Summer seems to have installed itself now; the mugginess along with warmer temperatures led to a summer rain yesterday that left the air fresh and clean after last week’s sandstorm. I went to sword practice on Wednesday night after a long hiatus due to my knee. I didn’t do too much, but it was good to be back into it. I also need to buy either a new bicycle seat that’s long enough, or just a new bicycle that doesn’t suck, to take more rides down along the riverside path that runs all the way through the city.

Dragonboat Festival is approaching, and every day I hear the beat of drums and the shouts of rowers as teams practice down on Bitan. This kind of noise I don’t mind at all, nor do I mind firecrackers, the occasional temple music, or even garbage trucks. The riverside Karaoke, however, has got to go. I’ve talked to them and gotten them to turn it down, but a fellow badminton player friend of mine says I should go to the EPA and submit a complaint, especially as they are profiting off of a piece of public space without paying any rent.

If you think that’s petty of me, you should have seen me on the subway the other night. Across from me was a woman clipping her fingernails. I took out my camera and started shooting pictures. She didn’t look up. She must have noticed the distance light, but she gave no sign, and kept clipping. She had earphones on, so I turned on the flash. Still nothing. So I started up a conversation with the middle-aged woman next to me about how gross the other woman was. “You just know,” I said loudly, “Many of those pieces of fingernail are flying through the air and landing on everyone here.” She agreed, saying the woman “had no sense of public decency,” and the other woman started to look a bit embarrassed. Then I lamented aloud the lack of a broom to sweep up her mess and began making sweeping motions with my foot at her feet where all the clippings had fallen.

She got off at the next stop. When it came time for the other woman to get off, she thanked me as she exited the train.

keep going
Originally uploaded by Poagao.

I thought it would be hot on Saturday, but it was cool and misty as Sandman and I set out from Bitan, loaded with our gear, to a mountain retreat near Hoho Cafe in Waishuangxi that afternoon. We got off the MRT and hailed a cab, telling the driver only to go ‘up’, as we didn’t know the address. So up we went. And up, and up. After a long drive along switchbacks, we arrived to find Thumper, Slim and Conor just arriving as well. Then David, with Robyn and his mother in tow, appeared trudging up the road on foot, for some reason.

The place we were playing, along with many other bands such as Boogie Chillin, looked like the only things it was missing were a South American drug lord and armed guards strolling alongside the pool. It was a large place with many rooms all covered by a vaulted ceiling reminiscant of those “towns” you see in Disney theme-parks, and overlooked a great view down to the city.

As soon as we set our stuff down and the others went to start drinking, etc., I ran into a guy who works at my company. He and his family were definitely not expecting the sudden influx of people, and wondered what was going on. He had no idea I was in a band.

I went around taking odd pictures while the first few acts played, helping myself to some home-made carrot cake and Sangrias. The event didn’t seem to have anything at all to do with Earth Day; it was more like a coincidental excuse to have a party. Occasionally a singer or organizer would mention The Environment, but aside from that, it was just a relaxed party atmosphere.

Dusk fell, and the city lit up in the basin below as we warmed up in a nearby shed inhabited by two dogs. Appropriately enough, the white dog was friendly and stupid, while the black dog bared its teeth, growled and huddled in the corner as we played. The old, “good dog/bad dog” trick, it would seem.

The stage was bigger than anyplace we’ve played at before. I wasn’t used to all the space, but it was nice to be able to move around without constantly bumping into each other. The sound guy kept on top of the situation, letting us use a wireless mic under the tub bass. The place was really loud due to all the hard surfaces, and I could barely hear myself on some of the songs. But all in all, it was a great show, quick and tight. Probably our best yet.

Afterwards I chatted with Robyn and Mrs. Chen, who not only had never heard her son David perform, she didn’t even know he could play a guitar! Needless to say, she seemed a bit flabbergasted. The pasta had a two-hour wait and the place had run out of beer, so David, Robyn and Mrs. Chen left early. I’d just ordered dinner, though, and I wanted to hear Boogie Chillin, ’cause they rock.

I sat out on the balcony after finishing a delicious fillet of fish and caramel tea that tasted just like one of upside-down puddings you get at 7-Eleven here. All of the other Ramblers were off somewhere, so I took some pictures of the table, admired the view, and thought to myself that things were pretty much perfect.

The police came in response to complaints about the noise, even in that remote area, and then Boogie Chillin came up. They had rocked the house for about half of their act when the electricity died, and we all sat still for a moment, confused in the darkness. Then the sax player started up on a freestyle jam. The drummer joined in, and the crowd screamed even louder. I went and got my trumpet and joined in, as the sax player couldn’t last forever on his own. Other players joined as well, and we got a smooth horn section going on. I was resting for a moment when a girl from the audience screamed “trumpet!” It was one of the few intelligable things to come from the audience that night.

“Yes! This is a trumpet!” I responded. Well, it was dark.

Pretty soon we learned that the wife of the place’s owner had been spooked by the police visit and had yanked our power. She was demanding that the show stop, even though her husband said it was ok.

So that was that. We packed up but were too high to want to go home, so we all piled into the Thumpermobile, turned the stereo to loud and sailed up into the clouds of Yangmingshan, stopping along the way just long enough to buy drinks and arouse a bit of suspicion on the part of the local police.

We ended up at Qingtiangang, in the middle of dense fog. Coffee stands glowed in the parking lot. We took our drinks and walked a ways into the mountains, which smelled of grass and wet cows. There we stood on the path and chatted, still excited about the performance. Every once in a while, even at that late hour, a group of two or three hikers would approach and pass us, and every time this happened, we would break out in song. I can only imagine what they were thinking to come across a group of foreigners, all wearing hats (except for Conor), wearing suits, holding bottles and singing blues songs in the mist. One group of young men pounced on us after we finished lighting incense for the Earth God at a nearby temple. “You are very dashing! You scared us!” they shouted drunkenly. Conor took a picture with them, and we decided we’d had enough of the misty mountainside for that night.

On the twisty, foggy road down the mountain, the Thumpermobile’s windshield was almost opaque with condensation, but when I noted this fact, everyone seemed to feel that there were worse ways to leave this world than flying over a cliff in a van with your bandmates. As David wasn’t there, however, we decided not to try it just yet, and continued back down into our muddy basin.

It was after 3 when I finally got home. An amazing, crazy, great day by any account.

In other news, it’s been four whole years since I began writing this account. Back then I was still talking about “rolls of film” and “The China Post”. Hold on, the China Post is still around. Well, anyway…four years. Wow.

It’s that time of year again, when the weather begins to get hot and muggy, and the burden of a hairstyle is just too much to bear, so I do what I do every spring: I took my clippers and gave myself a buzz.

Immediately I noticed a slight difference in the way people reacted to me on the street. Whereas before I got smiles and nods, now I get startled, almost hostile glares, the kind of look I imagine I probably give out on the street, I admit. Perhaps it’s just the weather today (there’s a sandstorm from China screwing with our already-not-so-wonderful air quality) or some other factor I’m not taking into account.

The subway home this afternoon was crowded, not as crowded as is sometimes is at rush hour, but I have my computer with me so it was a little inconvenient. An old woman was wheeled on at one point. Her wheelchair sported the word “Karma” on its purple leather straps. By the door, a little boy of about 6 or 7 kept staring suspiciously at me. He was obviously of mixed blood, most likely half black and half Chinese. The woman accompanying him looked old enough to be his grandmother; perhaps she was, or some aunt. I had my head down on my computer when I heard the kid ask “What happened to the red? Why’s it all green now?” The woman didn’t answer, so I did, explaining to him that the MRT would make the one line into two lines in the future. The kid seemed really happy that someone answered his question.

The weather’s playing mind tricks again. Friday was a warm summer day, but today we’re back where we started it seems, with cold and damp. My windows are opaque with condensation due to the temperature difference. I’m sure this is going to do wonders for the remnants of my cold.

The weather was still hot and muggy when I caught a ride with Sandman and Jojo down to The Living Room yesterday afternoon. We all stashed most of our hot performance clothes and took our instruments to a nearby park to practice a song or two. Or we would have, if we could have found a nearby park. The roof was occupied with construction, so we settled on a nearby alley. Periodically people would pass by and give us strange looks, but none of us, I think, are unused to strange looks. I was just hoping the building next door wasn’t a neurosurgery or something.

Later, back at Corbett’s, we got dressed up and did some jumping shots for David’s girlfriend Robyn, who’s into that sort of thing. It was fun. You’d think musicians of all people would know how to all jump at the same time. We eventually got one, though.

There weren’t many people in the audience when we opened with the St. McJug Stomp, but within about two songs, almost magically, the place was packed. Corbett kept bringing up chairs to the front, creating a rising tide of audience members so thick that there nearly wasn’t any room for the band.

After a set, Duncan, Zoe, Jez and Dana performed a couple of sets, while we watched from the Curiously un-Green Green Room, and I took shots of various instruments. I played bass for one of Jez’s songs, which was interesting. After a short break, we got back up and played some more. Sandman had to bow out early due to a headache, but the rest of us went on in our tribute to Dana, as she’s leaving our muddy island for greener shores. We played until about 3am. We played old songs, news song. We played “Song of Our Homeland”. We played St. James Infirmary and I played my fucking heart out on the solo. I was, and still am, feeling kind of loopy due to cold medicine, but I managed to not only not pass out, but did a decent job on both instruments and one vocal song without hocking out a loogie. The whole band felt really tight and polished; we were hot that night. David’s got us scheduled to do quite a few performances at various venues, including The Wall and the Blue Note, over the next month or so.

In other news, I finally managed to rent out my parking space, thus relieving a bit of financial stress. Tomorrow it’s back to work, and another wintery pothole on the road to summer. Who knows how many false starts this spring will give us.

Fetts and Fretts
Originally uploaded by Zhara.

Just testing the Flickr “Blog This” button, with a picture from my friend Clar’s party. Man, she got some crazy friends. Reminds me of some of the parties I went to in college, though I don’t recall seeing Star Wars characters there. This was back in the skinny-tie/suspendered 80’s, though, so we only had one Fett to go around.

Clar was going to come visit me in Taiwan this spring, but I’m sorry to report she’s not going to be making it over to this side of the big water this time around, which is a shame, as I was looking forward to showing her around our beautiful island.

Tomorrow night, i.e. Saturday, at about 9pm, the Muddy Basin Ramblers are going to open for and then play with Dana Wylie at The Living Room at about 9pm, since she’s going back to the states soon. David also wants to get some jumping pictures of the band in mid-air while we’re still sober enough to jump in some coordinated fashion.

Dean, Graham and I attended the wedding ceremony of a former co-worker or ours yesterday. The church was located off Nanjing East Road, a whitish tile building with wood accents inside. Finding no way to get to the vacant pew next to Graham, I hopped over it, earning a few disapproving looks. I suppose my attire also had something to do with it. Not that my pullover’s not nice enough, it’s just that I wear it everywhere in winter. And, to be honest, it’s not nice enough.

Dean, looking very much the detective, arrived a bit later dressed in a khaki trenchcoat. Eventually the priest officiating over the whole thing, a happy blond man who looked a bit like Dana Carvey, went up to the podium, and we got started.

Richard, our friend and former co-worker, always looks taller that I remembered when I see him. Yesterday the effect was accented by his nifty navy-blue suit. The happy couple arrived at the altar, and the ceremony began.

Only it didn’t, really. The blonde priest seemed more interested in talking about himself than the couple, resulting in a verbal detour that began with failing art in elementary school and ended up with him mixing two colors of clothing one day in college and ending up with pink underwear. This apparently had something to do with the sanctity of marriage and, as he so delicately put it, “The continuation of the race.” All the while he kept turning away from the couple before him and glaring at the door to the next room, from which noises like telephones and laughing children would occasonally emerge. Or he may have been staring at the stoic, non-hymm-singing Graham or my underdressed, glowering self, as we were right next to the door just in case he called down any wrath upon us.

Then he got started on the concept of “God’s Math”, where 1+1 does not in fact equal 2, but just 1. “Many people try to do this without getting married, but that won’t work,” he said. I was beginning to suspect that he actually was Dana Carvey, doing his best Church Lady act for our benefit.

Just when I had decided that this was the worst sermon I’d ever heard, he started harnguing the crowd about how gay marriage was also not part of God’s equation. “When one man and one man want to get married,” he said, placing his fingers in the air together for effect, “It does not equal one. No, sir.” I half expected him to follow up with something like: “It equals an pact wiTH SATAN!!!”

The happy couple stood bravely through all of this, and swaggered out of the church accompanied by a snazzy jazz tune. We gathered in a corner of the churchyard outside and sipped drinks while they took group pictures. It felt kind of like a high school dance, Dean noted.

The reception was held at a really nice mountainside resort up past the National Palace Museum. We sat out on the veranda for about an hour waiting for the other guests to arrive, and then went down to the banquethall to hear speeches about how happy each of the families were to have found a Christian spouse for their progeny. Dean kept us entertained with Church Lady impressions. The food wasn’t bad, either.

Then one of the fathers, the groom’s I think, got up and stated that “1+1 equals more than two,” completely demolishing my mathematical worldview.

In other news, I have a wicked cold and feel like shit. That is all.