A few days ago I tried out the new Kodiko Restaurant on Ren-ai Road near the intersection with Jianguo North Road. Years and years ago I frequented a dusty bar near there called Grace’s Party, as I was friends with a waiter who worked there and liked the Spanish music they played, but that place is long gone.

Normally I would never set foot in such a classy place, but my friend Michael is one of the managers, so I accepted his invitation. Kodiko’s food is all prepared at low heat, no more than 100 degrees, with no preservatives, eggs, milk, butter or sugar. Anti-aging cuisine, they call it, and it comes at a steep price. The foyer looks like a garden meadow with butterflies flying around during the day, and a pool with Japanese fish swimming in it at night, thanks to a combination of digital projection and a motion sensor, so that the butterflies/fish flock around the feet of whomever’s walking through. It’s a pretty neat trick, and since the projection also covers a wall on the inside, the staff can see when someone enters the foyer because the butterflies/fish start acting up.

The food was pretty good, I thought. I had the steak and some chicken. The cheapest set meal was NT$1,500(!), so I doubt I’ll be going there for the odd hunger pang. The staff was polite and efficient, though. They also had banana-flavored beer, the best tasting beer I’ve ever had. Though I don’t like the taste of beer, so my judgement isn’t necessarily accurate in this instance.
Michael graciously invited us to film the dinner scene at Kodiko (Greek for “Code”, as in “The Code to Living”), so we’ll be going back, probably on one of the upcoming weekends. In any case, after the luxury high-rises across the street fill up, I don’t think they’ll be lacking customers interested in prolonging their lives while deflating their wallets.

Last Saturday Sandman and I got into his ant-infested Nissan and traveled out to Zoe’s mountain retreat for a final going-away bash, and also to get some recording in. The Muddy Basin Ramblers have been album-less for too long, or so we’re told, but it’s hard to get the enthusiasm of our performances onto tape without the glaring errors and screwups that define our particular kind of charm (or so he wrote, without quite knowing what that means….well, ok, it means we don’t practice, basically).

The huge house Zoe shares with a few other people was obviously built for rich, private people, probably about 10-20 years ago, but the lack of dehumidification over the years has diminished it’s opulence somewhat, and resulted in a moldy smell and rotting wood fixtures. Only a few other people were there when we arrived, but it filled quickly as we got track after track into David’s computer. Barbeque and drinking commenced, and that was pretty much the end of our recording session. Robyn baked delicious brownies, and several varieties of meat were on the grill. The number of people present quickly surpassed the number I’m usually comfortable around, but it was such a big space it didn’t seem so bad. We watched some video recordings of earlier shows, and got interviewed for a Taiwanese girl’s documentary. I didn’t say more than three words during the whole thing, but I noticed that she was using the same camera I have.

After that we jammed on various instruments. Peter taught me to play a scale on a clarinet, which I’ve never been able to play before, but I was inspired by a recent dream to try again. The drink was flowing the whole time, and as the level of general drunkeness rose, our jamming became less inspired and more chaotic. As I was playing something thumped against my leg. It was Conor, who’d had a bit too much to drink and was having trouble sitting properly. Sandman had long since gone home, as had everyone else from my neighborhood, and Slim looked more or less permanently installed, so I packed up my stuff, forgetting my MBR T-shirt that David designed and made, and caught a cab home.

This week’s been hot, but not as hot as before the last storm hit us. Cool evening breezes in Bitan, at least. Another storm’s headed this way but has plenty of time to veer aside before it arrives. We’re filming this weekend, again, trying to make up for the scenes we didn’t get last time. I still feel like I’m playing catch-up, not just for filming, but in general. A natural post-move reaction, I suppose. For some reason, I don’t seem to have accepted my new place as my own. Part of this is the fact that I’m renting again, but it just doesn’t seem like a permanent arrangement. I keep thinking that I’m going to be moving again soon, but I don’t know why.

In order to do something about this conundrum, last Sunday I went to the nearby Taiping Temple to inform the gods there of my change of address. Just so they knew, and perhaps to tell myself as well. Many of the things we tell the gods are things we ourselves particularly need to hear, I think.

Harry and Daniel came along as well, and later Harry and I went into town for dinner with Mark and Lorens at one of those steak places where they bring the meal out on a sizzling platter of meat, thick noodles and raw egg splattering various juices all over the place. I almost wanted to tell them to cook the stuff first and then bring it out, but I’m sure they would have tried to have me committed if I’d suggested such a ludicrous idea. Actually, the rib-eye wasn’t that bad.

Mark, of Doubting To Shuo, is traveling in China, which he seems to enjoy quite a lot. I never made it to Beijing or even Shanghai when I was working in China, a fact I regret. Maybe I’ll wait for the three links to open and take a cruise to Shanghai from Keelung or something. Heh.

“The ‘Jesus is Lord’ balloon has been lowered a bit, probably in fear of being struck by lightning. Oh, the sweet irony of it all.”

From the website Blogging the Concon,(via tinmanic.com) an interesting read. Although I’m not really very active in showing my support for marriage equality, I do find the antics of those folks protesting against it facinating, even mind-boggling. There are no cogent arguments, no appeals to logic, nothing at all to sway any reasonable person to their point of view. It’s all fire-and-brimstone, “It makes Jesus cry”-type rhetoric, with maybe a slippery-slope argument thrown in here and there, and yet half of America seems to be won over to their side. Amazing, simply amazing. Willing, popular ignorance of uncomfortable facts seems to be that society’s strong point.

It occurs to me that one way Taiwan could gain the international human-rights spotlight it craves would be to legalize same-sex marriages, especially given that, without such stringent Puritan values, opposition here doesn’t seem to be as fervent or violent as it does in the US. And Chen Shui-bian could also use it to distract people from all the recent scandal allegations surrounding his administration. The reality is, however, that such human rights promotion under this administration is about 99% talk and 1% walk, i.e. for display purposes only, so I doubt much will happen on that front.

According to the Central Weather Bureau, we’re getting knocked around by tropical storm Bilis at the moment. Only we’re not. It’s been a rainy day, and it’s still a bit drizzly outside, but that’s all the action we’ve seen so far. Bilis is a strange storm, from the satellite pictures it looks like it’s been cut into section, like a particularly popular cake. Taipei has managed to be in the missing sections thus far, I guess, but even the sections that look fairly heavy-duty are just patches of rain.

It was too rainy for sword practice last night, so instead I went to Taipei 101 to visit the Page One bookstore. I just finished Kim Stanley Robinson’s excellent Antarctica, and couldn’t make a dent in Kurt Vonnegut’s Breakfast of Champions because it just seems inane, so I picked up a collection of Raymond Chandler detective stories, one of two I hadn’t read. I also bought a children’s book, The Four Story Mistake by Elizabeth Enright, simply because Gone-away Lake and Return to Goneaway were my favorite books as a child. At least before I discovered Tolkien.

After the bookstore and taking some pictures of the world’s tallest building through the glass roofed walkway at Warner Village, I also watched Pixar’s latest movie, Cars. I liked it a lot. Each of Pixar’s animated stories has a theme to it, a lesson to be learned through the main characters, and this one is no different. Not at all preachy, but there are moments when you think to yourself “ahhh, yeah, I see…” Plus the animation is amazingly real. I’ve always been into cars and car-related stuff, though I realized at an early age that cars going around in circles just isn’t very interesting. Matchbox cars were my favorite toys. So I kind of had to see this movie, and I really enjoyed it.

I got out of the theater with only a few minutes to reach the MRT station before the last train. On the way, in a walkway, I approached a tall young fellow walking the other way. He didn’t move to let me through, and bumped me on the shoulder. I smelled alcohol, and lots of it. I turned and stared, which was apparently an insult as he rushed back and grabbed me by the backpack, trying to pull me backwards. As he did so, a man and woman walked right by and on to the station. Incredulous, I pulled free, saying, perhaps obviously, “Dude, I think you’re drunk.” He touched me on the chin, perhaps counting coup or something, and stalked off. Weird. I didn’t particularly want to pursue it, as he was bigger and drunker than me, and I still wanted to catch the last train, so I walked on to the station, passing the man and woman on the escalator.

“Thanks so much for your help,” I said. God knows what they were thinking I’d just done to the guy. Maybe they reacted, or maybe not. I didn’t look back to see. The whole thing put me in a foul mood. I’m usually slow to violence, even if I’m easily irritated. Part of me wanted to go back and kick his ass. Most of me just wanted to go home in one piece, however.

No days off work, due to Bilis’ general lack of organization. Just couldn’t get it’s shit together. I ran into Ron, and old co-worker and friend of mine, when I stopped off at Kuting for some shopping. He’s working at the Times again, doing features. You probably see his byline in the paper now and then. Ron’s just the latest in a string of people who have tried to leave Taiwan, but end up coming back. “It’s like the Hotel California,” he told me.

I met up with Prince Roy and another Tunghai alum from the prehistoric ages, Tyler, on Friday night after work. Tyler is visiting from Australia, where he studies Chinese poetry. He and PR were apparently interested in Italian food, so I suggested we meet up at the corner of Zhongxiao and Dunhua, one of my many old hangouts, and walk up Dunhua to Cosi a Cosi. It was a hot night, of course, and I sat on top of the MRT exit, which was occasionally subjected to air conditioned breezes from a nearby shoe store. Taiwanese stores tend to leave their front doors open, if they even have front doors, in the summer, resulting in slightly cooler sidewalk travel as well as the need for a forth nuclear power plant.

PR and Tyler showed up soon enough, though, and we walked up to the restaurant, which had seating as it was almost 9pm by then. PR brought his copy of my book, which I signed for him, and then he got a waitress to take a picture of all of us.

The food was good, though the portions were smaller than I remembered. We had a couple of pizzas and other dishes before heading over to a teahouse PR and Tyler had just discovered, the Wistaria on Xinsheng South Road. That being yet another of my old haunts, (in fact I lived there when I started this account) I’d walked by the place many times but never gone in.

We walked in and got a table in the main room, where we ordered iron bodhisattva tea, which was quite tasty, almost like steely, burnt caramel. The teahouse was an old, possibly Japanese-era two-story house, obviously once inhabited by an official or other high-ranking person, and had a nice pond and garden in front, though it’s a bit too close to the road for complete tranquility. I took some pictures of the tea as we talked, and before we knew it, the place was closing, just in time for me to catch one of the last MRT trains home. I said good-bye to PR and Tyler, who were talking about going to get their heads shaved if they could find a barber open late enough, and walked down Xinhai to Roosevelt Road, where I took some pictures of damp street grates in the lamplight.

Due to the tea, I stayed fully awake until the wee hours of Saturday morning. Unfortunately I had to get up to pay the rent the next morning, as my new landlord could only come that morning. So Saturday was a bit of a blur. That night, however, we were having a farewell concert for Zoe at Bliss. Sandman and I took a taxi over there, arriving at about 11pm, but the place was packed. We could hardly fit up the stairs to the second floor, where Zoe, Duncan and David were already playing. I knew Zoe was popular, but damn, I didn’t know she had that many friends. Prince Roy showed up; I’d invited him as he’d never heard us play, but I felt a little embarrassed about the crowd and the fact that it had basically turned into a huge, drunken tribute to someone he’d never even met. Not exactly a normal MBR show, but then, what is?

I spotted the other Ramblers at a central table, but I couldn’t make it through the crowd. It was crowded far past capacity; it was a good thing there was a fire station just around the corner, I thought.

Eventually it came time for us to play on the tiny stage. I got a much-needed amp for the bass, as the crowd had been noisy throughout all the acts so far. Usually we can get them into the swing of things, though. We played Summertime/St. James, and I wandered through my soloes wondering when I was going to hit a bad note. I started the day tired, and by 2am I was hitting bottom. The smoke was as bad as the Living Room, and everyone’s eyes were blurry, but we just kept going, like we were powered by something other than ourselves. Finally, around 4, we ground to a halt. I stumbled around the people laying on couches getting my stuff together, and crowded into a cab back to Bitan with Slim, Chris and Sandman.

I crawled into bed at about 5am, but had to be up again at 8 for filming on Sunday. Due to unexpected churlishness, however, we were done by mid-afternoon, so I took a ride on the crazy bike up the river, just far enough to get a glimpse of the big yellow and blue Ikea across the river in Xinzhuang, and back in time for a delicious barbeque at my friend Greg’s cemetary-side residence. Much meat was consumed by both humans and dogs, and again I was met with puzzled looks when I explained the whole housing situation. Greg pointed out the International Space Station as it soared overhead, a bright dot. He claimed he could make out a second dot, the space shuttle, attached to it, but I could only see a bright, fast-moving dot. It was impressive.

As things were winding down, a foray was being planned over to Athula’s, but I was too tired. The late nights and lack of sleep over the weekend have kept me a step behind all week so far. I’ve been late to everything except movies (Superman Returns and Pirates of the Caribbean -I liked both, but enjoyed the latter more). And now, I’m running late for work, and it’s pouring outside. One of these days I hope to catch up.

How to spot a Jap

The US War Dept produced an instructive yet hilariously…well, inappropriate (by today’s standards) comic strip during WWII, to show soldiers how to tell Chinese and Japanese apart based on speech, posture, toe-width and the ability to pronounce convoluted slang terms. From the strip:

“Say, Ryan, you and Terry have been out in China for a long time…how about showing the men a few points of difference between the Japs and our oriental allies!” (via Mefi)

In other news, stories like this make me wonder why smokers get a free pass for littering. What makes a cigarette butt not litter? Yet somehow it’s not. It goes back to the whole smoking phenomenon, i.e., it’s ok because it’s addictive and it’s best not to fuck with addicts. I suppose it’s fortunate I am not addicted to knocking people over on the street…or is it? Maybe just one shove. I could get away with it on the subway, probably. Or in crowds in general. I could say I was practicing tui-shou, a known “gateway activity”, and got hooked.

It’s baking weather here these days, and my a/c at home has to work a couple of hours to cool down my place enough to sleep in. Due to upcoming filming, arranging the new place, and other things, I haven’t been able to take proper advantage of the pool downstairs yet, and even Bitan itself is looking rather inviting when I cross the bridge overhead during the hottest part of the day, though the water level is quite low. Unfortunately, it looks like the latest typhoon will not be coming anywhere near Taiwan, so no rainy breaks. Oh, well. Maybe the next one.

On Saturday night we’re having a Farewell Zoe Concert at Bliss (Address: 148, Xinyi Rd, Sec. 4, Taipei) starting at around 9:30pm with just Dave and Zoe, and then the rest of the Muddy Basin Ramblers about an hour or so later.

It’s been very hot lately, a true Taiwan summer, unlike the last few years, when the weather was all screwy. The weekend was full of events, as we had gigs at Da-an Park on Saturday for Canada Day and then at the American Club on Sunday. Sandman and I took a cab from Bitan and found the sound people running a bit late, so we retired to the somewhat air conditioned green room backstage, where a friend of ours was squeezing lemons and mint to make mojitos. The drinks came out surprisingly well, and I had more than my fair share over the next couple of hours while the first groups began to play. Fortunately, by the time our turn came, the sun had set and the heat abated somewhat, but I was a bit sloshed and kept knocking things over on stage. David would be announcing something, i.e. “Our next piece is by a little known gentleman from Mississippi known as-” BANG! I knocked over David’s water, creating a puddle, and then a mic from its stand. The performance went well, though. At least I think it did.

After we played, the last band, Milk, went on. They were all dressed in leather and masks. Apparently they’ve been around for a long time, longer than we have, but I’d never seen them before. Besides the musicians on stage, there were also two other people, one guy and one girl, who just danced around. I wondered if they were considered full band members or just stage dressing. They did do their part for the show, though. Milk’s first set had a lot of covers, and I wasn’t too impressed, but after an intermission featuring an acapella group named The Scooters, they came back with an impressive jumping, dance-inducing second set.

My stomach had been bothering me all day, so I hadn’t really eaten anything. Shirzi, Chris and I lugged all my equipment over to Alleycat’s for pizza. Along the way we met Banjoe, who was playing at the Yongkang Park. He saw my washtub and stick and asked if I was trying to make a washtub bass. I said I was.

“That will never work,” he said, and went into a long, detailed rant concerning how the shape, material and nature of the plastic tub would never a washtub bass make.

“It seems to work ok,” I said. “The plastic is pretty resonant, more so than many other materials.”

“Entirely wrong, but well said,” he replied. I decided to leave it at that.

We got a confused server at Alleycat’s who didn’t understand the concept of lactose intolerance on Chris’ part, so the pizza was late in coming, but nice when it came. Or so I thought at the time. Later that night it came back to haunt me, on multiple occcasions.

The Ramblers, minus Thumper, had elected to meet at the Yuanshan MRT station to catch a cab or two to the American Club, which I’ve only been to once before, in the company of former ICRT manager Carleton Baum, many years ago. On this occasion, it felt like boarding a cruise ship, navigating the treacherous seas of Taiwanese society on the behalf of its precious passengers. We were ushered through tastefully decorated hallways, by the pool and upstairs to a conference room, where we were served finger food while we warmed up and waited. The others wandered away while I took random pictures of water drops on the soft-drink bowl. Slim came back saying that he got a warning about carrying a beer around with him, as it was “supposed to be a family affair”.

By the time we got on stage, most of the poolside tables were filled. It was clear only a few people had ever heard of us, but they seemed to like what we did. But it was a hard gig, one of the hardest I’ve done. For one thing it was hot, made even hotter not only by the stage lights shining just behind us, but also the sight of the pool filled with frolicking American progeny just before us. We were all sweating profusely, and sweat-covered buttons and valves were a problem for both Sandman and me. Thumper’s absence meant that most of the timekeeping responsibility fell on my shoulders, and I think it pretty much worked most of the time. I screwed once or twice during my solos, and bass wasn’t miced, so I had a hard time hearing myself.

Every few seconds someone would cross in front of the stage with a plate full of heaped barbequed hamburgers, cole slaw, shrimp, potato salad, and many other delicious-looking treats. Indeed, the food was the main star of the evening, not us. Even after we had just left the stage, the MC went up and said, “How about that food, folks!”

At one point a frail-looking older fellow got up on stage and sang the national anthem. He did a good job, belting it out in a much stronger voice than he looked capable of. At another point they announced the results of a raffle, which consisted of prizes that must have been pocket change for most of the people there. Canned drumrolls and prerecorded applause made it seem just a little pathetic, I have to say, but I suppose they were doing what they could with what they had.

Brian Asmus treated us to drinks at the bar afterwards, which was nice. People who seemed confused about us upon our arrival now had a better grasp on who we were and what we did, so in general our departure was a bit friendlier than our reception. I caught a cab featuring a sniffling, twitchy driver with Sandman and Slim back to Bitan, dropping Slim off on the way.

My new place is pretty much set up, with a few piles of detrius here and there that still need to be taken care of. The whole incident and moving came as a shock, and I’m still getting used to the place. I’ve got some pictures up on flickr.