I was ready for bed last night when I got a call from Chris, who was heading over to Ziga Zaga at the Hyatt to meet up with Michael and some other people. Although sleep called, I figured after staying home all day doing laundry and tidying up for the new year, I wouldn’t mind getting out for a bit.

The crowd at the ritzy club consisted of the usual suspects: a mix of well-to-do white people, Taiwanese people dressed with questionable fashion sense intended to impart a sense of wealth and status more than taste, and a couple of black people. The band was from Europe and did a good job on most of the covers it played, though the sound system was pretty horrible.

We sat at a high table; Chris and her friend Alita would go dance periodically while Michael and I would stay and people-watch. A couple at a nearby table had embarked on a more-or-less constant lap dance, while an Asian girl stood staring at the stage and moving her hands in slow motion.

The restrooms were ambiguously labeled, as Chris found after walking into the men’s room by mistake (or so she claims). The men’s room door had a pear on it. I’m not sure what the women’s room door had on it; an apricot I think. I couldn’t be sure because any male person walking past the men’s room would immediately be confronted with a gremlin dressed in a hotel uniform. The gremlin would then tell the male person “Pear! PEAR! NOT APRICOT!” as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The bar did have one of my favorite drinks, CC rye whiskey and ginger ale. Periodically Chris and Alita would overheat and go outside to cool down. I went with them one time at the end of the band’s last set so that I could watch people leaving. One fat woman stared at me as I sat on the pavement ouside. She was wearing purple slippers and suede pants, and I thought Jesus, if anyone should be stared at it’s her. But it was obviously not my crowd, so I just pointed and laughed as I usually do.

Speaking of pointing and laughing, I got a good laugh while shopping at SOGO for a new bathrobe. My old one, previously white, is now a dubious shade of yellow and needs replacing. Also, it doesn’t cover me as well as it used to. My employers give out bonuses of SOGO gift certificates in lieu of actual money, and I wanted to use the NT$1,000 I’d accumulated in one swell foop.

I looked at one terrycloth robe and asked how much it was. “NT$2,800″ I was told.

“Yeah, ok,” I said, and kept walking. I then found one for NT$5,000 and chuckled at the clerk. I continued on to find one for NT$11,000. Then I found another that looked nice. Nothing special, just a terrycloth bathrobe. “How much is this?” I asked the saleslady.

“Oh, that one’s on sale!” she said brightly. I waited a moment but that’s all she said.

“And How Much Does It Cost?” I said, trying to enunciate clearly.

“NT$33,000.”

“BWAAAAHAAAAA!” I shouted, causing the entire floor to turn and stare. I didn’t say anything else, wiped my tears of hilarity on the bathrobe and departed.

Prince Roy had the gall to pick me to continue this “Five things you don’t know about me” ridiculousness. I pointed out that I’ve already done a hundred of these things, but alas, his appetite for this kind of thing seems to be insatiable. Although I have plenty of potentially disturbing secrets left, I’ve been racking my brains to think of any that won’t completely alienate one or both of my readers and/or cause them to notify relevant authorities. Here are the ones I came up with:

1. I lied in a rather baldfaced fashion to a certain ROC vice premier’s face during an interview

2. My sexual fetishes make furries look like the old couple in American Gothic

3. I successfully masqueraded as a cadet at the Virginia Military Institute

4. I’ve posted a collection of nude photos of myself on the Internet

5. The fingernails on my left hand are soft, while the fingernails on my right hand are very hard.

I’m not going to tag anyone else on this meme; let it fade away on its own.

Prince Roy had the gall to pick me to continue this “Five things you don’t know about me” ridiculousness. I pointed out that I’ve already done a hundred of these things, but alas, his appetite for this kind of thing seems to be insatiable. Although I have plenty of potentially disturbing secrets left, I’ve been racking my brains to think of any that won’t completely alienate one or both of my readers and/or cause them to notify relevant authorities. Here are the ones I came up with:

1. I lied in a rather baldfaced fashion to a certain ROC vice premier’s face during an interview

2. My sexual fetishes make furries look like the old couple in American Gothic

3. I successfully masqueraded as a cadet at the Virginia Military Institute

4. I’ve posted a collection of nude photos of myself on the Internet

5. The fingernails on my left hand are soft, while the fingernails on my right hand are very hard.

I’m not going to tag anyone else on this meme; let it fade away on its own.

I’d planned to renew my long-since-expired motorcycle registration this afternoon before work, but when I got to the DMV I was told that, since I was changing the color of the bike, I’d need to get it inspected. My present registration says “black” as the bike’s color, though it was black and red, the traditional RZR colors. So I’m going to have to wait until it’s all fixed up before I can go get it re-registered.

Rather than take the MRT directly back to the office, I decided instead to walk up Ba-de Road, and after a couple of blocks I found myself looking up at the building on whose rooftop I once practiced Kung-fu on a daily basis. The old sign on the building’s side was gone or covered up, but a faded green placard still adorned the top. I walked past the lobby, outside which I used to park my Honda during practice. The last time I exited that door I was gasping in pain and leaning on a classmate’s shoulder.

In 1991-1992, I was up there all the time. Life then was good, if poor. I was working as a camera assistant at the Kuangchi Programming Service, making NT$15,000 a month, NT$4000 of which I used for the rent on a decent room on Minsheng East Road. At night when I got off work early enough I would ride my motorcycle to the Kung-fu center on Ba-de Road for practice. Our teacher was a short, stocky guy surnamed Chen, and I was learning the Chang-hong style, empty-handed and stick forms. The training was tough, but I was in good shape and making decent progress. In all respects, I was living the life I’d envisioned for myself.

Then, one night, I was in the middle of a series of flying kicks when I came down wrong and seriously injured my left knee. I couldn’t walk for a while and lost my job. My landlady didn’t appreciate me being home all the time and kicked me out. I had no job, no place to live and I couldn’t walk well, much less continue training. I decided to leave Taiwan and take a position as a shoe inspector in China.

Living in the same city for a long time can play tricks with one’s perception of time, making it seem like it’s not really flowing as fast as it is. But as I stood looking up at that building, I suddenly felt the solid presence of the decade and a half between me and that life, that version of myself.

My life since has been interesting, no doubt, but I can’t help wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t injured myself that night. Due to the more violent nature of that particular martial art, an injury was probably going to happen sooner or later. I’ve been involved in movies on and off in the time since, and I’ve gotten back into martial arts, albeit softer, more internal forms these days. Perhaps I would have ended up the same, just without the detour to China. Or perhaps I would still be on top of that building. I could wonder forever and still not know.

After standing there for several minutes with these thoughts running through my head, I turned and walked on to Dunhua South Road, where, coincidentally, I lived after coming back from China, in a fire-damaged walk-up room with particle-board walls for NT$4500 a month. There was a bridge in front of the building then, running over the train tracks. I was just starting out at a small TV station called TVBS, which occupied a couple of floors in a small building near Jinshan Road.

Aside from the railway bridge being gone, the area hasn’t changed all that much. I would have loved to have had access to the MRT back then, but I had to rely on the then-new-to-me Gendoyun to get around. The MRT has changed the city in countless ways, not the least of which is the way it reduces the city to disconnected points rather than the urban stream one takes in from the seat of a motorcycle. Much like living in the same spot and watching the flow of time as opposed to moving around and living life in a series of disconnects.

Astronauts were orbiting the moon as I was born on a Christmas afternoon 38 years ago. The picture on the right was taken at that time. It makes me feel just a little younger knowing that men were already in space when I arrived here.

Prince Roy and Daniel came out to Bitan on Saturday afternoon, and after introducing PR to the wonders of Athula’s rotis, we went over to Wantan for a stroll through the bamboo groves and the area’s temples. I always enjoy taking the ferry across the river as well as the rural feel of the area. We were a bit surprised to find statues of Sun Yat-sen and Chiang Kai-shek on the altar of one big, lonely temple on the hillside above Wantan. Even stranger were new-looking plaques above the doors dedicated by Chen Shui-bian, Annette Lu and Su Zhen-chang.

That night I went out to Nangang. Bret and Alan’s Christmas party was more sparsely populated this year due to a combination of aging participants and a big all-night gay party at the World Trade Center (Exhibition Hall 2). We sat and munched on Christmas ham as we chatted about what, exactly, is the definition of a bear. A prime example, in my opinion, was in attendance. He’d just broken up a half-year relationship and was on his way downtown to drown his sorrows at an underwear party.

I’d managed to refrain from overeating at Bret’s and Alan’s, but I was tempted once again on Sunday afternoon at the Water-curtain Cave, not inhabited by my friend Chris. Slim, David, Liqi, Michael showed up for a party in honor of my awkwardly-timed birthday, which was very nice of them. We ate Chris’ wonderful curry tofu, pepper beef and rice, and again I managed to come through without too much abdominal stuffing. I like what she’s done with the place; it seems cleaner and more open than when I was living there. I have more stuff, though.

Slim and Chris were on their way to another Christmas get-together at their friend’s place along the Mucha MRT line, just next to Linguang Station. We taxied over to find a huge turkey, complete with bread stuffing, mashed potatoes with gravy and a half-eaten gingerbread house awaiting us. Our gracious host let us take turns in his massage chair, and a Doraemon movie playing on the big projector screen had many of us (okay, just me) enthralled as we dug into our meals.

Mark’s housewarming party at Dean’s old place was at 8pm, though, so I had to leave early to get there late. I had to explain over the downstairs intercom how to open the door. When I walked in the door I noticed a guy sitting on the floor with a pained expression, right next to the remains of a chair. It seemed that Dean had forgotten to warn Mark that the wooden chairs were for decorative purposes only.

Although I knew a few of the people there, the apartment seemed strangely subdued and empty. There were frequent lulls in the sporadic conversation, and even music from the radio didn’t help that much. Pizza was ordered and consumed, but I didn’t touch it. Around midnight Prince Roy, David and I left to catch the last train home.

Christmas Day, thanks for the grinch-like DPP (well, he is green), is no longer a holiday, so I had to work on Monday. After a long afternoon of editing, I had arranged to meet Prince Roy and Spicygirl at Jingmei Station afterwards so that we could go to Darrell and Judy’s place for our annual party (tree canceled due to the high possibility of cat-inflicted damage). My feet were hot as I was wearing thick socks in preparation for a shoeless evening, so I took them off and walked around on the station’s concrete floor. When PR and SG showed up, I was sitting on the floor by the exit next to my shoes reading Irving’s Son of the Circus.

The usual crowd showed up at Darrell and Judy’s, and despite the lack of a tree a good time was had. We listened to 70’s rock songs that brought back our collective youth while the resident pack of dogs begged for a Marlin Perkins narrative. Judy made her usual wonderful dinner, and this time I couldn’t help but stuff my face with turkey, roast beef, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, sweet potatoes, a really delicious kind of Waldorf salad, and many other treats. I swear, that woman can cook.

I was completely full when Judy brought out the birthday cake. My birthday cake, actually. It was lopsided, vaguely rectangular and covered with gobs of chocolate frosting (”two cans!” Judy exclaimed) and was a thing of beauty. I ate as much as I could. Actually, I ate more than I could, somehow. Judy stuffed the remainder into a tupperware box, which is now sitting in my fridge to be enjoyed over the course of the next week.

We all sat around chatting and digesting afterwards in the dim glow of the Christmas lights. One by one, the guests took their leave, until I was the only one left. It had been such a nice Christmas that I didn’t really want it to end. But I had work the next day, so I reluctantly gathered up my things and trudged out to Beixin Road to hail a particularly fragrant taxi back to Bitan and home.

Not having been around snow when I was growing up, one of the things I miss most about this time of year is the whole Christmas light thing in the US. There are lights everywhere here, of course, but they’re usually up all year and have nothing to do with Christmas.

But today I came across this, which has to be the most awesome display of Christmas-light firepower I’ve seen. Impressive (note: wmv link).

Hotpot was had last night at Prince Roy’s place, whereupon a whole lot of politics was discussed. As usual there was a lot of code-switching, which I really should be getting better at but patently am not. At one point Lennet leaned over and asked me, “Can I expect a lot of this kind of conversation in the future?” I said yes, I was afraid he could. He was referring to the political nature of the talk, though, not the code-switching. I guess Lennet’s used to the lack of political debate in Shanghai. Or he just doesn’t like it. Still, some interesting theories were proposed, and we managed to avoid the whole cult-of-the-expert thing you see on discussion forums.

Afterwards, when I was ready to go home, I found that I was out of cash after giving up my last change to a friend for getting me some cereal products, so I went to an ATM to get some money. It was offline. I went to another. It was offline as well. In the end I had to get PR to call Spicygirl to come down with cash to lend me for the taxi ride home. This never happens. Usually, even if one bank is down, you can easily find another one within one block. At first we suspected, of course, a mainland sneak attack, but that would have involved paratroopers, and the skies were clear. So it was either a personal attack by a well-informed hacker or just an inconvenient coincidence.

In preparation for the switch over to the new version of Blogger, I saved all my accounts to Word files. This account alone is over 1,000 pages long in Word, or approximately 3/8 of an average Harry Potter volume. Thus, the forthcoming novelization will be a hefty tome indeed. I also switched the Chinese blog to a more generic, comments-friendly format. I’ll see if I can make the appearance more interesting later. I’m not sure how I feel about the tags/labels thing yet.

Bret and Alan are having their annual Christmas party tonight out in Nangang, and there are various shenanigans and goings-on through Monday night’s dinner at Darrell’s and Judy’s place. Unfortunately, the current administration isn’t feeling too festive about Constitution Day, so we have to work on Christmas.

After the frenzy to complete filming for the movie before Dean left, I found myself with no more shooting to do last weekend. I slept late, a particularly comfortable experience with the lower temperatures we’ve been having lately, and then went to Bikefarm to check on Gendoyun and then went to Page One at Taipei 101 to pick up some books and a Hopper 2007 calendar. There’s something very comforting about a big, nicely appointed bookstore. Especially in bad weather, it feels like a refuge, one that could never, ever be boring.

Dean’s flight back to Canada was on Sunday afternoon, so Saturday night I went over to his place and he, Rowan and I watched TV and ate pizza for one last time. “It’s the end of an era,” I told Rowan, and he knew exactly what I meant.

Sunday was bright but cold. I spent the afternoon sipping tea at the Wistaria teahouse with Prince Roy and Spicygirl, and then took the train up to Zhishan Station to listen to David and Conor play a couple of sets at the Post Home. They served a Christmas-like dinner that were supposed to be chicken, turkey and ham but was actually ham, turkey and more ham. It wasn’t bad. David and Conor are preparing to travel to Memphis to join in a blues competition. After the show I sat around and chatted a bit, but I wasn’t really in the mood for socializing.

So that was my weekend. I haven’t had much to post lately, and might have to resort to “Cartoon Characters I find Disturbingly Sexy” or something similar in the near future to fill this space. You’ve been warned.

Well, the Taipei and Kaohsiung mayoral and city council elections are over with. After the dust settled, everything was exactly the same: Taipei with a KMT mayor and Kaohsiung with a DPP one (maybe). Hau Long-bin won Taipei easily, and James Soong, in what is most likely his last political gasp, was defeated, but still managed to beat up on Clara/Coco “Not even in the TSU any more” Chou.

The Kaohsiung race was much closer. The KMT failed to emphasize the fact that Chen Chu, in that famous and enigmatically successful Taiwanese martyr tactic, stepped down from her position as head of the Council of Labor Affairs to “take responsibility” for the MRT worker riots there. I say “take responsibility” in jest, of course, because nobody here will actually ask anyone to actually take responsibility for things like that after the ULTIMATE SACRIFICE of stepping down. It wipes the slate clean, don’t you know. That problem will never exist again.

After Chen stepped down, there were accusations that she was only doing it so she could run for Kaohsiung mayor in the year-end elections. She was horrified, shocked SHOCKED I tell you that anyone would think such a thing of her. A few months later she was on the ticket; nobody said a word. The race was so close there’s going to be a recount, apparently.

So, in other words, the more things change, etc. The night before the election I took some pictures of election banners here in Taipei, so it wasn’t a complete loss.

UPDATE: It turns out the bus where the alleged vote-buying wasn’t even one of Huang’s buses, and the guy who was handing out money was hired by, according to Chinese-language newspapers, a pro-DPP thug named Gu. Then the DPP got an “anonymous tip” about the “vote-buying” and promptly broadcast it all over the TV the night before the election and during election day. Then they got President Chen to announce that if Huang got elected it wouldn’t count.

But the election officials in Kaohsiung see no problem with it, so it’s all probably just another bizarre, coincidental series of uncanny events that happened to garner the DPP yet another previously thought unwinnable election. Nothing to see here, folks. Just politics as usual here in the renegade province.

UPDATE II: Investigators have been questioning the guys who were accused of handing out the money, and the Chinese-language papers are reporting that they’re all known pro-DPP supporters. They’re claiming to be linked to Huang via the Yunlin Compatriots Society. No solid connections to Huang have been found. Why would Huang purposely buy votes if that was the one and only way he could lose an election he was expected to win?

But it’s a hopeless cause in any case; it’s obvious that the vote-buying claims gave Chen the improbable win, but the charges against her will languish in the DPP city government’s files while she takes up the mayorship free and clear. Pretty much the same thing happened when Frank Hsieh got elected Kaohsiung’s first DPP mayor in 2002: he provided a tape accusing the KMT incumbent, Wu Den-yih, of having an affair with a journalist…the tape was later proven to be faked, and the DPP city councilor was sentenced over it, but Hsieh wasn’t touched. Can’t wait to see what they come up with in 2008….not.

Documenting

Prince Roy was meeting some friends for dinner on Monday, so I decided to skip badminton. The pug-nosed women could wait.

I got off work a little early, so I walked halfway to the teahouse where we were meeting before finally catching a cab. Prince Roy, Spicygirl, Dan and Eric were already there. Dan and Eric are both into martial arts, so a lot of the conversation revolved around that. I might have come off a bit badly by expressing my opinion that Tai-chi and competitions are a weird mix at best.

Our thirst for tea quenched, we took another taxi over to the Tonghua Night Market, which PR and SG visit weekly. I’ve always felt the Tonghua market a bit watered down as compared to other night markets, but maybe it’s just that that part of town gives it a different vibe. I don’t actually get over there that much in any case.

We found the restaurant PR and SG always go to, but their favorite chef wasn’t at the table. If you can imagine. PR promptly informed the management of this grievous error, and the skinny kid was dispatched to the kitchen and replaced by an older fellow with a yellow handkerchief around his neck. Our group responded with everyone taking out their cameras to document the event as he dumped our food on the grill and moved it around in an expert fashion.

My beef dish was good, and the other dishes looked good, though, so the guy obviously knew what he was doing. Eric and I didn’t have the spicy stuff, while the non-Taiwanese at the table all got super spicy dishes.

It was drizzling again as we exited the restaurant afterwards. We walked to An-he Road and went our separate ways. I set off to the nearest MRT station, taking pictures as I went because it’s been too long since I’d done that kind of thing. The nearest station was Da-an, where I used to live when I was at the horrible old Chungking Mansions Taipei. It was a great area, and still is; the mansions themselves were, and still are, a mess.

When I got to the Da-an Station, however, I didn’t feel like getting on just yet, so I continued walking up Fuxing South Road, taking more pictures, until I reached Zhongxiao East Road, where I finally got on the train home.