused of burying gold, so the whole house plot was dug up to a depth of a meter, in search of gold, but none was found.
More bad news: Tsou's father had survived for years by eating bark, but died in the early 1960s. The communists were starving all of the peasants, and especially those with any ties to the KMT. Tsou's entire family starved to death, as did his friend's. His friend was the sole survivor of either family, and he survived for over ten years on bark, wild grasses, insects, and dirt.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
This morning I saw a scene that dates back thousands and thousands of years.
The bamboo shoots are in season. Taz'i, Lmuy, and Tenuy came to pluck the shoots, and brought along Lmuy's granddaughter, about two. I went out to chat. The adults were off in the jungle on the slopes, and had left the granddaughter sitting on a sack on the path, out of mischief, out of danger. The adults told her to stay put, and kept talking to her so she wouldn't worry or bolt. The clothing is different, but this is a scene that has been played innumerable times by our ancestors over millennia.
As I was thinking these deep thoughts, Yumin raced up the path towards some unknowable object. As he passed the little girl, almost without breaking his stride, Yumin reached over and licked her face, and continued charging uphill.
The bamboo shoots are in season. Taz'i, Lmuy, and Tenuy came to pluck the shoots, and brought along Lmuy's granddaughter, about two. I went out to chat. The adults were off in the jungle on the slopes, and had left the granddaughter sitting on a sack on the path, out of mischief, out of danger. The adults told her to stay put, and kept talking to her so she wouldn't worry or bolt. The clothing is different, but this is a scene that has been played innumerable times by our ancestors over millennia.
As I was thinking these deep thoughts, Yumin raced up the path towards some unknowable object. As he passed the little girl, almost without breaking his stride, Yumin reached over and licked her face, and continued charging uphill.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
People ask what keeps me in Taiwan.
Once long ago I was on a bus in a heavy rainstorm. There were three thuggish young construction workers wearing hard hats, one sitting, two standing. An old man, obviously a retired soldier, got on the bus. The sitting thug got up and gave him his seat. The rain was so hard that the roof started leaking, and as luck would have it, it was leaking on the old man's bald head. One of the thugs took off his hard hat and used it to catch the raindrops. No ballet or opera could have been more beautiful.
This evening on the subway home, at the CKS Memorial, a lady got on with two little girls. A teenage boy got up to give them his seat, but the lady would not sit, because an old man had gotten on at the same stop, and he was standing. They wrangled, the old man insisting he could stand. In a moment, a man yielded his seat so they could all sit down. I would rather see that than the Mona Lisa.
Once long ago I was on a bus in a heavy rainstorm. There were three thuggish young construction workers wearing hard hats, one sitting, two standing. An old man, obviously a retired soldier, got on the bus. The sitting thug got up and gave him his seat. The rain was so hard that the roof started leaking, and as luck would have it, it was leaking on the old man's bald head. One of the thugs took off his hard hat and used it to catch the raindrops. No ballet or opera could have been more beautiful.
This evening on the subway home, at the CKS Memorial, a lady got on with two little girls. A teenage boy got up to give them his seat, but the lady would not sit, because an old man had gotten on at the same stop, and he was standing. They wrangled, the old man insisting he could stand. In a moment, a man yielded his seat so they could all sit down. I would rather see that than the Mona Lisa.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Anybody reading these words on a computer screen probably lives in a glut of consumer products. It is hard for us today to notice how many things we have around us; this makes it hard for us to realize how easily things come to us.
Magazines and newspapers bombard us with photographs from around the world. In an agricultural society, when travel was laborious and all effort was dedicated to getting enough to eat, the only pictures people might see throughout their entire lifetimes might have been murals in temples or churches.
In hunting gathering societies, they may have never seen pictures beyond cave or cliff paintings, body paintings, or decorations on tools, and those were few.
I have a good sized collection of CDs, mostly Baroque. If I wish to hear Telemann's recorder duets, I have two versions, Pehrsson + Laurin or Petri + Selin. I can listen to Casals play Bach's unaccompanied cello suites, Veracini, Barsanti, Bigaglia, flutes, lutes, or toots. Right now I am listening to Bruggen playing Corelli's La Follia on the recorder for the umpteenth time. Someone a hundred years ago might have been able to hear that only once in a lifetime, and someone five hundred years ago never had a chance to hear it at all, because Corelli hadn't been born five hundred years ago. Sorry, couldn't resist that one.
If I tire of Corelli, I can listen to Egyptian villagers singing work songs, the Beatles, Ewan McColl singing shanties, or Paiwan nose flute. Such a wide range of listening was unavailable to our forebears. With the shanties, some people might not think that is such a bad thing. But my point is, these are available.
I couldn't find Chang's biography of Mao in the bookstores, so I ordered it from Amazon. I shudder every time I remember trying to buy English language books in Taiwan twenty years ago. English and American books were very high priced, and limited in content to best sellers and textbooks. If you wanted to order, first you had to know the publisher, find the address, write for a catalogue, wait to see if they sent it to you, choose your book, go to the bank for a US dollar cashier's check (a struggle in itself), send that off, and wait and wait. Four months was good time.
Even still, you could get books. I forget who it was, but there was one determinted scholar around the sixth century who wished to study 漢書\The Book of the Han. Never mind the book, he couldn't afford paper, so he got a job as a gatekeeper\閽人 for an influential personage. There he collected guests’ calling cards\名刺, which in those days were written on sheets of red paper. He used the other side to copy out the Han. My copy of the Han comes to 4,300 pages in five volumes, so the Influential Personage must have had a lot of company, because the scholar succeeded in copying out the entire Han on the back of calling cards, whereupon he commenced to study it.
In the Sung dynasty, Su Shih (蘇軾 1037-1101) wrote, "I once met an old Confucian master who said that in his youth he wished to find Historical Records and The Book of the Han, but they were unavailable. Fortunately he found them, so he copied them out by hand. He recited them by day and by night, fearing only that he was too slow." 李氏山房藏書記: 余猶及見老儒先生自言其少時欲求史記漢書而不可得幸而得之皆手自書日夜誦讀唯恐不及。 Books were hard to come by.
One of my teachers told of how, in the days before Xeroxes, he wished to study 劉大焦's History of the Development of Chinese Literature\中國文學發達史. He managed to borrow a copy, and he transcribed the whole thing by hand. My teacher held his hands up to show a stack of notebooks full of his transcription. "Then two months after I finished, Chung Hwa Book Company published the thing." He threw his hands up in an elegant gesture of frustration. I have a Chung Hwa version: 1199 pages. Teacher did lots of copying.
Magazines and newspapers bombard us with photographs from around the world. In an agricultural society, when travel was laborious and all effort was dedicated to getting enough to eat, the only pictures people might see throughout their entire lifetimes might have been murals in temples or churches.
In hunting gathering societies, they may have never seen pictures beyond cave or cliff paintings, body paintings, or decorations on tools, and those were few.
I have a good sized collection of CDs, mostly Baroque. If I wish to hear Telemann's recorder duets, I have two versions, Pehrsson + Laurin or Petri + Selin. I can listen to Casals play Bach's unaccompanied cello suites, Veracini, Barsanti, Bigaglia, flutes, lutes, or toots. Right now I am listening to Bruggen playing Corelli's La Follia on the recorder for the umpteenth time. Someone a hundred years ago might have been able to hear that only once in a lifetime, and someone five hundred years ago never had a chance to hear it at all, because Corelli hadn't been born five hundred years ago. Sorry, couldn't resist that one.
If I tire of Corelli, I can listen to Egyptian villagers singing work songs, the Beatles, Ewan McColl singing shanties, or Paiwan nose flute. Such a wide range of listening was unavailable to our forebears. With the shanties, some people might not think that is such a bad thing. But my point is, these are available.
I couldn't find Chang's biography of Mao in the bookstores, so I ordered it from Amazon. I shudder every time I remember trying to buy English language books in Taiwan twenty years ago. English and American books were very high priced, and limited in content to best sellers and textbooks. If you wanted to order, first you had to know the publisher, find the address, write for a catalogue, wait to see if they sent it to you, choose your book, go to the bank for a US dollar cashier's check (a struggle in itself), send that off, and wait and wait. Four months was good time.
Even still, you could get books. I forget who it was, but there was one determinted scholar around the sixth century who wished to study 漢書\The Book of the Han. Never mind the book, he couldn't afford paper, so he got a job as a gatekeeper\閽人 for an influential personage. There he collected guests’ calling cards\名刺, which in those days were written on sheets of red paper. He used the other side to copy out the Han. My copy of the Han comes to 4,300 pages in five volumes, so the Influential Personage must have had a lot of company, because the scholar succeeded in copying out the entire Han on the back of calling cards, whereupon he commenced to study it.
In the Sung dynasty, Su Shih (蘇軾 1037-1101) wrote, "I once met an old Confucian master who said that in his youth he wished to find Historical Records and The Book of the Han, but they were unavailable. Fortunately he found them, so he copied them out by hand. He recited them by day and by night, fearing only that he was too slow." 李氏山房藏書記: 余猶及見老儒先生自言其少時欲求史記漢書而不可得幸而得之皆手自書日夜誦讀唯恐不及。 Books were hard to come by.
One of my teachers told of how, in the days before Xeroxes, he wished to study 劉大焦's History of the Development of Chinese Literature\中國文學發達史. He managed to borrow a copy, and he transcribed the whole thing by hand. My teacher held his hands up to show a stack of notebooks full of his transcription. "Then two months after I finished, Chung Hwa Book Company published the thing." He threw his hands up in an elegant gesture of frustration. I have a Chung Hwa version: 1199 pages. Teacher did lots of copying.
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