We had to pick something fast because by the time my good pal Dunkle arrived to Taiwan I had been staying in a dirty and loud locker room-style hostel with 13 other dudes who made "social retardation" seem like a gift compared to what they possessed. I had to make that crap palace my home for nine terrifying days where I was alone on this foreign planet simply struggling to find new and interesting ways to feed myself by making grunting noises and raising various fingers combined with a general rubbing of the belly to indicate my condition. I really didn't like having to live in the hostel and so upon Dunkle's much awaited arrival I was very eager to find some other place of residence with more comforts than just the five seconds of every minute when I received a cool gust of air from the room's only fan providing a most unsatisfying relief from the otherwise rain forest atmosphere of the hot and crowded room.
That first day Dunkle and I looked at 7 places all of which seemed ok to him and fabulous to me. I mean I was the one who had been living in a mental institution on the 13th floor of a building so old and decrepit that it swayed in the wind. We finally settled on what we thought was a quaint, conveniently located and inexpensive apartment located just a block off from the uber sheik Minchuan Shi Lu road. Well how lucky for us.
So please allow me to give you a little tour of our anti pussy pad.
We have now been living here for 7 months and while one might imagine that the delightful conditions of this beautiful little bachelor pad have improved and given it a "lived in" feel, it is quite the opposite. Each new day brings more neglect and disregard of all things proper and clean to this apartment which, if it were a child, would have already gotten us arrested on extreme misconduct and negligence charges.
As you walk to our apartment you will be blasted with the foreshadowing of our doom castle by the pungent odors of other people's trash and something that mostly resembles shit and a dead animal's baby. The smell can often become so strong that your walk to the door quickens to a jog in the hopes that through the door you will find solace from the horrid and dirty smells encircling the little back alley.
Your last bit of dignity can be used to give a nice wave and "Nee how" to the local barber who every day greets all those passing by while cursing them under his breath because he knows that they got their hair cut from "those bastards down the street" instead of him.
The walk up the steps would make more sense as a descent as you are basically going to some form of hell anyway. The key turns and the door loudly opens and you have made it into our squat heap.
Now if Dunkle's door is closed to his room that means that the rest of the apartment is almost completely dark as his room yields the only source of natural light in the apartment. I thought it rather unique that all the bedrooms had windows that looked into the other rooms but I now see how they were meant as a distraction from the fact that there are no real fucking windows in the whole dank and abysmal apartment!
If your shoes are wet do not worry as our lax dress policy around the house does not require our infrequent visitors to have any more respect for this place than we do. Sometimes we will invite the small courtesy of allowing someone to wipe his or her feet on the rug from the neighbors house but if we are in haste we invite those to simply drag whatever type of mess right into our dumpster of a home.
As you walk down the small and cramped hallway you pass into the wonderfully decorated living room that still only contains a couch and a TV. If you feel so inclined you are more than welcome to have a seat on the stiff and ugly colored sofa but do make sure to brush off whatever rubbish, be it food or Dunkle's toenails, from the seat as you sit down. You might feel the need to push some other kind of trash or general rubbish away from you but you will most likely be distracted by whatever various bug has decided to invade our house for the week. If you do happen to swat and kill a bug by smacking it against the wall please feel free to just leave the sticky carcass glued to the white wall so that we can avoid cleaning it up until it turns into another thing to bitch about in this eye soar of an apartment that's eye is really more of a butt hole.
As you glance around the null apartment you will notice a complete absence of inspiration combined with the type of carelessness you never really thought existed until this moment. You may even cry.
On rare occasions a patron visitor might have need to use the bathroom. This is usually rare as we hardly ever have any food or drink to offer that might provoke the need for one to use a facility. Nonetheless, there are often those who have consumed something out in the real world before entering into this uncomfortably awkward dungeon and we invite them to purge it out in our little WC.
The source of the freeloading insects is usually in the bathroom as they enjoy bathing on the top part of the toilet who's lid broke a mere two months ago and has been kept that way I imagine to remind us that every single thing we have is complete and utter shit and worthless. The bathroom brings to mind that photo one might have seen from the case files of some sociopathic murderer's outhouse. There are old tubes of tooth paste that have established colonies growing across them. (I think they may even be at war with the colonies from the old can of shaving cream.) When in the bathroom try to keep clean as our inattention to ever buying that second bottle of soap 5 months ago has lead to a bottle filled with water and shaken so many times that the plastic seems like it is beginning to wear through.
On the rare occasion that one of us has decided to buy some food, ei- pasta and cheap Ragu knock off sauce, you might make your way into the kitchen. Despite the fact that no one ever actually cooks there it seems rather dirty and has a generally devirginizing sleaziness to it.
While cooking be sure to give our pots a good scrubbing with the almost empty dish soap as the previous user has most likely not done an efficient job. The convenient idea of buying the cheapest cook ware became inconvenient right after its purchase. Since then the pots have taken on the same malignant appearance of the chamber pots used by thousands of soldiers in World War II. The nice thing is that with our pots you have no need to worry about the nonexistence of our spice cabinet because all the residue from the previous dinner-for-one-loser will most likely have broken off into whatever pitiful meal you are preparing at that moment.
Feeling sleepy? Why come into my room and have a rest. I can't promise you'll be sleeping on a cloud but as long as everyone else is completely still and the TV is off you might be able to have a small amount of quiet and privacy. Otherwise the once charming "window to the living room" in my room will be sure to grant all light and noise access to the tiny closet of a bedroom.
As you glance at my bed you may notice that the sheets seem a bit nonsheetlike. That is due to the fact that I never actually bought sheets except some pink ones with flowers that I gave away for obvious heterosexual alpha-male reasons. My sleeping supplies are actually just the stretchy thing and an old blanket I bought half priced from a street vendor. If you cocoon yourself just right with the small tissue sized blanket you may be able to get some sort of feeling of warmth and comfort. Of course there is really no need for extra warmth in an unairconditioned and humid room like mine.
That should last right up until you start to notice that you are actually laying on a marble slab that simply looks like a mattress. The stiffness of the mattress could only be comparable to perhaps laying down in the street. And maybe that is sounding like a better idea right about now.
You'll be happy to know that I do have a pillow. It is unattractively green with pictures of cows all over it and it feels a little like if someone stuffed five of those brittle airplane pillows into a potato sack and then slapped the imagine of some bovine adaptation of a animal on it.
Once you take the time to angrily murder a few more mosquitoes that have taken residence in your room like a couple of European Gypsies you can probably get ready to sleep. You can put your things in my closet which is easy to access since the door fell off a couple of months ago. Be sure to spray yourself one more time with Off before heading to bed and then it is off to sleepland where even the dream of a monster chasing you barefoot through streets filled with chomping crabs will feel like the ultimate adventure compared to the conscious knowledge that you actually live in this dismal piece of old cheese that someone made into an apartment.
When you wake up the next morning, the best idea is to just forget even asking if there is any cereal or orange juice and get the hell outside where once out of range of the poop alley you can attempt to have a real life where you have a real job and friends. If you dress yourself nicely enough no one will actually discover that you come from a squalid disease house that makes some parts of Africa seem like a spa in the south of France.
I have lived and stayed in many places in my life and I am sure to stay in many more, (as I naturally plan not to make this apartment my permanent residence) but this little spot truly put the canker sore on the top of the suck ass cake. I could move somewhere else or try to improve these conditions on my own but I could also just keep counting down the days when I will go out and resume my travels where I will stay in places that require me to flush the toilet with a ladle of water set on the side of the bowl. I guess my happiness here spawns from somewhere else than the place where I live or the places I will stay in the future.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
State of Emergency
Kindergarten was certainly an interesting time. I suppose I really don't even remember much from my kindergarten years and even my new class of four and five year old kids isn't really jogging much memory. I imagine, if I haven't changed too much, that I was most likely just as much a pain in the ass in my kindy years as I think I might be now. But the more I search for some long purged memories of the beginnings of my lifelong pursuit of knowledge the more I start to feel embarrassed because I see how random and inexplicable kindergartner's actions can be.
Let's start with Katrina. Katrina is a nice girl who is only five years old and already has a prettiness about her that will surely get her attention throughout her life. (I have come to suspect that her mother may even give her slight applications of makeup before she comes to class. This could be the reason for her habitual tardiness.) Katrina doesn't have that "go get 'em" attitude that is shocking to see in some of the other young overachievers in the class. Katrina prefers the pursuit of boys. Where others in the class crave knowledge or desire to have every moment of every class be set to some sort of jumpy Disneyesque song and dance; Katrina simply wants all the attention from the boys who hardly know how to pull their pants up past their bare little asses after peeing without falling over, let alone how to respond to the flippant behavior of a tiny member of the opposite sex, of whom they also don't quite understand. Nothing excites Katrina more than being hugged or receiving interest from her fellow male classmates.
Today Katrina asked me if she could go to the bathroom to which I curtly replied, "no, we are having class!" (I think the strict Asian educational standards are subtly becoming a part of my general teaching philosophy.)Katrina was fine until about a minute later when I saw her head bouncing around past the shelves separating the seating areas of the classroom. I stopped class again to ask "Katrina, what are you doing?" Katrina's answer was nothing verbal but simply the action of slowly and cautiously raising her arm to reveal a pair of recently doo doo stained panties. My reaction would most likely be categorized as profound and utter horror. Katrina thought that as the teacher I might want her newly manufactured A-bomb but she was quite ill-informed as I wanted nothing to do with her little "death present." Of course none of the little children saw anything wrong with Katrina walking around wearing nothing below her waist, and it was only I who was growing pale and terrified as this horrendous nightmare was quickly becoming more of a reality.
As these stories often go, my Chinese teacher, and helper of all things dirty, was absent when I needed her the most. I tried to calm my nerves and think of a rational and sensible solution to this disgustingly strange predicament but I couldn't collect my thoughts and Katrina was creeping ever closer to me with that little stick of dynamite clasped in her cold clammy hands. So, when no other idea sprung to mind, I ran out of the classroom and closed the door behind me leaving 14 kindergartners and a 15th half dressed time bomb alone in a classroom together.
I peeked in through the window as if I was watching a failed bomb tech unit fight to be let out before the misfiring explosive went off with them inside. I checked the outside of the class and couldn't see anyone who might like to tackle this horrific responsibility for me. I started to picture all of the things that would have to happen between myself and Katrina in order to get her "class ready" again and the image made me so weak in the knees I almost fell over. To think of the strange angles and positions and the mortifying questions I would have to ask made me wish that I could jump off the roof and relieve myself of these doody duties.
I was finally able to calm down and I went next door to my co-worker's class. He was sitting in a nice happy little circle with his students reviewing the week's phonics lesson and all his kids appeared to be attentive and intrigued. I quickly interrupted the mood with my stuttering, "Kakakakakatrina just crapped her pants and is wawawawawalking around half naked in the classroom!" Everyone in the class began with a most unhelpful and hysteric laughter brought on by their "supportive" teacher.
To my luck his Chinese teacher was still in the class and informed me that my teacher had gone downstairs to do some paper work. Well I needed a different kind of paper work done and it involved using that paper in dark ways that still make me shutter. I repeated my indelicately formed sentence that should never have been used in front of a group of young minds whose every English action is derived from the inspiration and examples of their teachers. The Chinese teacher immediately snapped into "let's clean up the shit mode" and was ready to help.
We entered the city of New Chernobyl aka my classroom, myself a couple of feet behind my savior of dirty deeds, and the students had now discovered their freedom and were going a little bit past bat shit crazy all over the classroom. Whatever kind of order I may have had earlier with the children was like Katrina's soiled panties: destroyed and completely irreplaceable.
The teacher escorted the young Katrina out of the classroom and I was left to a most disagreeable smell and an even more obnoxious group of rowdy children who I now feared had just as volatile bowls as their classmate and former nice pants owner. For the rest of the day I was sending children out at even the slightest uncomfortable movement that I detected might lead to their pant legs becoming a slide to a river more dangerous than the Amazon and Nile combined. One student even confusedly replied, "but teacher Andrew, I don't need to go potty" as I sent him to the bathroom for a gesture he made of squeezing his little pecker in what I thought was an effort to "plug the pipes."
I was indeed helped by more experienced and thus more irritated personnel and the day started to resume a relatively comfortable tone again. I restored some aspect of calm to the class but was forced to initiate a coloring activity because all hope was lost at learning anything comparatively important.
However suddenly, while pacing around the classroom trying to think of new and unique compliments to put smiles on each individuals face, I tripped over what I thought was a chair leg.
Oh no, it was a real leg.
It was Katrina's leg.
It was Katrina, whose sickness had evolved from crap in the pants to throwing up in the recyclables waist basket as the rest of the students happily colored a Cinderella scene. (We are learning about our favorite fairy tales in this unit. This is not my favorite fairy tale.) Katrina was apparently quite sick and yet displayed some sort of amazing skill that enabled her to separate her physical from her mental. I hadn't noticed that she was puking because she had been kidding around and laughing with one of the boys in the class in between purges. Katrina was managing to be flirtatious while vomiting in her panties free and new shorts attire.
I asked Katrina if she was OK, shocked at the circumstances I couldn't begin to comprehend, and she gave a confused look and cutely responded, "I OK. Why?"
Before I could prepare a comment or bounce off such a hilariously content response Katrina slammed the top of the waist basket down, put a smile on her face, and hopped in line to go to lunch as if nothing had happened.
Now imagine the times when perhaps you were feeling sick from the top end or the bottom end. Visualize the agony and discomfort that you felt as if the sickness would never end and would only become increasingly worse as seconds in your miserable life ticked by. Picture that the only comfort was perhaps the idea of someone hitting you over the head with an object heavy enough to send you away from your utterly wretched condition forever. Try to envision having that sickness through both ends in front of all your friends and your educator and you might be able to understand what it was like in Katrina's shoes this day.
And how did she she act through all this? It was as if she was just going about her boring tasks finding them not agonizing but rather a slight disruption to her coquettish wanderings with the boys of the class. I don't know where Katrina will go in her life or what she will become, but if I am in any way an effective teacher and get her to understand and enjoy English the whole rest of the world will find out.
Let's start with Katrina. Katrina is a nice girl who is only five years old and already has a prettiness about her that will surely get her attention throughout her life. (I have come to suspect that her mother may even give her slight applications of makeup before she comes to class. This could be the reason for her habitual tardiness.) Katrina doesn't have that "go get 'em" attitude that is shocking to see in some of the other young overachievers in the class. Katrina prefers the pursuit of boys. Where others in the class crave knowledge or desire to have every moment of every class be set to some sort of jumpy Disneyesque song and dance; Katrina simply wants all the attention from the boys who hardly know how to pull their pants up past their bare little asses after peeing without falling over, let alone how to respond to the flippant behavior of a tiny member of the opposite sex, of whom they also don't quite understand. Nothing excites Katrina more than being hugged or receiving interest from her fellow male classmates.
Today Katrina asked me if she could go to the bathroom to which I curtly replied, "no, we are having class!" (I think the strict Asian educational standards are subtly becoming a part of my general teaching philosophy.)Katrina was fine until about a minute later when I saw her head bouncing around past the shelves separating the seating areas of the classroom. I stopped class again to ask "Katrina, what are you doing?" Katrina's answer was nothing verbal but simply the action of slowly and cautiously raising her arm to reveal a pair of recently doo doo stained panties. My reaction would most likely be categorized as profound and utter horror. Katrina thought that as the teacher I might want her newly manufactured A-bomb but she was quite ill-informed as I wanted nothing to do with her little "death present." Of course none of the little children saw anything wrong with Katrina walking around wearing nothing below her waist, and it was only I who was growing pale and terrified as this horrendous nightmare was quickly becoming more of a reality.
As these stories often go, my Chinese teacher, and helper of all things dirty, was absent when I needed her the most. I tried to calm my nerves and think of a rational and sensible solution to this disgustingly strange predicament but I couldn't collect my thoughts and Katrina was creeping ever closer to me with that little stick of dynamite clasped in her cold clammy hands. So, when no other idea sprung to mind, I ran out of the classroom and closed the door behind me leaving 14 kindergartners and a 15th half dressed time bomb alone in a classroom together.
I peeked in through the window as if I was watching a failed bomb tech unit fight to be let out before the misfiring explosive went off with them inside. I checked the outside of the class and couldn't see anyone who might like to tackle this horrific responsibility for me. I started to picture all of the things that would have to happen between myself and Katrina in order to get her "class ready" again and the image made me so weak in the knees I almost fell over. To think of the strange angles and positions and the mortifying questions I would have to ask made me wish that I could jump off the roof and relieve myself of these doody duties.
I was finally able to calm down and I went next door to my co-worker's class. He was sitting in a nice happy little circle with his students reviewing the week's phonics lesson and all his kids appeared to be attentive and intrigued. I quickly interrupted the mood with my stuttering, "Kakakakakatrina just crapped her pants and is wawawawawalking around half naked in the classroom!" Everyone in the class began with a most unhelpful and hysteric laughter brought on by their "supportive" teacher.
To my luck his Chinese teacher was still in the class and informed me that my teacher had gone downstairs to do some paper work. Well I needed a different kind of paper work done and it involved using that paper in dark ways that still make me shutter. I repeated my indelicately formed sentence that should never have been used in front of a group of young minds whose every English action is derived from the inspiration and examples of their teachers. The Chinese teacher immediately snapped into "let's clean up the shit mode" and was ready to help.
We entered the city of New Chernobyl aka my classroom, myself a couple of feet behind my savior of dirty deeds, and the students had now discovered their freedom and were going a little bit past bat shit crazy all over the classroom. Whatever kind of order I may have had earlier with the children was like Katrina's soiled panties: destroyed and completely irreplaceable.
The teacher escorted the young Katrina out of the classroom and I was left to a most disagreeable smell and an even more obnoxious group of rowdy children who I now feared had just as volatile bowls as their classmate and former nice pants owner. For the rest of the day I was sending children out at even the slightest uncomfortable movement that I detected might lead to their pant legs becoming a slide to a river more dangerous than the Amazon and Nile combined. One student even confusedly replied, "but teacher Andrew, I don't need to go potty" as I sent him to the bathroom for a gesture he made of squeezing his little pecker in what I thought was an effort to "plug the pipes."
I was indeed helped by more experienced and thus more irritated personnel and the day started to resume a relatively comfortable tone again. I restored some aspect of calm to the class but was forced to initiate a coloring activity because all hope was lost at learning anything comparatively important.
However suddenly, while pacing around the classroom trying to think of new and unique compliments to put smiles on each individuals face, I tripped over what I thought was a chair leg.
Oh no, it was a real leg.
It was Katrina's leg.
It was Katrina, whose sickness had evolved from crap in the pants to throwing up in the recyclables waist basket as the rest of the students happily colored a Cinderella scene. (We are learning about our favorite fairy tales in this unit. This is not my favorite fairy tale.) Katrina was apparently quite sick and yet displayed some sort of amazing skill that enabled her to separate her physical from her mental. I hadn't noticed that she was puking because she had been kidding around and laughing with one of the boys in the class in between purges. Katrina was managing to be flirtatious while vomiting in her panties free and new shorts attire.
I asked Katrina if she was OK, shocked at the circumstances I couldn't begin to comprehend, and she gave a confused look and cutely responded, "I OK. Why?"
Before I could prepare a comment or bounce off such a hilariously content response Katrina slammed the top of the waist basket down, put a smile on her face, and hopped in line to go to lunch as if nothing had happened.
Now imagine the times when perhaps you were feeling sick from the top end or the bottom end. Visualize the agony and discomfort that you felt as if the sickness would never end and would only become increasingly worse as seconds in your miserable life ticked by. Picture that the only comfort was perhaps the idea of someone hitting you over the head with an object heavy enough to send you away from your utterly wretched condition forever. Try to envision having that sickness through both ends in front of all your friends and your educator and you might be able to understand what it was like in Katrina's shoes this day.
And how did she she act through all this? It was as if she was just going about her boring tasks finding them not agonizing but rather a slight disruption to her coquettish wanderings with the boys of the class. I don't know where Katrina will go in her life or what she will become, but if I am in any way an effective teacher and get her to understand and enjoy English the whole rest of the world will find out.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Taking it Easy
Don't get me wrong, being a world traveler is certainly an exciting gig but it does have its' difficulties. The primary hardship about this leisurely existence is how easy it is to be lazy about everything. Being in a foreign country means that you have to either go out of your way to constantly try and experiment with new things, or simply find your comfort level and then ride out the good life.
I like to think that I have tried some new things and been in some weird and awkward situations while having lived these past six months on a small island, located just 100 miles west of the coast of China, known as Taiwan. I have learned some Chinese in the form of language and I have met some Chinese people and become friends with them as well. I have eaten exotic foods such as BBQ chicken ass and pork intestines stuffed with spleen which I will most likely never even look at again. I can even say that I have made a life for myself as I hold a steady and profitable job and have a good group of friends while living in my own place and frequenting several establishments that house a staff and similar group of "regulars" who remember me and elatedly welcome my daily "drop ins."
But at the core of all that there exists a very relaxed and tranquil aspect of my life that boarders on blatant slothfulness. One example would be how, for the past two weeks, I have been working simply from 9 am to 1130 am everyday. That time is spent with my kindergarten class who love every idea I create for class whether it be dancing and singing the same song five times in a row or talking about how we feel each day and how the weather is outside. Around 45 minutes of the time I spend in class is either watching the students eat and asking "is the food yummy?" or inventing new games to teach them the basic art of socializing and enjoying one another.
As you can imagine a day like this does not exactly leave one fatigued, and with the early hours of class I am able to utilize the whole day in any way I please. This, I find, is better for me than just having the day off of work because in that arises the basic battle of motivating myself to even go outside when I have six movies channels just feet from my bedroom. By already having showered, dressed, left my home, and energized to the excitement of playing with little four year old children I am quite ready to embark on an adventurous day.
Now as I say this I want you to think of what you might do on a day like such as this one. Be sure to remember that this is not one day either but rather two whole weeks. That creates the first struggle I encounter each day. I begin to plan my many activities and am soon overwhelmed by all the potential things I could do and how it would be easier to just do them tomorrow or the next day. Thinking too hard like this can get tiring so I usually pick a place to go and calm my excitable blood for a moment.
I do a lot of theorizing in the park. Sometimes, on a really productive day, I might even go sit on a bench and write down the things I might like to do and see and finish for the day or the week. Often times, however, I pick the "Huckleberry" option of finding a shaded tree to relax and dream under. I like to role up my pants and pop off my shoes and lay down in the grass to take a break from my "on the go" lifestyle. I got so comfortable the other day that after sleeping under a particularly nice tree for about two hours I realized that I had found my bed under a great load of sap and needles which made the sticky transfer from the earth to my brand new pants. If I hadn't looked like an misplaced hobo for my irregular napping habits I was most certainly exposed when the locals were able to view my "rustic" backside. I thought, I could find this situation stressful and embarrassing, or I could find a new tree and take more care to create a nice bed for myself.
Today I wanted to finish reading a book, call the bank in the US, call the bank in France, go to the bank in Taiwan, call about student loans, finish my lesson plans for class, buy groceries, do my laundry, clean my room, and I think even a few more things. While I didn't get to all these things I was impressed with my idea to convert from my hot and humid jeans to a nice free pair of shorts. It did require me to go all the way home but I thought since the weather was so pleasant, a breezy 73, I would make that much needed transformation.
I turned on my computer with the intention of calling one of these many banks today but thought I might check the essentials like facebook and gmail first. The mission that had initially drawn my attention to using the World Wide Web was lost and I found myself browsing through long lost friend's profiles while mentally guffawing at their limited musical favorites. To justify my Internet ventures I read a quick useless tidbit on Wikipedia and then realized that my lap could no longer take the heat of my computer and so, once again, I was in need of a siesta.
This time I left my shoes at home and strolled across the street, book in hand, to the local park. I borrowed one of the chairs from another "regular" like myself and took to reading in the sun. I made it through perhaps ten pages before I caught my neck snapping as I had fallen asleep, mouth wide open, in front of plain view of the other visitors and neighbors in the park. I chose a perfect time in which to arise as a violinist had found a delightful spot in which to practice the soothing songs of Beethoven (I have no idea really.) So I resumed my reading and listened as the musician and the sun reminded me of how much nicer doing nothing is than doing something.
Now maybe it would be splendid to go home to the jobless USA where I could ponder and stress at discovering my vocation in life only to accept work as a gas station attendant to at least help pay the rent my roommates (or parents) would most likely assign me, but I think this life here also has its' benefits. I may not get many things done or work very hard outside of my job, and I may not own anything except a few clothes and books, and I may not be a lot of things, but in my little world here I enjoy every moment in the way that I want and it suits me to be a relaxed, and perhaps a little bit lazy, world traveler.
I like to think that I have tried some new things and been in some weird and awkward situations while having lived these past six months on a small island, located just 100 miles west of the coast of China, known as Taiwan. I have learned some Chinese in the form of language and I have met some Chinese people and become friends with them as well. I have eaten exotic foods such as BBQ chicken ass and pork intestines stuffed with spleen which I will most likely never even look at again. I can even say that I have made a life for myself as I hold a steady and profitable job and have a good group of friends while living in my own place and frequenting several establishments that house a staff and similar group of "regulars" who remember me and elatedly welcome my daily "drop ins."
But at the core of all that there exists a very relaxed and tranquil aspect of my life that boarders on blatant slothfulness. One example would be how, for the past two weeks, I have been working simply from 9 am to 1130 am everyday. That time is spent with my kindergarten class who love every idea I create for class whether it be dancing and singing the same song five times in a row or talking about how we feel each day and how the weather is outside. Around 45 minutes of the time I spend in class is either watching the students eat and asking "is the food yummy?" or inventing new games to teach them the basic art of socializing and enjoying one another.
As you can imagine a day like this does not exactly leave one fatigued, and with the early hours of class I am able to utilize the whole day in any way I please. This, I find, is better for me than just having the day off of work because in that arises the basic battle of motivating myself to even go outside when I have six movies channels just feet from my bedroom. By already having showered, dressed, left my home, and energized to the excitement of playing with little four year old children I am quite ready to embark on an adventurous day.
Now as I say this I want you to think of what you might do on a day like such as this one. Be sure to remember that this is not one day either but rather two whole weeks. That creates the first struggle I encounter each day. I begin to plan my many activities and am soon overwhelmed by all the potential things I could do and how it would be easier to just do them tomorrow or the next day. Thinking too hard like this can get tiring so I usually pick a place to go and calm my excitable blood for a moment.
I do a lot of theorizing in the park. Sometimes, on a really productive day, I might even go sit on a bench and write down the things I might like to do and see and finish for the day or the week. Often times, however, I pick the "Huckleberry" option of finding a shaded tree to relax and dream under. I like to role up my pants and pop off my shoes and lay down in the grass to take a break from my "on the go" lifestyle. I got so comfortable the other day that after sleeping under a particularly nice tree for about two hours I realized that I had found my bed under a great load of sap and needles which made the sticky transfer from the earth to my brand new pants. If I hadn't looked like an misplaced hobo for my irregular napping habits I was most certainly exposed when the locals were able to view my "rustic" backside. I thought, I could find this situation stressful and embarrassing, or I could find a new tree and take more care to create a nice bed for myself.
Today I wanted to finish reading a book, call the bank in the US, call the bank in France, go to the bank in Taiwan, call about student loans, finish my lesson plans for class, buy groceries, do my laundry, clean my room, and I think even a few more things. While I didn't get to all these things I was impressed with my idea to convert from my hot and humid jeans to a nice free pair of shorts. It did require me to go all the way home but I thought since the weather was so pleasant, a breezy 73, I would make that much needed transformation.
I turned on my computer with the intention of calling one of these many banks today but thought I might check the essentials like facebook and gmail first. The mission that had initially drawn my attention to using the World Wide Web was lost and I found myself browsing through long lost friend's profiles while mentally guffawing at their limited musical favorites. To justify my Internet ventures I read a quick useless tidbit on Wikipedia and then realized that my lap could no longer take the heat of my computer and so, once again, I was in need of a siesta.
This time I left my shoes at home and strolled across the street, book in hand, to the local park. I borrowed one of the chairs from another "regular" like myself and took to reading in the sun. I made it through perhaps ten pages before I caught my neck snapping as I had fallen asleep, mouth wide open, in front of plain view of the other visitors and neighbors in the park. I chose a perfect time in which to arise as a violinist had found a delightful spot in which to practice the soothing songs of Beethoven (I have no idea really.) So I resumed my reading and listened as the musician and the sun reminded me of how much nicer doing nothing is than doing something.
Now maybe it would be splendid to go home to the jobless USA where I could ponder and stress at discovering my vocation in life only to accept work as a gas station attendant to at least help pay the rent my roommates (or parents) would most likely assign me, but I think this life here also has its' benefits. I may not get many things done or work very hard outside of my job, and I may not own anything except a few clothes and books, and I may not be a lot of things, but in my little world here I enjoy every moment in the way that I want and it suits me to be a relaxed, and perhaps a little bit lazy, world traveler.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
A Day To Remember
Well how does it feel to be back in Taiwan? Oh sorry for those of you who didn't know I live in Taiwan. And for those others who knew that I live in Taiwan but are wondering "where did he go?" The answer would be the land of the free, where burgers save lives and the beer comes in suitcase form.......ah yes the old U. S. of A.
I hadn't been back to my old country in nearly a year and even that visit was a quick two week jaunt filled with more "weird happenings" than "life altering experiences." This trip felt a lot different. I had a lot of fun being back in my homeland where talking to people required simply speaking in my own tongue and the only awkward conversations were due to the content of my words rather than the difficulty in forming half-assed, simple minded sentences.
It was great to once again breath in that fresh mountain air and see the brown snow blanketed trees in there transition from one pretty season to yet another one. All in all I couldn't have asked for a better visit back.
The trip started as usual with a little jet lag here and a little more jet lag there and than a nice wholesome serving of what I imagine was my stomach's way of communicating, "you think you can just cram all these crazy foods into me at hours most irregular?" By that I mean I thought I might die from ring sting. I misconceived that returning to "civilization" meant a return to a normal diet and regular "bathroom break" rituals, but this was hardly the case.
One of the first nights I was back we decided to make a very nice French meal for dinner which, obviously, required horrendous amounts of delicious, stinky cheese. We all enjoyed ourselves wonderfully while dining and drinking fine French wines while keeping a light atmosphere with our whimsical stories of great times past. 'Twas truly a divine night that I believed would be the start of an ultimately divine two week vacation from my "hectic, non-stop, on the go" life in Asia. (haha)
This was certainly true until the next morning. I say morning but I hardly mean it because anyone who calls 4 am in the morning can kiss my Asian ass because it's clearly the worst time to ever be awake. Nonetheless it was 4 am when my stomach declared, "shit's going down!" It was miserable sitting upon a cold, hard "throne" in a half daze while struggling to keep at least one eye open. My mind had not yet made the 15 hour time change so my gut renching squirts were muttled by most unsettling halluncinagenic dreams. At times it was nice be able to mentally escape from such physical anguish but in reality, sitting on a frigged toilet in a jet-lagged stupor was not exactly an ideal way to spend an early morning.
I was able to calm myself down enough to drift off into whatever whacked out imaginings my reversed brain could create for what I thought was a couple more hours of much needed sleep. What actually happened was that a newly discovered lack toast and tolerance was about to go full speed into the "just kill me" realm. The amount of cheese I ate the night previous was as close as one could get to actually overdosing on a food and I suppose my strictly Asian (all soups, noodles, and rice) diet had turned my stomach into a gigantic whimp (or pussy if you really want to know) when fighting against all things dairy.
Of course, It was a delightful Sunday when my family arose to find me watching Hostel, curled in a blanketed cocoon on my sofa. Why I picked that movie to watch during the two miserable hours before everyone woke up at a descent hour was beyond me and the little "doo doo" breaks "sprinkled" throughout made it all the more tortuous. My family was extactic to see how I was already to go for the day. So with clammy hands and a pale face I embarked on a nice day throughout my quaint little town for a little Sunday family outing.
I complain sometimes. Sometimes I do it as a joke and sometimes I am even too mean spirited about it. Sometimes I complain to aid in others complaints and thus encourage them to complain more as well. This day I complained because every ten minutes I felt the urge to rip out the red hot demon boiling in my stomach with my bare hands. When you are sick everything seems terribly unimportant. Most day to day things feel like a chore as is but when you struggling to stay conscious in the bathroom in the ladies section of Macy's, the nullity of day to day life really begins to sting.
We went many places that day including a bakery, the movie store, and even the hillbilly reject, half-smoked cigarette totting, slack jaw yokel filled mall. I thought I could make it until we went to one of the last stops, which was the dog park. Now I actually wanted to go to the dog park to see our new little puppy in action and to maybe see what was cooking in the American girls sector. Perhaps I watched one to many episodes of Entourage, but the whole time home I was consumed by the idea that having a puppy around would quadruple my chances of meeting some beautiful girl who I could then explain, "I'm only taking care of her today while I'm home from Taiwan where I am trying to learn my fourth language while also teaching some of the most splendid and beautiful children to ever pass before my eyes." Usually we only met other goobers with similar intentions as myself who would strangely ask questions like, "What kind of personality does she have?" This then lead me to realize that the only way you could ask a question like that would be by checking between my dog's legs as SHE ran past. Gross.
So we went to the dog park in the hopes that we might be able to see our dog run and then maybe watch some other dogs run and maybe even see a small dog bark at a big dog, and then see one bad little dog that would remind us of how good our dog was and then see some dogs that were friendly and others that we thought were "yucky mean dogs." I guess that's why people go to dog parks. Either way all I could think about was that it was cold as hell and my ass was about to fall off of my body and leave me to die being humped and slobbered to death by copious amounts of crazy little mutts who, more often than not, could socialize better than their masters.
I finally convinced my family to end the charade of errand running and let me get home to the place where no candle could survive and just chill. We made it home where no one saw me until 20 quick minutes later when it was time to go see Grand Torino because I guess it was the last day and time that the movie would ever play.
We saw the movie and gosh darn it I really liked it. I don't know why but apparently the ultra racist, hater of humanity character played by mister Eastwood really soothed my throbbing bowels and put me at peace. Just as the man calmed himself and became a better person in the end, so too did my stomach and my attitude. We left the movie and I was in a much better condition all around and therefore able to start truely enjoyed all the quirkiness of my sister, mom and dad.
I wasn't sick for the rest of the trip and even though I thought I might actually die that day, I was comforted to be around those who cared most about if I was actually feeling sick or not. If it wasn't for my family's insistence on going out and taking the day by storm I would have stayed at home and missed out on all the little things that make my little family of four so charming. We talked and we laughed and they made fun of my terrible condition the whole day just like our strangly functional family always treats those who "can't take the heat." It was a terrible day when it was happening but it will be a great memory for a long time. It just shows that even when you're in the worst pain imaginable a good family can provide all the relief necessary.
I hadn't been back to my old country in nearly a year and even that visit was a quick two week jaunt filled with more "weird happenings" than "life altering experiences." This trip felt a lot different. I had a lot of fun being back in my homeland where talking to people required simply speaking in my own tongue and the only awkward conversations were due to the content of my words rather than the difficulty in forming half-assed, simple minded sentences.
It was great to once again breath in that fresh mountain air and see the brown snow blanketed trees in there transition from one pretty season to yet another one. All in all I couldn't have asked for a better visit back.
The trip started as usual with a little jet lag here and a little more jet lag there and than a nice wholesome serving of what I imagine was my stomach's way of communicating, "you think you can just cram all these crazy foods into me at hours most irregular?" By that I mean I thought I might die from ring sting. I misconceived that returning to "civilization" meant a return to a normal diet and regular "bathroom break" rituals, but this was hardly the case.
One of the first nights I was back we decided to make a very nice French meal for dinner which, obviously, required horrendous amounts of delicious, stinky cheese. We all enjoyed ourselves wonderfully while dining and drinking fine French wines while keeping a light atmosphere with our whimsical stories of great times past. 'Twas truly a divine night that I believed would be the start of an ultimately divine two week vacation from my "hectic, non-stop, on the go" life in Asia. (haha)
This was certainly true until the next morning. I say morning but I hardly mean it because anyone who calls 4 am in the morning can kiss my Asian ass because it's clearly the worst time to ever be awake. Nonetheless it was 4 am when my stomach declared, "shit's going down!" It was miserable sitting upon a cold, hard "throne" in a half daze while struggling to keep at least one eye open. My mind had not yet made the 15 hour time change so my gut renching squirts were muttled by most unsettling halluncinagenic dreams. At times it was nice be able to mentally escape from such physical anguish but in reality, sitting on a frigged toilet in a jet-lagged stupor was not exactly an ideal way to spend an early morning.
I was able to calm myself down enough to drift off into whatever whacked out imaginings my reversed brain could create for what I thought was a couple more hours of much needed sleep. What actually happened was that a newly discovered lack toast and tolerance was about to go full speed into the "just kill me" realm. The amount of cheese I ate the night previous was as close as one could get to actually overdosing on a food and I suppose my strictly Asian (all soups, noodles, and rice) diet had turned my stomach into a gigantic whimp (or pussy if you really want to know) when fighting against all things dairy.
Of course, It was a delightful Sunday when my family arose to find me watching Hostel, curled in a blanketed cocoon on my sofa. Why I picked that movie to watch during the two miserable hours before everyone woke up at a descent hour was beyond me and the little "doo doo" breaks "sprinkled" throughout made it all the more tortuous. My family was extactic to see how I was already to go for the day. So with clammy hands and a pale face I embarked on a nice day throughout my quaint little town for a little Sunday family outing.
I complain sometimes. Sometimes I do it as a joke and sometimes I am even too mean spirited about it. Sometimes I complain to aid in others complaints and thus encourage them to complain more as well. This day I complained because every ten minutes I felt the urge to rip out the red hot demon boiling in my stomach with my bare hands. When you are sick everything seems terribly unimportant. Most day to day things feel like a chore as is but when you struggling to stay conscious in the bathroom in the ladies section of Macy's, the nullity of day to day life really begins to sting.
We went many places that day including a bakery, the movie store, and even the hillbilly reject, half-smoked cigarette totting, slack jaw yokel filled mall. I thought I could make it until we went to one of the last stops, which was the dog park. Now I actually wanted to go to the dog park to see our new little puppy in action and to maybe see what was cooking in the American girls sector. Perhaps I watched one to many episodes of Entourage, but the whole time home I was consumed by the idea that having a puppy around would quadruple my chances of meeting some beautiful girl who I could then explain, "I'm only taking care of her today while I'm home from Taiwan where I am trying to learn my fourth language while also teaching some of the most splendid and beautiful children to ever pass before my eyes." Usually we only met other goobers with similar intentions as myself who would strangely ask questions like, "What kind of personality does she have?" This then lead me to realize that the only way you could ask a question like that would be by checking between my dog's legs as SHE ran past. Gross.
So we went to the dog park in the hopes that we might be able to see our dog run and then maybe watch some other dogs run and maybe even see a small dog bark at a big dog, and then see one bad little dog that would remind us of how good our dog was and then see some dogs that were friendly and others that we thought were "yucky mean dogs." I guess that's why people go to dog parks. Either way all I could think about was that it was cold as hell and my ass was about to fall off of my body and leave me to die being humped and slobbered to death by copious amounts of crazy little mutts who, more often than not, could socialize better than their masters.
I finally convinced my family to end the charade of errand running and let me get home to the place where no candle could survive and just chill. We made it home where no one saw me until 20 quick minutes later when it was time to go see Grand Torino because I guess it was the last day and time that the movie would ever play.
We saw the movie and gosh darn it I really liked it. I don't know why but apparently the ultra racist, hater of humanity character played by mister Eastwood really soothed my throbbing bowels and put me at peace. Just as the man calmed himself and became a better person in the end, so too did my stomach and my attitude. We left the movie and I was in a much better condition all around and therefore able to start truely enjoyed all the quirkiness of my sister, mom and dad.
I wasn't sick for the rest of the trip and even though I thought I might actually die that day, I was comforted to be around those who cared most about if I was actually feeling sick or not. If it wasn't for my family's insistence on going out and taking the day by storm I would have stayed at home and missed out on all the little things that make my little family of four so charming. We talked and we laughed and they made fun of my terrible condition the whole day just like our strangly functional family always treats those who "can't take the heat." It was a terrible day when it was happening but it will be a great memory for a long time. It just shows that even when you're in the worst pain imaginable a good family can provide all the relief necessary.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Hail to the bus driver!
Have you ever had one of those things that while it was happening you were sure that you were going to remember it and then five minutes later you forgot? Then the next day the same thing happened and you thought, "oh yeah, I wanted to do something about this yesterday but it must have slipped my mind." It keeps happening like this over and over and you suddenly discover that you are more pissed that you can't remember to be pissed than you are at the thing that originally pissed you off. What I, in brain dead words, am trying to explain is how I seriously dislike the process of using public transportation and how it really pisses me off each day in a new and uniquely stupid way.
First there's the walk. Yeah, I know, here I am using public transportation like a broke-ass loser and I have to walk there first. I mean walking to get to somewhere to go somewhere seems like all sorts of wasting time. I usually do this intricate math problem before every day adding 13.5 minutes for the walk, 12.25 minutes for the bus, and then 3 minutes for the second walk. I am often known to skip the 14.34 minute shower in the morning for an extra 14.20 minutes of sleep. (That allows for the 14 seconds of much needed deodorant usage to hide the fact that I am an adult who sacrifices bathing himself for a couple minutes of in and out half sleep.)
Then you get to the bus stop or the station and the first thing you have to do is wait some more. Sometimes you get lucky and you can just cram onto a bus with all the other hurrying Taiwanese people who feel it absolutely imperative that they get one of those hard broken down seats for their ride which lasts only one stop in the first place. If you have to wait you get the wonderful opportunity to take a look at all the nutjobs of society who have deemed the bus station a fair place to "wallow in their own crapulence." The majority of the people at bus stations don't even look like they are going to use a bus. In a place made for taking and bringing people to different places, half the population is just there to smoke a cigarette, take a nap, or maybe try to sit up straight and not throw up from the diseased rat he just chased with a shot of watered down vodka before embarking into this fine museum of human curiousness.
Next comes getting on the bus or the metro. People act like they are racing to a pot of gold or swimming to a drownling child when they are JUST GETTING ON A BUS! They do the complete opposite when they get off as if they broke both their legs on the ride. This mix of motivations really messes with people and you end up seeing a lot of tripping, face planting, and lots of "accidental" butt grabbing.
The buses are always crowded and when they are crowded they suck and they are always crowded so they always suck. Usually about seven seconds after the doors close you quickly realize that you were no pioneer in your idea to skip the shower. On real bad bus rides the windows will fog up like a car at the drive-in when in reality it is just a bunch of ratbags marinating in their own effluence.
The biggest dickheads always seem to be the ones who get the seats too. You walk in tired after a long day, maybe you have some stuff from work so your backpack is getting heavy, and who do you see but some 15 year old punk jamming away at his PSP not even noticing the old lady begging for a seat as she sways on her chopstick legs. My favorite are the people who close their eyes and pretend like they are sleeping while they relax in the "comfy" little chairs. I find being surrounded by a million stink bombs coughing and scratching is the ideal place to catch a little rest and relaxation.
The buses are always rickety and bouncy and after a while a covered wagon sounds like a much better deal. (At least you might get to enjoy a little buffalo jerky along the way.) Often times it gets so crowded that everyone moves together like one big blob. I imagine the best way to think of it would be like a bus sized slab of jello jiggling after someone knocked the table. Once and a while the bus will have just enough space for the only morbidly obese dude in Taiwan, who is wearing a sleeveless t-shirt at the time, to smash his perfectly angled armpit into your face. (True story.) If you didn't already have your gag reflex working over time from the smell, something like this might put it into overdrive and end up giving you more space on the bus than you might desire.
The last part that really twists my arm (that's not true, there are a lot more) is the way Taiwanese people only enjoy order for half the experience. While waiting they are calm and collected and polite and they collect in a nice little line in wonderful expectation for the magical mystery bus to take them to some far off place. Suddenly the the red lights start blinking and the wind picks up and everyone knows, "that's that mothafuckah comin' to get my ass home to some dumplings." The chaos is like a great orchestral piece that slowly builds into one giant pound of the drum. The line looses its strength and everyone crams into the doorway like play dough being shoved into a keyhole. (It is a bit like when a man tries to make love to a woman after consuming a lot of whiskey.... it just ain't gonna work.) Eventually someone from inside the train or the bus decides he has had enough and gives a little shove so that everyone can fall out like beans out of an upside down can. Then these same people go and stand on the left side of the goddamn escalator making it impossible for anyone to do anything but ascend slowly up the metal stairs staring at the gum and dirt pasted on the passing walls.
Public transportation may suck a whole bunch of ass but it does get you somewhere. Often times it is taking you to work which is just as uninteresting, but at least you don't have to walk anywhere. Well, you did have to walk to the bus stop and then there was that little walk you made as slow as your mathematical schedule would allow. (no longer than 3 minutes and 17 seconds.) And there are some rare times when you have to take a bus and then a train and then another bus just to get home so you can take a crap two days in the making only to comfortably sit down and find out that the house is empty and so is your toilet paper dispenser.
But hey that's just how it is and when you are as cheap as I am it works alright. Perhaps I'll catch you on a bus sometime. I'll be that asshole slapping you across the face as you pretend to lightly snore in some poor old geezer's seat.
First there's the walk. Yeah, I know, here I am using public transportation like a broke-ass loser and I have to walk there first. I mean walking to get to somewhere to go somewhere seems like all sorts of wasting time. I usually do this intricate math problem before every day adding 13.5 minutes for the walk, 12.25 minutes for the bus, and then 3 minutes for the second walk. I am often known to skip the 14.34 minute shower in the morning for an extra 14.20 minutes of sleep. (That allows for the 14 seconds of much needed deodorant usage to hide the fact that I am an adult who sacrifices bathing himself for a couple minutes of in and out half sleep.)
Then you get to the bus stop or the station and the first thing you have to do is wait some more. Sometimes you get lucky and you can just cram onto a bus with all the other hurrying Taiwanese people who feel it absolutely imperative that they get one of those hard broken down seats for their ride which lasts only one stop in the first place. If you have to wait you get the wonderful opportunity to take a look at all the nutjobs of society who have deemed the bus station a fair place to "wallow in their own crapulence." The majority of the people at bus stations don't even look like they are going to use a bus. In a place made for taking and bringing people to different places, half the population is just there to smoke a cigarette, take a nap, or maybe try to sit up straight and not throw up from the diseased rat he just chased with a shot of watered down vodka before embarking into this fine museum of human curiousness.
Next comes getting on the bus or the metro. People act like they are racing to a pot of gold or swimming to a drownling child when they are JUST GETTING ON A BUS! They do the complete opposite when they get off as if they broke both their legs on the ride. This mix of motivations really messes with people and you end up seeing a lot of tripping, face planting, and lots of "accidental" butt grabbing.
The buses are always crowded and when they are crowded they suck and they are always crowded so they always suck. Usually about seven seconds after the doors close you quickly realize that you were no pioneer in your idea to skip the shower. On real bad bus rides the windows will fog up like a car at the drive-in when in reality it is just a bunch of ratbags marinating in their own effluence.
The biggest dickheads always seem to be the ones who get the seats too. You walk in tired after a long day, maybe you have some stuff from work so your backpack is getting heavy, and who do you see but some 15 year old punk jamming away at his PSP not even noticing the old lady begging for a seat as she sways on her chopstick legs. My favorite are the people who close their eyes and pretend like they are sleeping while they relax in the "comfy" little chairs. I find being surrounded by a million stink bombs coughing and scratching is the ideal place to catch a little rest and relaxation.
The buses are always rickety and bouncy and after a while a covered wagon sounds like a much better deal. (At least you might get to enjoy a little buffalo jerky along the way.) Often times it gets so crowded that everyone moves together like one big blob. I imagine the best way to think of it would be like a bus sized slab of jello jiggling after someone knocked the table. Once and a while the bus will have just enough space for the only morbidly obese dude in Taiwan, who is wearing a sleeveless t-shirt at the time, to smash his perfectly angled armpit into your face. (True story.) If you didn't already have your gag reflex working over time from the smell, something like this might put it into overdrive and end up giving you more space on the bus than you might desire.
The last part that really twists my arm (that's not true, there are a lot more) is the way Taiwanese people only enjoy order for half the experience. While waiting they are calm and collected and polite and they collect in a nice little line in wonderful expectation for the magical mystery bus to take them to some far off place. Suddenly the the red lights start blinking and the wind picks up and everyone knows, "that's that mothafuckah comin' to get my ass home to some dumplings." The chaos is like a great orchestral piece that slowly builds into one giant pound of the drum. The line looses its strength and everyone crams into the doorway like play dough being shoved into a keyhole. (It is a bit like when a man tries to make love to a woman after consuming a lot of whiskey.... it just ain't gonna work.) Eventually someone from inside the train or the bus decides he has had enough and gives a little shove so that everyone can fall out like beans out of an upside down can. Then these same people go and stand on the left side of the goddamn escalator making it impossible for anyone to do anything but ascend slowly up the metal stairs staring at the gum and dirt pasted on the passing walls.
Public transportation may suck a whole bunch of ass but it does get you somewhere. Often times it is taking you to work which is just as uninteresting, but at least you don't have to walk anywhere. Well, you did have to walk to the bus stop and then there was that little walk you made as slow as your mathematical schedule would allow. (no longer than 3 minutes and 17 seconds.) And there are some rare times when you have to take a bus and then a train and then another bus just to get home so you can take a crap two days in the making only to comfortably sit down and find out that the house is empty and so is your toilet paper dispenser.
But hey that's just how it is and when you are as cheap as I am it works alright. Perhaps I'll catch you on a bus sometime. I'll be that asshole slapping you across the face as you pretend to lightly snore in some poor old geezer's seat.
Friday, December 26, 2008
'Tis the season
Wow, Christmas is over and I hardly even knew it was here. In fact, for the first time in my life I think I feel a bit alleviated to have it be finished. If I could tell you one thing it would be that Buddhist's do not, in any way, do the Christmas thing like we do. I never really realized it but once you take out all the love and sentimentality of the wonderful holiday, it can feel hollow and stale like old bread. People think that Christmas in the States is becoming way too absorbed in the commercial aspects but I think they should see it here. These people practically think that we celebrate the holiday because it was the first time Frosty the Snowman came to be.
You know, when I was a kid, Christmas was a really special thing for me. It stayed that way until I left home and had to celebrate it away and even alone. Now that I am a working man life seems to be much shorter after the work is done. There is less time for play and even less energy for that play I earn. I feel like it was only yesterday that I had dreams of being a famous robber or even better, a real live garbage man and now the reality is debt and work. (But it ain't so bad)
However, I suppose after all that banter about how everyone seemed to forget about the meaning of Christmas I will go ahead and describe the grand Christmas show that our school put on this past weekend. We worked diligently for about six weeks on the show and it our immense work load finally culminated in a bizarrely successful night of children running around, sweating from stage lights, and curses thrown out by various adults in just as many various languages.
Some how my "charm" or "ability to get sucked into too many things" led to my being involved as an actor in my classes' skit and MC of both the two hour shows. Hooray, more work for me!!! So we worked way too hard and by the end my new arch nemesis (aka my Chinese teacher Brenda) was bitching at me like she was my accidental wife and mother to my ill-gotten bastard son. I mean Christ chick we teach first grade chill your ass!!! So she was way too stressed and therefore I decided to be not really troubled at all and thus even more of a poisonous thorn in the side of all these caffeine jacked nutcase Taiwanese teachers.
Somehow we made it through most of the night despite our differing opinions about how fun should be had and I thought that no major catastrophe would happen. I was wrong. To give you an example of how things were going, the two other classes in my show were naturally doing skits about Christmas where all the children got some time in the spotlight to say "I want a big and fast toy truck for Christmas Santy Claaauuus." Who wouldn't love that? It's simple and sweet and you know that you are getting the hell outta this shitass cramped and stinky theatre on the fifth floor of the library at a good hour. Then you have the last skit come on; mine of course. Now, I thought some sort of Charlie Brownesque play would be delightful for all those darling parents in the gum and stain invested seats in front of us. Sound good Brenda? Ohhhhh nooooo.
"Alright audience, weren't the last two performances great? Let's give them one more round of applause and then welcome my class with the 2008 Hess School Science Fair!" This was all I had to announce to make most of the fathers in the crowd (who even understood English) think, "Jesus, give me a gun right now and I'll do it. I'll end this misery." No Santa, no reindeer, certainly no Herby the little elf who just wants to be a dentist; just me and fourteen kids in white lab coats and big... black... afros (Taiwan's idea of an Albert Einstein impression.) Oh yeah, and a long boring skit about the wonders of science.
[I'll give you, oh faithful reader, a little background on the scumbagery of the this idea. You see our school is the most expensive English school on this entire island. They give the kids every opportunity in the hopes that it will help them evolve into Asia's next great generation and what it really does is begin a lifetime of unattainable expectations added to a giant early hear attack giving mountain of stress. My class in particular, is the cream of the white collar crop so they have to do every "fun" after school activity from piano, French and English tutor, dance, and every other thing possible. Most parents drop their kids off in Porsche's, Jaguars, and even a Ferrari and one parent came the night of the show with her best friend, the "Britney Spears" of the Taiwan music scene.
These fanatical parents insist that their kids have all these useless and expensive science textbooks and that I deliver insightful and scientific lectures for their 6 year old sons and daughters each week. (Remember these are kindergardners learning a second and often third language.) Needless to say, our school manager felt that by pumping up the science at the show would increase other parents interest in science for their kindergartners and thus sell more books. Ah the beauty of "educational ethics."]
Pardon,I'm getting way carried away because it was a rough day and I found out that I have to work tomorrow, that's right Saturday, at 8 am.
So the story continues. We go through the boring motions of our science fair with some of the old, "matter is anything that takes up space and has mass" from one six year old and "this is called a physical change" from the adorable 2.5 foot tall Nini. I think the only thing that held people's interest was all the giant bouncing afros on scattered throughout the stage.
Then comes the dreaded last scene. I had worked really hard to memorize all my stupid lines and those of the others so I could help them when the influx of cycloptic (yes I know it isn't a real word) parents was too much to handle. There was not a single person who didn't have some sort of camera to his face the entire show. So things were sailing along nicely and then I forget a line. Oops, one girl was missing and I had forgotten to say her part about the chemical change. I can already see Brenda growing livid with dissatisfaction. Then, boom! and pop! "What was that? Oh just a light bulb has popped. Oh and what would you know, a fire is emerging up in the rafters.....WAIT, HOLY SHIT A FIRE" I am thinking all this while the cameras snap away and the kids look at me wondering how I have forgotten my lines.
I freeze. I am now ruining the show throwing gestures to the side of the stage mouthing "THERE--IS--A--FIRE!" The flames are growing and a white smoke is beginning to collect and all Brenda can do is grow red-eyed with disgust waving at me to go on with the now completely unimportant skit. I ponder "what is more important, these bored parents hearing the definition of a liquid and solid or their children not making headlines for being burned to death as the acrylic afros melt to their small craniums?" I feel that my panic is justified and yet everyone else seems to believe that the show must go on. Rain or shine or growing inferno.
I struggle through some more lines and even receive a kick from the little girl standing next to me who can't see the fire and thus believes that her teacher and mentor is a brain dead idiot who still can't remember his part after 6 weeks of grueling and excruciating practice. The smoke is visible and yet still everyone seems more interested in finding out if the robot toy has more mass than the dolly. What can I do?
Finally the teachers decide, "well if it will make him happy we will do something about the growing fire in this crowded theatre filled with small innocent children." They get the fire down by fanning it and preforming some other much needed remedies and my stress level declines to only two future ulcers status and I stumble through the end of the show.
I am now visably drained of energy due to my flipout session combined with a sudden fatigue, and the big furry afro make me out to look like the ideal junky crack addict. I am physically shaking and yet what do I get for all my troubles? "Why did you forget your lines?" Brenda is actually fuming more than the previous fire.
"Why don't you shove it right up your ass you evil demon bitch!" I was doing a lot of angry thinking that night that filtered out as a calm and collective, "I apologize but weren't you aware of the fire?"
"We took care of the fire but you still messed up the show." Brenda retorts.
"Well I guess it is the end of the the fucking world that all these parents don't get to hear some useless science shit three days before Christmas." My far past irate screams once again get squeezed out as, "I am glad you took care of the fire and it just got me a little freaked out."
Brenda had nothing to say to this and walked off probably to go bite the heads off of chickens just to get her fill of death and hatred of all things unorganized and spontaneous.
Of course in the end I desperately needed to go get some fresh air and was stopped by many adoring parents with nothing but nice things to say about my teaching, my friendliness with the students, and their enjoyment of our "well-rehearsed" science fair. No one was displeased and no one died. It was a fair evening and it didn't stop until I was polishing off a bottle of Saki on my rooftop at 730 the next morning with Guillaume, the French man I met and went out with that night.
That there is an entirely different story in itself but I'm tired and I must depart to joylessly arise at 730 am for my early Saturday classes. Life ain't so bad but it sure isn't what I thought it would be when I wrote my second grade report about the wonders of being a garbage man in the future.
You know, when I was a kid, Christmas was a really special thing for me. It stayed that way until I left home and had to celebrate it away and even alone. Now that I am a working man life seems to be much shorter after the work is done. There is less time for play and even less energy for that play I earn. I feel like it was only yesterday that I had dreams of being a famous robber or even better, a real live garbage man and now the reality is debt and work. (But it ain't so bad)
However, I suppose after all that banter about how everyone seemed to forget about the meaning of Christmas I will go ahead and describe the grand Christmas show that our school put on this past weekend. We worked diligently for about six weeks on the show and it our immense work load finally culminated in a bizarrely successful night of children running around, sweating from stage lights, and curses thrown out by various adults in just as many various languages.
Some how my "charm" or "ability to get sucked into too many things" led to my being involved as an actor in my classes' skit and MC of both the two hour shows. Hooray, more work for me!!! So we worked way too hard and by the end my new arch nemesis (aka my Chinese teacher Brenda) was bitching at me like she was my accidental wife and mother to my ill-gotten bastard son. I mean Christ chick we teach first grade chill your ass!!! So she was way too stressed and therefore I decided to be not really troubled at all and thus even more of a poisonous thorn in the side of all these caffeine jacked nutcase Taiwanese teachers.
Somehow we made it through most of the night despite our differing opinions about how fun should be had and I thought that no major catastrophe would happen. I was wrong. To give you an example of how things were going, the two other classes in my show were naturally doing skits about Christmas where all the children got some time in the spotlight to say "I want a big and fast toy truck for Christmas Santy Claaauuus." Who wouldn't love that? It's simple and sweet and you know that you are getting the hell outta this shitass cramped and stinky theatre on the fifth floor of the library at a good hour. Then you have the last skit come on; mine of course. Now, I thought some sort of Charlie Brownesque play would be delightful for all those darling parents in the gum and stain invested seats in front of us. Sound good Brenda? Ohhhhh nooooo.
"Alright audience, weren't the last two performances great? Let's give them one more round of applause and then welcome my class with the 2008 Hess School Science Fair!" This was all I had to announce to make most of the fathers in the crowd (who even understood English) think, "Jesus, give me a gun right now and I'll do it. I'll end this misery." No Santa, no reindeer, certainly no Herby the little elf who just wants to be a dentist; just me and fourteen kids in white lab coats and big... black... afros (Taiwan's idea of an Albert Einstein impression.) Oh yeah, and a long boring skit about the wonders of science.
[I'll give you, oh faithful reader, a little background on the scumbagery of the this idea. You see our school is the most expensive English school on this entire island. They give the kids every opportunity in the hopes that it will help them evolve into Asia's next great generation and what it really does is begin a lifetime of unattainable expectations added to a giant early hear attack giving mountain of stress. My class in particular, is the cream of the white collar crop so they have to do every "fun" after school activity from piano, French and English tutor, dance, and every other thing possible. Most parents drop their kids off in Porsche's, Jaguars, and even a Ferrari and one parent came the night of the show with her best friend, the "Britney Spears" of the Taiwan music scene.
These fanatical parents insist that their kids have all these useless and expensive science textbooks and that I deliver insightful and scientific lectures for their 6 year old sons and daughters each week. (Remember these are kindergardners learning a second and often third language.) Needless to say, our school manager felt that by pumping up the science at the show would increase other parents interest in science for their kindergartners and thus sell more books. Ah the beauty of "educational ethics."]
Pardon,I'm getting way carried away because it was a rough day and I found out that I have to work tomorrow, that's right Saturday, at 8 am.
So the story continues. We go through the boring motions of our science fair with some of the old, "matter is anything that takes up space and has mass" from one six year old and "this is called a physical change" from the adorable 2.5 foot tall Nini. I think the only thing that held people's interest was all the giant bouncing afros on scattered throughout the stage.
Then comes the dreaded last scene. I had worked really hard to memorize all my stupid lines and those of the others so I could help them when the influx of cycloptic (yes I know it isn't a real word) parents was too much to handle. There was not a single person who didn't have some sort of camera to his face the entire show. So things were sailing along nicely and then I forget a line. Oops, one girl was missing and I had forgotten to say her part about the chemical change. I can already see Brenda growing livid with dissatisfaction. Then, boom! and pop! "What was that? Oh just a light bulb has popped. Oh and what would you know, a fire is emerging up in the rafters.....WAIT, HOLY SHIT A FIRE" I am thinking all this while the cameras snap away and the kids look at me wondering how I have forgotten my lines.
I freeze. I am now ruining the show throwing gestures to the side of the stage mouthing "THERE--IS--A--FIRE!" The flames are growing and a white smoke is beginning to collect and all Brenda can do is grow red-eyed with disgust waving at me to go on with the now completely unimportant skit. I ponder "what is more important, these bored parents hearing the definition of a liquid and solid or their children not making headlines for being burned to death as the acrylic afros melt to their small craniums?" I feel that my panic is justified and yet everyone else seems to believe that the show must go on. Rain or shine or growing inferno.
I struggle through some more lines and even receive a kick from the little girl standing next to me who can't see the fire and thus believes that her teacher and mentor is a brain dead idiot who still can't remember his part after 6 weeks of grueling and excruciating practice. The smoke is visible and yet still everyone seems more interested in finding out if the robot toy has more mass than the dolly. What can I do?
Finally the teachers decide, "well if it will make him happy we will do something about the growing fire in this crowded theatre filled with small innocent children." They get the fire down by fanning it and preforming some other much needed remedies and my stress level declines to only two future ulcers status and I stumble through the end of the show.
I am now visably drained of energy due to my flipout session combined with a sudden fatigue, and the big furry afro make me out to look like the ideal junky crack addict. I am physically shaking and yet what do I get for all my troubles? "Why did you forget your lines?" Brenda is actually fuming more than the previous fire.
"Why don't you shove it right up your ass you evil demon bitch!" I was doing a lot of angry thinking that night that filtered out as a calm and collective, "I apologize but weren't you aware of the fire?"
"We took care of the fire but you still messed up the show." Brenda retorts.
"Well I guess it is the end of the the fucking world that all these parents don't get to hear some useless science shit three days before Christmas." My far past irate screams once again get squeezed out as, "I am glad you took care of the fire and it just got me a little freaked out."
Brenda had nothing to say to this and walked off probably to go bite the heads off of chickens just to get her fill of death and hatred of all things unorganized and spontaneous.
Of course in the end I desperately needed to go get some fresh air and was stopped by many adoring parents with nothing but nice things to say about my teaching, my friendliness with the students, and their enjoyment of our "well-rehearsed" science fair. No one was displeased and no one died. It was a fair evening and it didn't stop until I was polishing off a bottle of Saki on my rooftop at 730 the next morning with Guillaume, the French man I met and went out with that night.
That there is an entirely different story in itself but I'm tired and I must depart to joylessly arise at 730 am for my early Saturday classes. Life ain't so bad but it sure isn't what I thought it would be when I wrote my second grade report about the wonders of being a garbage man in the future.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Tektonik
I must say my weekends in Taipei are interestingly spent. They are almost always filled with new, fun, exciting and a bit mind-boggling adventures. Quite the contrast from my weekends of the year past where I often didn't leave the comfort of my PJs for all three days. (I write this as I take a break from Sunday movie watching in my PJs right now.)
Let's just go ahead and start with Friday. The week was over and as it wasn't all that hard of a week I was feeling rather content and light hearted and in a merry mood. Ready for anything. I came home to my little mosquito invested casa to find Dunkle in a rather similar form of spirits and thus the inspiration for the night was born. "Let's go drink a bunch of scotch and then go to a Dutch DJ hosted rave," was our fantastic idea. "Why not....sounds like a good old time."
I have made a worthy effort to figure it out but for some reason there has been a big Chinese type festival going on all around us. Friday night started with Dunkle and I talking a leisurely walking around the neighborhood checking out the different festivities while once and a while taking a swig of Famous Grouse sctoch recently purchased at one of the fine 7-11 establishments. What amazed me then, and still does now as I listen to its music from outside the window, was the traditional Chinese musical theatre set up in the park next to our place. Dunkle and I took some time to enjoy the music of the Chinese violin and the dancing of the singing women (kimonos and make up and all.) It was pretty amazing and seeing that type of stuff really makes me appreciate the fact that I really do live in a place different from what I have ever known or will.
So after taking in some Taiwanese/Chinese culture and a bottle of the good stuff Dunkle and I were more than ready for a little high intensity drum and bass at one of the premier Taiwanese dance clubs. I think we were supposed to be meeting some people there but that pretty much fell apart when we just showed up (neon green T-shirts and all) with one idea: LETS DANCE LIKE IDIOTS IN FRONT OF ALL THESE PEOPLE! And man did we do it. We were all over this club dancing with absolutely no regard for what we must have looked like. I'm talking doing the wave sort of stuff with the hands and even spinning on the floor. At one point I stopped myself and went "holy shit, I'm dancing like an insane person who is simultaneously ceasing in front of all these people." Upon that realization I looked over at Dunkle and saw that he was doing the same thing and not only that but the crowd had made a circle around us and was cheering for us. No joke, we had become the life of the party.
That is when I knew it had to be done......dance contest! I started picking people at random and saying "you! Me! right now on the dance floor!" I then commenced to make a fool out of myself just because it was a Friday night and I live on an island off the coast of China. The best part was that I wasn't turned down from one single challenge. You see club folk take their dancing seriously and don't like to see a poser wannabe like me putting shame to their art. It was all very.....awesome.
After all this dancing Dunkle and I decided, "now it's time to meet some girls and show them our new found confidence." We talked to several girls and danced with a few more and things were looking up for us both. That was when I came up with what I thought was the best line ever given at a club. I walked "smoothly" (stumblingly) up to some girl and simply said "here take this and call me sometime." I walked back to Dunkle all smiles and said "oh yeah dude, that was sweet."
Dunkle's only reply was "dude you just gave that girl your cell phone. Why did you do that."
"Don't worry bro, she'll call," was my fabulous retort.
I still don't know where my cell phone is and I am probably going to have to buy another one.
The rest of the night was a blur of similar encounters where Dunkle and I managed to be the most prolific morons found in a nightclub. The funniest part was Dunkle waking up the next morning with of framed picture of us at the club that neither of us remember receiving.
The next day woke up with three hours of drunk sleep with the intention of meeting a pal for a nice Saturday lunch. I went to the rendez-vu point only to realize that I no longer had a cell phone which meant I had no way to contact anyone and no idea what time it was. I waited for an hour with no sight of my friend. Rather than dining with my friend at one of his favorite Indian restaurants I went to eat by myself where I realized that I almost hate Subway more than I do McDonalds. The food made me sick all day and I had to sleep on a concrete wall in a park for an hour because I didn't have time to go back home before my private tutor.
Sometimes I surprise myself at my inability to grow up. Sorry ma and pa I know you guys are wondering when I will retire my childishness but it was unfortunately not this weekend. At least I can admire that fact that I am becoming one of the best teachers at our school. I am on the list with the A level teachers and all the kids like me. I guess weekday Putt and weekend Putt are two different sides of the same face.
Let's just go ahead and start with Friday. The week was over and as it wasn't all that hard of a week I was feeling rather content and light hearted and in a merry mood. Ready for anything. I came home to my little mosquito invested casa to find Dunkle in a rather similar form of spirits and thus the inspiration for the night was born. "Let's go drink a bunch of scotch and then go to a Dutch DJ hosted rave," was our fantastic idea. "Why not....sounds like a good old time."
I have made a worthy effort to figure it out but for some reason there has been a big Chinese type festival going on all around us. Friday night started with Dunkle and I talking a leisurely walking around the neighborhood checking out the different festivities while once and a while taking a swig of Famous Grouse sctoch recently purchased at one of the fine 7-11 establishments. What amazed me then, and still does now as I listen to its music from outside the window, was the traditional Chinese musical theatre set up in the park next to our place. Dunkle and I took some time to enjoy the music of the Chinese violin and the dancing of the singing women (kimonos and make up and all.) It was pretty amazing and seeing that type of stuff really makes me appreciate the fact that I really do live in a place different from what I have ever known or will.
So after taking in some Taiwanese/Chinese culture and a bottle of the good stuff Dunkle and I were more than ready for a little high intensity drum and bass at one of the premier Taiwanese dance clubs. I think we were supposed to be meeting some people there but that pretty much fell apart when we just showed up (neon green T-shirts and all) with one idea: LETS DANCE LIKE IDIOTS IN FRONT OF ALL THESE PEOPLE! And man did we do it. We were all over this club dancing with absolutely no regard for what we must have looked like. I'm talking doing the wave sort of stuff with the hands and even spinning on the floor. At one point I stopped myself and went "holy shit, I'm dancing like an insane person who is simultaneously ceasing in front of all these people." Upon that realization I looked over at Dunkle and saw that he was doing the same thing and not only that but the crowd had made a circle around us and was cheering for us. No joke, we had become the life of the party.
That is when I knew it had to be done......dance contest! I started picking people at random and saying "you! Me! right now on the dance floor!" I then commenced to make a fool out of myself just because it was a Friday night and I live on an island off the coast of China. The best part was that I wasn't turned down from one single challenge. You see club folk take their dancing seriously and don't like to see a poser wannabe like me putting shame to their art. It was all very.....awesome.
After all this dancing Dunkle and I decided, "now it's time to meet some girls and show them our new found confidence." We talked to several girls and danced with a few more and things were looking up for us both. That was when I came up with what I thought was the best line ever given at a club. I walked "smoothly" (stumblingly) up to some girl and simply said "here take this and call me sometime." I walked back to Dunkle all smiles and said "oh yeah dude, that was sweet."
Dunkle's only reply was "dude you just gave that girl your cell phone. Why did you do that."
"Don't worry bro, she'll call," was my fabulous retort.
I still don't know where my cell phone is and I am probably going to have to buy another one.
The rest of the night was a blur of similar encounters where Dunkle and I managed to be the most prolific morons found in a nightclub. The funniest part was Dunkle waking up the next morning with of framed picture of us at the club that neither of us remember receiving.
The next day woke up with three hours of drunk sleep with the intention of meeting a pal for a nice Saturday lunch. I went to the rendez-vu point only to realize that I no longer had a cell phone which meant I had no way to contact anyone and no idea what time it was. I waited for an hour with no sight of my friend. Rather than dining with my friend at one of his favorite Indian restaurants I went to eat by myself where I realized that I almost hate Subway more than I do McDonalds. The food made me sick all day and I had to sleep on a concrete wall in a park for an hour because I didn't have time to go back home before my private tutor.
Sometimes I surprise myself at my inability to grow up. Sorry ma and pa I know you guys are wondering when I will retire my childishness but it was unfortunately not this weekend. At least I can admire that fact that I am becoming one of the best teachers at our school. I am on the list with the A level teachers and all the kids like me. I guess weekday Putt and weekend Putt are two different sides of the same face.
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