Go Regina Go

posted on 01.11.09

Why hello again. I am currently relaxing on a Saturday afternoon with a cup of vanilla tea and some easy listening… guess my midlife crisis came early. I don’t know if you’ve had the pleasure of working 6 days a week, but let me impart that it leaves me consistently whooped every week. To be fair, the week seems to shoot by. Yesterday, I literally said aloud “Jesus Christ, where does the time go?”….. I can’t believe it’s almost the end of October. The weather here is perfect right now… it’s still quite warm (70 or so) during the day, but the sun is not as menacing, and it feels further away. On a motorcycle at night, the cool wind comes sifts right through your t-shirt— definitely time to buy cardigans and a light jacket. But here I am holed up in my apartment on my first day of freedom all week— why? Bluntly put, I feel like shit. I think I may have given myself laryngitis this week. It’s pretty easy to do, if you yell for thirty hours a week and don’t have time to hydrate. So I’ve put myself on a strict “all tea, no talking” regimen this weekend. Considering I have no friends, and I ran out of coffee, this should be a relatively easy task.

Let’s talk about autumn. Although I love it here, there is really nothing like autumn in the midwest. Since autumn always signals the new term, it always feels a bit collegiate, tramping through the orange leaves to get to class, or the smell of soil on the way to the pub. Here it’s very different, although until I’ve experienced the autumn from start to finish, I can’t say if it’s worse or better. Everyone has definitely slowed down a bit, they’re no longer scrambling like insects to get out of the sun. People are walking their dogs a little more leisurely, lounging on sidewalk tables. One of my favorite places to go is the Culture Center, which is essentially a large public events building, with a library and a cafe, and an adjacent park. Around 9 and 10, once it really starts to cool down, the building and the lawn are both packed with people. Mostly people walking their dogs, teenagers, lots of dance troupes (boombox and all) and plenty of senior citizen exercise brigades. Everytime I see a group of Taiwanese 70-somethings doing synchronized tai chi, I’m sorry but I have to stifle my laughter. It’s straight out of ‘Cocoon’ or something. It’s not like old folks back home who are content with printing out forwarded email in 20 pt. font, and shuffleboard. In fact, I should really be quiet because any one of them could probably kick my ass. So anyway: autumn.  That’s what my experience is like here. Since the leaves don’t change color, the only time you can see a lot of burnt orange and dark yellow is on people’s clothes. Even in autumn, and presumably all through winter, there is a lot of fluoresence here. There’s also a lot of gracefully weathering buildings, lanterns at random.

People don’t celebrate Halloween, but everyone knows what it is, and various nightlife institutions catering to Westerners, or people interested in the West, will have an event. I practically swore on my life to the bar around the corner that I would come to their Halloween shindig, and now I have to conjure up a good DIY costume. A vampire is do-able, and an appropriate nod to classic horror, but since I’m the official ambassador of the entire Halloween tradition, I think I need to come up with something more inventive. A sofa cushion? A psycho killer? Rush Limbaugh? Gosh things would be so much easier if I could afford a Chewbacca costume.

Earlier this week, I’d been planning on visiting one of the hot springs around Kaohsiung for a little r&r, but since falling ill yesterday, I’m not quite feeling up to an hour motorcycle ride, or sitting in a salty volcano hole for that matter. So the new, less radical plan is to cut and dye my own hair and take my first bubble bath in my apartment. Don’t you know that ammonia and water that gives you diarrhea if you drink it —let alone soak in it for too long— works wonders for both the body and spirit? It’s like a white trash spa. Malt liquor is the only thing missing. But seriously, I do want to sample some of the hot springs in Taiwan, but this weekend was shot before it even began. I think I will do some light shopping tonight… maybe it will help me brainstorm for my Halloween costume, and subdue my ragamuffin-esque appearance in the meantime.

The women are so, so slender here. Not all of them, clearly, but I would say the average Taiwanese woman is a good 3 inches shorter and 20 lbs. lighter than the average American one. On a good day, I feel rubenesque. Most days, I feel burly. That being said, I think one of the biggest physical differences between here and home is the body language. Everytime I stand up to walk, people are always looking at me. I realized that compared to the local girls, I am taking huge steps… again, sometimes I feel confident, sometimes I feel sloppy. I also can’t think of a time I saw a local gal, or guy, stand with their hands on their hips, which I think is my natural, requisite pose (fetal position is so overrated). I’ve experienced both ends of the spectrum: people have asked to take a picture with me because they think I look like a movie star (?!), and they’ve craned their heads and stare at me on the street with a face that transcends the language barrier, the classic ‘WTF?’ expression.

In related news, I think I may have found a Chinese tutor, so hopefully I can stop tracing Chinese symbols from the internet onto post-its and bringing them to restaurants (see also: looking like a retard).

Ohh, and I’m once again undertaking the grand tradition of applying to MFA programs (second time’s a charm?). I’m playing it a lot smarter this time, and I feel really good about things so far. Plus, it is already alot less stressful than last time since I’m not juggling exams and waitressing… and Lord knows there’s no friends here to hog my time. However, even ‘playing it smarter’ is going to cost me around $700 total. Bye paycheck!

Well it’s time to trim my mane and bathe. I miss you all. Promise I will update sooner rather than later….

posted on 24.10.09

So, last week a 6 year old boy pissed his pants in my class. He was in my first level class, meaning he just started learning English three weeks ago. When there are not enough chairs at the desks in the classroom, the students have to go down to the first floor and get pink plastic chairs. So this tiny boy was sitting in a little armless chair at the front of the classroom. About 20 minutes into class, we were working on a phonics worksheet. I hear a sudden commotion behind me: two adorable Taiwanese twins are pointing to the boy, who is standing bow legged next to his chair, yelling “water, water!”. At first I thought there was a leak in the air conditioner, or the window was open, so I stepped closely and suddenly the smell of fresh urine permeated my nostrils. I saw that the little boy’s black shorts were wet in the front. The class exploded.  Not quite in laughter, but in tall Chinese whispers, with some children looking amused and others aghast.  The little boy was saying something in Chinese to me, and pointing down to the puddle. I couldn’t understand him, but by the tone of his voice, I think he was trying to defend himself. His pink plastic chair was wet with urine. Without thinking, I ushered him from the room and told him to go to the bathroom. He started walking down the stairs, still bow legged. Instead of making him walk in front of the other classes with pissed shorts, I told him to use the staff bathroom, which was right upstairs. I went down and explained to the secretary what happened, and she came back upstairs with a mop and a bucket. As I stood on the stairwell, I could hear him sobbing from the staff bathroom. I thought, maybe he thinks I’m trying to hide him, that he has something to be ashamed of. I think he was afraid to ask me to use the bathroom; maybe he was worried he wouldn’t say it right. My first instinct was to get him out of the view of his peers, give him some privacy, clean himself up. And although I don’t know what else I could have done, I can’t help thinking that I unjustly quarantined him, the urgency with which I tried to hide him. I know he’s not intimidated by me, and he knows I wasn’t angry. It was only afterwards that I felt I enforced the wrong message…. everyone pisses, after all. Anyhow, once the mess was mopped up, I quieted the class and we went back to our phonics worksheet. The first letter we worked on was “P”. I’m glad the class wasn’t advanced enough to get the connection. Meanwhile, the secretary knocked softly at the bathroom door and murmured in a language he could understand. A minute later, she came in and picked up his small green bookbag. As the class was repeating one syllable words, I looked through the window and saw his spiky hair and the top of his ear as he walked down the hall.

A boy in one of my other classes also cried recently. Through no fault of my own, I swear. I gave an impromptu spelling test, the students had to spell short, heavy, bored and pencil. He misspelled two words. As we moved on to the next activity, I noticed he wasn’t talking and had a blank look on his face and was folding his test in half again and again. I asked him what was wrong, and he burst into little chubby tears. I told him it was okay, it wasn’t for a grade, he wasn’t in trouble, he wasn’t stupid. The girl next to him patted him on the head. I put the test in the trash and gave him three gummy bears. Even then, the only way to cheer him up was to make all the kids stand up and spin around everytime I said “crocodile”. Remind me to call it a spelling “game” next time.

When I woke up with hunger pangs this morning, I received an email from my mom that said our cell phone bill was astronomical. I can’t even repeat the figure! Suffice to say it was about 5 times the usual price. Neither of us knew that apparently even when people call me, it’s considered international roaming and costs $2/minute. And 50 cents to send a text, which we (or at least I) thought was free. She wasn’t angry. Still though. So that is going to take a decent chunk out of my next paycheck, which only sucks because I wanted to buy a guitar next month. Ach well. Life and all. I still have plenty to live on. So basically, I may be harder to get ahold of from here on out. Skype or facebook me. Or make a donation to my mother.

So, I definitely have a scooter. I definitely went and got a physical, which was pointless, but only cost about $3 American. They definitely just checked that I had eyes and a height. I definitely have a license, which has a photo of me I was so not ready for and thus look like a crack fiend in. I definitely have been riding around all week! My life has definitely flashed before my eyes more than once. I want to post pictures, but there was definitely a small incident involving spilled tea and my USB cord, and I don’t know where I can buy a new one. So, definitely soon.

I miss everyone. My mom pointed out to me the other day that Ohio is part of the only region of the world whose trees undergo a color change in autumn. It’s a small region, comparatively; only middle America and the eastern seaboard and parts of Canada. In my apartment, I forgot that I was supposed to water the plants on my balcony and they are looking a little worse for wear. Hopefully it’s not too late for redemption.

posted on 17.09.09

I attempted to get my motor scooter license yesterday, which I need before the people will sell me the scooter.

I’d like to express my feelings re: this event through the ancient art of playwrighting:

Scene 1, A young woman stands at the desk of the Kaohsiung DMV

K: Where are the papers from your first physical?

R: They belong to the ARC office now. But I have my ARC, which proves…..

K: Yeahhh. We’re gonna need you to get another physical.

R: Another physical? Gosh what’s that gonna set me back (cue panicked calculation of budget and finances)… can’t we just sort of use the transitive property and assume that since I passed one physical and it got me my ARC that it should also be sufficient for my scooter license?

K: You passed your physical? Show me your papers.

R: I don’t have them because I gave them to the people at the ARC office. But if you look on my ARC it clearly states I passed and I’m in good health.

K: Yeahhh. We’re gonna need this paper, stamped and signed by your hospital.

(Scene freezes. R turns to the audience)

R: Honestly? How much physical effort does it take to drive a scooter? Why do you even need to be in good health? What if I have AIDS or Lyme disease or low blood sugar… then I should just be immobile? Or, drive a scooter without a license? That’s discrimination. And also Marxism. But before you mistake me for a warrior of the people, you should know that the real reason I’m angry is because it’s the first day of my period, I’ve just taken a 30 minute subway ride, and everytime I attempt to get something done, some immovable bureaucratic force throws a bigger hoop for me to jump through.

K: I can hear you. You went for the scene freeze? What is this, “Boy Meets World”? And what do you mean “throws a hoop”? I think you mean throws a roadblock. You just mixed a metaphor. Ha! And you call yourself an English major!

R: No, I graduated, hence I call myself an English bachelor, but I guess you would know that if you were— wait. How did you know I majored in English?

K: Oh we know everything about you.

R: Ohh I get it. Stern foreigner in a white lab coat. Of course you know everything about me. Anything good?

K: Not really. You’re pretty non-descript. We do know you keep a copy of “The Wasteland” in your bathroom and you’re hoping someone will one day appreciate the pun. We also know you will not be getting your license today. And, as a result, you will come home slightly drunk later tonight.

R: Again, with the Marxism. History has shown I do my best writing alone at a bar.

K: Well I also happen to know you have a stack of papers to grade in a yellow notebook on top of your mini-fridge. Maybe give those a whirl.

R: You make it sound so pitiful. As if those are my only two options. You should know that, by proxy, you are preventing me from taking a yoga class across town. I need a scooter to get there.

K: Sometimes the biggest measure of character isn’t how much you can accomplish, but how much you can put up with. It’s not so much a battle of bureacracy as it is a battle of wills.

R: Oh, I think I just got your pun on “roadblock”. You’re the DMV. I can’t get my license. “Roadblock”. Subtle.

K: Took you that long? Something tells me you won’t be very good at yoga.

R: I could have told you that. No offense to your brethren and all, but I don’t even like the idea of zen. As this instance clearly indicates, life is not calm or quiet… it’s a shitstorm of frustration and revision and kinetic energy. It’s calamity, and if you don’t think so you’re either lying to yourself or you’re not really living.

K: They might make you meditate in class.

R: I’ll fake it.

K: So why are you paying money to sit in a room and pretend?

R: I want friends, on this continent. And toned thighs. And I also heard they have a superb tea shop.

K: (Pause) So what will it be? Les Mis? Cats? Newsies?!

R: Huh?

K: Well it seems like this conversation has hit it’s peak. And you’re certainly not getting your license. So, the only thing left to do now is choose your exit music.

R: I get a soundtrack? Wow, people must walk out of the DMV angry and disappointed a lot. Do you have anything you’d recommend?

K: Well, Les Mis seems like the obvious choice. You want to feel vindicated, walk out of here with a dozen fake-French Asians marching behind you, determined to revenge their oppressors. And who can resist a march? Then there’s Newsies, where a bunch of young ragamuffins take down the major American corporation. Certainly seems relevant here, but not everyone knows those songs. Hmm. Something tells me you’ll want something more eclectic, contemporary.

R: Indeed. How about a chorus of “We are the world” as I walk out the front doors?

K: The Michael Jackson verse or the Bruce Springsteen verse?

R: Is that even a question?

K: You’re right, you’re right. Okay, go.

(I grab my bag from the desk indignantly and begin to stride out. The other customers begin to sway and sing “We are the world, We are the children”. Springsteen appears from behind a pillar and high fives me as I walk out, throwing the hospital form over my shoulder).

End Scene

posted on 04.09.09

So in a precious streak of beebopping last night, I found myself youtubing pop starlets perform the national anthem at football games. I don’t know why. In fact, there were more than a few points where I actually said aloud “I would rather be euthanized than continue doing this”. However, I think part of me wanted to see if I can still have the Canned American Experience™ from the other side of the world.

If I can, then a major part of the Canned American Experience™is loving to watch people fail….. have you ever heard Miley Cyrus sing the national anthem? It’s treacherous. The bulk of the population maintains that Whitney Houston is the best, at the ’92 Superbowl. Her voice was killer, but as customary in the 90’s, the instrumentation completely overwhelmed. The orchestra sounded more like a spaceship. I’ve always been partial to an acappella Star Spangled Banner.

Of the several versions I watched, Kelly Clarkson took the cake. For me, she was a dark horse candidate… the schmaltziness of her songs sometimes rivals Celine Dion, without the excuse of being old and Canadian. However, her voice had just the right blend of power and vibrato, control. She also did not dick it up with a lot of faux soul…. the national anthem doesn’t really require the same accoutrements as “Amazing Grace” as sung by the Harlem Women’s Choir.

Christina Aguilera was surprisingly bad. She did two versions, one in which she is clearly nervous and doesn’t maximize the best notes… I hate when people shorten “red glare” and “in air” just to be sassy. The second version was —wait for it— a hip hop version from her hood rat days where she looks like a Mexican prostitute. There was rapping and choreographed dancing involved. I’m surprised Dick Cheney didn’t object.

That loonbucket Mariah Carey, for her faults, has incredible pipes, but disappointed me greatly because her vocals were pre-recorded. And she wasn’t even a good lipsyncer. I mean, she’s no Heidi Montag after all.

And then there was Beyonce. Quite simply, I abhor this woman and everything she stands for. I’d like to quote my friend Mallory who, in a fake conversation with Jesus, said “I just like to think of Beyonce as already dead … makes me feel a little better on the inside”.  From an objective standpoint, her vocals passed muster, but there was heaps of violin, she was dressed like the Baroness from “The Sound of Music”, and towards the end she was too (forgive the pun) fierce. In fact, she looked downright angry. The last few bars should be sung with a clear tone and an audible undercurrent of relief. If you can pull off the high note at “land of the freeeeee” (the proverbial money shot), it’s smooth sailing all the way to “home of the brave”. At that point, just sing and absorb the applause. Beyonce had too much attititude; there was no “Gee shucks, I’m just an American girl at a football game”.

For that same reason, I didn’t bother with the Jessica Simpson version.

Moving on, even though it is already 1 in the afternoon, I am determined to do something more profound with today than I did yesterday. A jog? Grading papers? Poetry? Donuts? Who can say, really.

I had a PHENOMENAL visit to Tainan earlier this week, and I took well over 200 pictures, so I’m in the process of loading the pics onto my computer (which by the way is on its last leg. If she can make it to October, I can continue blogging/beebopping without a hitch) and paring them down dramatically for viewing. I’ll give a proper update on my journey at that point, but for now suffice to say there was a lot of walking, there were monks involved, and I may or may not have stolen something.

posted on 28.08.09

Cijin Island

*In my opinion, all these albums are best when viewed as a slideshow

posted on 21.08.09

Liuhe Night Market & Urban Renewal

posted on 21.08.09

BritishConsulate

posted on 21.08.09