trotzen protzen kotzen

It’s been a torrid few days, so I don’t really have the energy for anything beyond naps and watching movies in my partially air-conditioned box. Spending an hour outside makes me want to sleep for three, so I’m hoping I can reverse that ratio soon. I also said goodbye to a good friend who decided to head back to the Beeg Smoke. We had a lovely afternoon on the patio at Wendel’s, a German restaurant and beer garden around the corner from my house. As we were leaving, a large Bavarian man came out of nowhere and gave me the old Gruß Gott. Give me Northern Germany and its secular greetings any day of the week. 

It’s not especially easy meeting quality westerners here, so I’ve basically given up on that and am now focusing my energies on integrating. That’s right, my Chinese is that good. Generally speaking, Occidentals here fall into two categories: English Teachers (or ET’s, as a Taiwanese friend aptly dubbed them (us)…Elliottttt. Ellllliiiioooottttttt) or the over-forty set of expats who work for multinationals that have shuttled them off to Taipei. My neighborhood is full of the latter, but I rarely see the husbands. Just the frumpy, purse-lipped wives who scowl-walk aimlessly around Tienmu and avoid eye contact at all costs. The very essence of charm.

Other than that, I’m trying to get a library card so I can feed my interest in the history of China from the fall of the Qing Dynasty to Generalissimo Chiang’s retreat from Charlie. If you haven’t already seen Ang Lee’s latest (Lust, Caution), you should. It renewed my burning desire to visit Shanghai, but I probably won’t be able to get a visa for the PRC until the Olympics and attendant ethnic cleansing are over with. I hope they didn’t bulldoze all of the history out of the place. How many eyesores in glass and steel can one country need?

Also: Today I had a student tell me that he would never live with an Australian. The reason? “They swell too much.” It took a few minutes of very amusing conversation to figure out that he meant “sweat”, at which point I was forced to agree, despite being pretty swollen myself these days.

Dawn French as Jackie Stallone. Reminds me of Raniels for some reason.

Back in the day I read somewhere that Americans instinctively find words that start with or contain a ‘K’ sound funny, so stand-up comedians try to incorporate as many of them as possible into their acts. I’ve recently discovered that most of the words that trigger my puke reflex start with or contain an ‘S’ sound, including:

• mince
• scalloped
• Jocelyn
• slough/slaw
• slurry

I guess that’s why ‘colostomy’ is such an interesting word. It’s funny, beautiful, and revolting, all at the same time. A real ‘mixed bag’.

For some reason, when people here find out that I’m Canadian, the first thing anyone over the age of thirty asks me about is the relationship between Canada and Quebec. The referendum was apparently pretty big news here back in the day because the local media decided to paint it as parallel to the Taiwanese struggle to be recognized as a sovereign nation. I have to explain at least once a week that Canada doesn’t have 900 ballistic missiles aimed at Quebec in the Chinese fashion, ready to maim and destroy if they ever get plucky enough to declare independence, and that Canada sends truckloads of shuddafuckup money in Quebec’s direction every year, quite unlike the threats that China hisses across the Strait every year.

The funny thing about this is that when they asked what I thought about having the Q of E as our nation’s official head of state, and I responded that I thought it was ludicrous, I was accused of disregarding my own heritage. When I pointed out that all non-aboriginal Taiwanese (the vast majority) floated over here from Mainland China relatively recently but don’t necessarily dig the idea of being ruled by their distant cousins, it looked like their heads were about to explode. 

Nationalism. So mind-numbingly boring. I wish they would ask me about les filles du roi and my theory of 10,000 instead.

There are many aspects of life in Taiwan that make me feel like I’m living in 1950s America: social conservatism, family-centric everything, the surfeit of Buddy Holly songs at karaoke bars, and the list goes on. The main source of that uncanny feeling, however, are the English names Taiwanese women choose for themselves. A quick scan of my student list makes me think I’m looking at a phone list at one of those fly-by-night operations that trick old ladies into remortgaging their houses. 

In alphabetical order: Agatha, Alice, Anita, April, Beryl, Carol, Daphne, Doris, Elaine, Esther, Eunice, Evelyn, Flora, Florence, Gloria, Grace, Irene, Ivy, Joan, Joy, Joyce, June, Lilian, Mavis, Nancy, Phoebe, Ruby, Sherry, Sylvia, Vicki, Vivian, Yvonne, Yvette. Most of these grand old dames are under the ripe age of 25.

Men in Taiwan, on the other hand, don’t shy away from names that range from eyebrow-raisers (I’m looking at you, Adolf Wang) to knee-slappers (Maverick being my favorite, followed closely by Shower Wang, Titan Wang, Big Show, Do Re Mi, and Zero).

As I need to choose a Chinese name for myself soon, I’m taking all of my reactions to the names of others into account. My Chinese name should include some sort of predatory animal (lion/eagle/owl) and a cultural reference that will inspire a mix of reverence and nervous giggling.

I’m heading out to meet my friend Hardy whom I barely ever see. He’s currently doing his mandatory military service, so he only gets to mingle with civilians every two weeks. Every man in Taiwan must dedicate at least a year of his life to running around getting yelled at and firing rifles (at least those who aren’t bandy-legged or insane). It used to be three years. I’m not really sure how effective a land army would be in the event of a Chinese missile bombardment (or a navy or air force for that matter), but I am quite sure that the whole thing is a wrench in the cogs of my social life here.

Those two weeks with my bandy-legged friends really get me down.

Welcome to my wank. As it’s my day off, I decided to loaf about in my housecoat all morning, and just as I mustered the will to shower and go outside, the sky erupted into some of the most spectacular Donner und Blitzen I’ve ever seen. Then it got annoying. Every time it thundered three car alarms would go off below my window, then stop, start, stop. Then there was an earthquake. Then I went into exciting event withdrawal and started this old thang.

I also saw Easy Rider for the first time this morning, and found it painful to watch. I’m usually a sucker for a road movie, but Dennis Hopper makes my skin crawl, and not in the good way. Over and out.