Unless you’re a complete hermit, you’ve heard about the tsunami disaster. The death toll keeps going up and up. I think it’s at 80,000 (UPDATE: approaching twice that number on 1/1) now, according to CNN. That’s a conservative estimate, btw. And the diseases have yet to start. I fear it’s going to get worse before it gets better.

The media’s covered with terrifying pictures, videos, etc. of the tsunamis. What I don’t get is all these pictures of people struggling in the water. I consider myself a photographer, and I’ve been accused of being pretty heartless, but if I see someone floating as I sit on top of my hotel building, I’m going to at least put down my camera and try to help them out. Forget your precious Pulitzer and find a pole or something, fer cryin’ out loud.

Anyway, for those of us who aren’t able to help out in person, it’s easy to donate money. Got an Amazon account? It’s one click; you don’t even need to get out your credit card. Don’t have an Amazon account? Here you go; pick one.

Dave wants to get the Ramblers, Tarrybush and other bands together for a benefit show. We’ll see if that works out.

The other day I opened up the sliding glass door to my bedroom balcony to find it was snowing outside. The white flakes were accompanied by children laughing and an unpleasant odor. I looked down and saw the source of all this: a family was burning a huge amount of ghost money in a vat in the alley below, and bits of ash were floating all over the place, some still glowing red. The kids in the family looked up and saw me, pointed and laughed, while the adults ignored me as I brushed off the bits of ash from my shirt.

One of the boys put on a neck brace, and then the family joined hands in a circle around the burning ghost money.

I hope they were praying for fire insurance.

Nobody knew what the Shannon would be like for performing. Dave had never been there, and the only kind of bands I’d ever seen there were over-amplified cover bands. Still it was the night before Christmas Eve, so we weren’t counting on a huge audience anyway.

I got a ride with Jojo and Sandy, a good thing since I was hauling not only my trumpet (the strad, not the poaquet), but also the washtub bass assembly. We got there to find Dave moving mic stands around and a handful of people sitting around. I met a couple of guys, both fashionably dressed. One of whom was the manager of the bar, but the other…well, I’m not sure in what capacity he was there. He acted like a manager or an agent, but as far as I know we don’t have an agent. He said don’t worry about the bill for the drinks, which was nice, though.

The show went pretty well, though I am still getting used to playing trumpet and bass, sometimes both in one song. We really need to organize who plays what, when and how. Playing the washtub takes a lot of concentration, but I enjoy getting actual basslines out of something that looks so bizarre.

The crowd seemed to enjoy the show; the second set went better than the first, as usual, but we only played for a couple of hours. Afterwards I was ready to keep on playing, but there were no convenient parks around to set up and play in, so we just hopped in a cab back to Xindian.

On Christmas Eve I went to a Christmas concert at the CKS Concert Hall with Darrell, Judy and a couple of their friends. At first I thought it would be a normal concert, but as the orchestra started up the entire place lit up like a karaoke bar, with lights flashing and strobing all over the place, including the audience. Periodically the lights threw strange shadows that made the back of the stage look like they had impaled a bunch of cockroaches on tinsel strands. I was expecting a disco ball to drop down at any moment.

The first piece the orchestra played was a warm up Christmas medley, and they sloughed over the jazzy part of Sleighride without the jazz. Then they played “The Polar Express”, which involved bilingual descriptions of every scene in the film and lasted longer than the actual movie. The woman in the seat next to me fell asleep; the guy next to Darrell pulled out a book and started reading.

Then the chorus came on stage and saved the director’s ass, they sounded so good. The director, to be honest, didn’t quite seem in control of the orchestra. You know that feeling when you’re sitting in the passenger side of a car driven by a teenage girl who just got her license? It felt like that, except I didn’t maintain a death-grip on the seat in front of me.

After the concert we retired to Darrell’s and Judy’s apartment, where we watched some videos amid the sea of canine activity that their abode has become. By the time we finished Chris Rock’s hilarious Bigger and Blacker, it was after 2am.

Christmas Day found me back in Jingmei for a delicious dinner including turkey and stuffing, green beans, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry sauce, several pies and a birthday cake, complete with embarrassing singing and candle-blowing. Judy made the cake, including the icing, herself. In case you didn’t know, Taiwanese cakes are all variants of sponge cake and involve inappropriate kinds of fruit, so real cake was a welcome change of pace. One of Judy’s friends had lost her voice (”teacher’s larynx”, I think they said) and spent the evening entertaining us with her Harpo Marx impression.

On Boxing Day, Sandy, Jojo and I went to our friend Ray’s apartment to help him with a video he’s making for a course. His place is across the river, not far from the Sandcastle. The view of mountains and trees almost makes up for the small size of his room. Later we went to Xiao Bitan station for a nice Chinese dinner and a look around the station itself, which is by far the nicest MRT station in the system.

So it was a nice Christmas weekend, all told. Next we have New Years and the last stretch before the real holidays, aka Chinese New Year, arrive.

About a week ago I found that my Yahoo password was no longer working. I tried to get a new one but they claimed my zip code didn’t match the one on my records, which is odd as I don’t think I entered one. Taiwan has area codes, but they’re not mandatory so I never enter them. I tried several times to actually contact a human being at Yahoo but all I ever got were form letters repeating that they needed the zip code. I answered all the other questions, even the “secret question”, but it’s not enough. I even contacted Ernie, who works at Yahoo, but he couldn’t help. Yahoo simply decided to change my password, locking all the items in my briefcase, denying access to services I’d paid for, and just leaving me hanging out to dry, with absolutely no customer support whatsoever.

Nice business model, guys. How’s your market share these days? Oh, good for you.

Last Sunday I finally got out to the new Miramar Mall in Dazhi. Its main feature is a huge ferris wheel that’s visible from all over town, but it also has an IMAX theatre. Thus, when Maoman called up and asked me if I wanted to go see The Polar Express in 3D with him and V, I told him I’d be ready in 5 minutes.

The area of Dazhi where the mall is located is very empty and flat, giving me the unnerving feeling the Xinyi District used to impart before it got filled with Mitsukoshi Department Stores and sidewalks. We got tickets for the 11pm showing and then walked around a bit before getting some dinner at the local Friday’s. Actually, it was a huge dinner, as dinners at Friday’s tend to be, and we got Lucky; Lucky was supposed to be our server, a hefty fellow whose head was stuck up the ass of a doll in the form of Sully from Monsters, Inc. I think it was supposed to be a hat. Maoman asked me if I thought Lucky was a ‘mo, but I didn’t have a chance to test out the secret handshake.

The food was good except for the fried ice cream we had for dessert. V had slipped out to exchange recipes or whatever it is women do in the bathroom, and returned with a new bra. I’m not even going to wonder about that.

The movie was ok, I guess. Well, not really. Our seats were all the way to one side of the theatre, and the staff must have been confused, because one guy told us we could switch once the movie started, but then once we sat down in our new seats, another guy came over and said the seats we were in were “forbidden” by “the boss”. So back to our bad seats we went.

The 3D effect wasn’t nearly as good as I recall from the IMAX in Sydney, and the Chinese subtitles, which weren’t in 3D, further ruined the effect. The movie itself was almost completely without plot, character, or story; it tried to make up for these shortcomings by stuffing in so many Christmas tunes even Jim Nabors would break out cursing, but the effect was limited.

I did get a couple of interesting shots of the ferris wheel while we were waiting for the movie, though. One little platform was cordioned off. Maoman asked a security guard about it, and it turns out the pedestal is not only the center point of the entire complex, but it’s also hollow and will collapse if anyone stands on it.

I got the new vidlet up, though without Quicktime Pro to massage the encoding it’s a whopping 15mb. I also updated the photography page with several new photos, though still a small portion of what I’ve taken recently. I think I’ve got enough ideas to fill out another edition of News from the Renegade Province as well, and since Graham’s back in town (with peerless Chinese thanks to several months in Kunming), perhaps he’ll grace us with another submission.

The Bobwundaye gig went pretty well. I got there early and used the extra time to go buy socks. The ones I had on, you see, were too thick and my feet were suffocating. The good news was there was a sock store nearby. The bad news was that there is one kind of sock sold in Taiwan, and that is the kind of ankle-length dress sock that allows my feet to slide around inside any shoe I have.

The answer? “Two pairs, please.” They’re also cheap.

When I finally waltzed in to the pub I ran into Will, drink already in hand, and Joe Duffer, who was doing a story on bands and the places they play or something for TaiwanFun. Will and I answered his questions for a while as other people began to show up. Folks were piling up barbeque makings outside on the sidewalk. Joe was asking the band members’ names, and Will and I were doing Fun with Nicknames while I made faces from the awful cider I was drinking.

“And your name is?” Joe asked Will.

“Slim. And this here’s Steamboat.”

“I see. And who else’s in the band?”

“Well, there’s Thumper, Sandman, and uh…Dave,” Will “Slim” Thelin concluded. It seems Dave Chen’s the only guy in the group that’s never been called anything but “Dave”. Not that it matters because Joe emailed us and said he was only going to mention Dave, Tim, Will and Paul in the article.

The above-mentioned soon showed up, all hauling equipment. I’d just brought my little black poaquet trumpet, but Sandy “Sandman” Murray brought penny whistle, sax, guitars, and a vat of barbeque sauce. Tim “Thumper” Hogan was similarly laden.

The sun set, the grill fired up, and Dave “Dave” Chen began setting up his washtub bass, which consisted of a very large, very orange plastic washbasin with a thin bungee cord attached to the middle of the bottom. The other end was tied to a stick about the size of a broom handle. What you did, I learned, was pluck the bungee cord with one hand and adjust the pitch with the other , stretching it in and out by moving the stick. Brilliant! We got it up on the stage and took turns trying it out, but nobody but Dave really knew how to play it.

The bass really added something to the music, though. During one song, I forget which, I just started playing it and found it to be a lot of fun trying to match the rhythms and pitches of the music. My hand was getting a bit raw so I grabbed a mic handle off the railing and used it to strum instead, which seemed to work quite well. In fact, after I started getting the hang of it, I began to really enjoy playing the thing.

Over the course of the evening I went back and forth from bass to trumpet and back to bass, though I did manage to get off beat a couple of times. Nobody seemed to mind much, though.

The Ramblers had occupied the stage for most of the evening, but as midnight approached some other people got up and played. Songs like “Imagine” and “Leaving on a Jet Plane” were sung (and not well, believe me), signaling that it was time to go. Dave either was impressed by my way with the washtub bass or he didn’t feel like lugging it home again, so he gave it to me. We’re playing again on Thursday at The Shannon, but we haven’t worked out which songs I’d be playing horn and which ones on the tub. I guess we’ll work something out there. I need to get a trumpet stand, though. Or two, if they’re cheap.

Last Saturday I headed out for Sanchong, where I voted in the Legislative Elections. This is, according to my ID card, the sixth election I’ve voted in (you get a little red chop for each one). It would have been seven if they’d let us out to vote in the presidential elections of ‘96, but China had to throw missiles at us and the officers felt we’d be better off staying on duty.

I voted for Wu Yu-sheng of the KMT, one of Ma Ying-jeou’s gang they say. He wasn’t an incumbent, but he ended up not only getting the most votes in the district, he cried about it on TV later that evening. Talk about embarrassing.If I’d known the guy were going to cry, I’d have chose someone with a little more heft in their brass parts.

Still, the KMT and PFP retained their slim majority in the Legislature, a result I attribute mostly to the rhetoric Lee Teng-hui and Chen Shui-bian have been including in their speeches concerning changing Taiwan’s name, history, etc. Also, the open conflict between the two probably didn’t help things either. The blues didn’t run a particularly good campaign this time around; they never do. Campaigning is one of their worst shortfalls, but this time the greens shot themselves in the foot by alienating moderate voters they mistakenly assumed shared their vision. Also, there’s no denying that the US warnings to Chen and the DPP about provoking Beijing being a Really Bad Idea had an effect, but what else to you expect the US to do? Most of the pro-independence types would have you believe the US will jump in to help the moment independence is officially declared, and the US has to keep reminding people that it just ain’t so, which causes aforementioned types to whine about the US “meddling in our internal affairs” and other Beijing-style protests. I just hope they don’t manage to convince everyone here that the US will automatically help Taiwan even if Taiwan starts a war, because when no US aid comes to deal with shit from Beijing, “American” isn’t going to be a very popular look in this town.

Anyway, after I voted, Harry and I went around the area looking for suitable warehouses for an upcoming scene in the movie, but every place we saw was either too small, too crowded, too protected by nasty dogs or closed for the holiday, alas, so instead we rode out to Bali and visited the Fortune God Temple out there, as it was Harry’s birthday, which happens to coincide with the Fortune God’s birthday. When we got there a birthday party for the god in question was in full swing, with traditional opera and a banquet spread out under bamboo awning. I may make another vidlet out of the little movie clips I took there.

We went down to the riverbank, where I was surprised to see people lined up for, you guessed it: donuts. Not Mister Donut, though a new branch opening at the Estrogen Mall in a couple of weeks will no doubt see Pretty Young Things lining up around the block for months. No, this was just an ordinary Fried Thing Shop, where they throw pretty much anything into a vat of oil and then serve it to people. Must have been some oil, as the line wound all the way down the block.

The sun was setting as we rode up to the temple dedicated to Taiwan’s version of Robin Hood, Liao Tian-ding, whose modified likeness appears in the banner at the top of this page (the original Liao didn’t carry a movie camera or tripod with him…I don’t think). Harry cautioned me against taking any pictures, as the temple, which was built around Liao’s grave in a small graveyard, is frequented by “shady characters”. Sometimes Harry cracks me up, but I refrained from taking pictures anyway.

Not that there was a whole lot to take pictures of. There were no images or statues of Liao in the temple, just a stone tablet in front of his actual grave. He’s kind of a folk hero to people here, though the Japanese hated him, as evidenced by the little Japanese figures shooting at Liao in the banner). A nice park stretches out behind the temple and the other graves. I wonder how the families of the other people in the cemetary felt about the temple being built there.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, I like my new camera setup a lot. I have a bunch of pictures for an update of the photography page, now that my computer’s back online after a stint of 1994-era Internet slow and a lack of USB2.0 recognition. I just need some time to sit down and figure out which ones I like enough to put up.

It’s that time of year again…time for questionable web award contests. Or, at least one of them, anyway.

I found through The Taipei Kid’s site that this journal’s been nominated for another best/worst/who has the most friends/who has the wierdest stories contest. These contests are rather predictable: Typically, all the more popular blogs have to do is put up a link saying “Vote for me!”, and ziiip, they’re in. Yay. I don’t particularly care enough to put any effort into a really cool web design or entries about “Going to a KTV and Accidentally Throwing Up on Nic Cage”, and since I shut down the comments, stats, etc., I haven’t really paid any attention to who is reading this or what they think of it all. So vote for me! Yay.

Christmas Tree decorating tonight with Darrell, Judy, friends, cookies, drinks and a multitude of excitable dogs in Jingmei. Tomorrow afternoon the Muddy Basin Ramblers are going to turn what was originally supposed to be a rehearsal for a gig next Thursday at The Shannon into a freestyle jam to celebrate Bobwundaye’s first anniversary party/barbeque. I hear that we start at 4pm, but I imagine times are flexible. Hopefully the perfect weather we’ve been having for the past few days will hold. I don’t think I’ll wear Ze Zoot as we’re just jamming really, but I’ll figure out how to “Rambler Up” sufficiently without going all out.

Sometimes you’re looking for a fight, and sometimes the fight comes looking for you.

I’d just finished purchasing a new power unit for my computer yesterday afternoon at a shop near Guanghua Market, and I was returning back down Xinsheng to the MRT station on Zhongxiao when I saw Half-life 2 for sale at a store called Lea-te Media. I took a copy from the shelf at the door and took it in to purchase, but the woman at the counter said it was the Chinese version. I asked if they carried the English version, but she said no, the English version wasn’t available in Taiwan.

Wonderful. I took the package back to where I’d found it, slapped it back on the shelf and was starting back towards the MRT when I was shoved violently from behind. Hearing cursing, I whirled around to find a stocky man of about 40 literally attacking me with his fists. I was so surprised I forgot to defend myself and he got a punch to my jaw in before I could start blocking.

“How dare you!” he was shouting, accusing me of destroying merchandise.

So here was this fight, laying on my doorstep all tied up with a bow, just for me. My gut was telling me to beat the guy to a pulp, while my brain was telling me to find out more about the situation. After blocking another blow, I decided on the latter.

“What the hell are you on about? Are you the owner or something?” I yelled back at him. He said he was.

“Well, I’m sorry I put your precious merchandise back on the shelf with too much force, but you shouldn’t be attacking people, much less your own fucking customers.” A lame reply, I know. I’m sure I could have thought of something better if I’d had time beforehand.

At this moment, several things were happening: At the mention of the word ’sorry’, the guy backed off, saying “Well, ok then.” A group of people appeared out of the shop, bowing at me and apologizing for the fellow’s behavior. And my gut was doing an excellent job of convincing my brain it was wrong. I am usually slow to anger. Not petulance; that comes easily enough, but real anger. Once the rage is there, however, it’s deep and hard to get rid of.

But it was over, so I went over to the curb to cool off, the violent owner glaring at me from his shop. Even if I wanted to I couldn’t attack him now, so I went across the street and took a picture of the shop in question. As I did, I noticed that the sign had been destroyed, apparently in a violent fashion involving flame, as scorch marks were visible around the remains of the frame. I wondered if the guy was a gangster, in trouble with other gangsters, or both.

On the subway home all of the adrenalin and expectations of violence were still swilling around in my bloodstream with no release. I felt miserable, a million different, seemingly better reactions crowding my mind. I had defended myself, extricated myself from the situation, made it on time to the shoot I had later in one piece, and, as far as I knew, wasn’t on any more hit lists than I was before.

And I still felt like shit about it.

It’s not often that one gets to listen to Christmas music on the radio during a typhoon, I thought as I sat in the back of Mark’s car, stuck in rush-hour traffic on Civic Blvd as he, Harry and I made a quick Costco run earlier tonight.

The rain’s been pounding down all day, and it only looks like it’s going to get worse tomorrow. Some of the local newspapers say this is the first December Typhoon in over four decades. Others say it’s the first ever. In reality, the storm has been demoted to a severe tropical storm, but it’s still darn peculiar at this time of year. Just on the other side of the storm is a cold front that supposed to make things quite a bit more Christmas-y around here.

In light of the weather, it’s a good thing I got to explore the riverside bike path last Monday. Woken by a nightmare just after 6 a.m. and unable to get back to sleep, I started listening to music on my iPod, pacing up and down in my room lest I wake Shirzi, who was asleep in the living room. Then I thought: fuck it; I’ll just go for a bike ride. After all, the weather’s fine.

I rode up the river to the Xiulang Bridge, where a wall of construction usually prevented me from going any further. Now, however, a bridge led across the river and up a path across the wide plain on the opposite bank. Farmers were tending their plots, packs of wild dogs lazed on the grass, and signs of recent construction were everywhere. The path was mostly empty, and those people I did pass all gave me a smile.

I sped along nearly effortlessly at a brisk clip, going under bridge after bridge. In retrospect, I should have realized exactly what the strange absence of wind, the backwards-flying birds, the whitecaps on the river, and the occasional dust storms meant. Alas, only when I had passed an unusually placed goat farm near Xinzhuang, prompting me to turn around, did I realize that the only way back home was pushing against a strong wind the whole way. No wonder those people were smiling at me. Bastards.

My speed reduced to not much faster than a walk, the dust storms became much worse, sand gritting around my teeth. I was afraid of being late to work that afternoon, though, so I kept at it, and ended up getting a good little workout by the time I got back to Xindian at around 1 p.m.

Now the river plain’s probably flooding, and they’ll have to rebuild much of the path, making my next ride up there all the more interesting.