I met up with such community luminaries as Prince Roy, Mark and Battle Panda last night after work. I was the first one there, so while I waited I sat on a sidewalk planter outside the MRT exit gazing vacantly at a lobby I was sure I had entered for some nefarious purpose in 1991.

Mark had an inexplicable hankering for cheesy faux-Italian cuisine, so we headed to the alleys behind Zhongxiao where he knew of some likely candidates all lined up in a convenient row. We picked one and found they had no rice, left just noodles. The soup tasted canned; proof of this was on display along the wall, lined with various Chef Boy-ar-Dee products.

After dinner we headed over to Nanjing East Road to sample the new Dunkin’ Donuts store, despite reports that they’d taken a lot of the sugar out of the recipes to “suit local tastes.” After walking a couple of blocks from the station, the aroma of the shop brought back memories of my childhood.

There was a short line, but nothing anywhere near as egregious as the Mister Donut mobs of yore. The setup was a lot better than MD, too; you just picked up tongs and filled your tray with the donuts you wanted from the shelf, rather than being introduced to a brochure and led one by one to the counter to negotiate your purchase with the cashier.

We loaded up our trays and retired to a table at the back of the store to munch down on our goodies. All of the donuts were good, better than Mister Donut, though the frosting was a bit too waxy on some of the donuts. The regular glazed was exactly the same as the US version as far as I can recall. The chocolate-filled puffs, my childhood favorite, were not as sweet. In fact, the frosting and fillings were noticeably less sweet, though the donuts themselves seemed the same. They’re probably even better earlier in the day when they’re fresh.

I asked the cashier when the next store was opening up and where, but she just said “Soon” and “Couldn’t say.” In any case, it’s bad timing for me, because while I could have enjoyed these all through my twenties, they’re off the menu these days except for special occasions like birthdays, anniversaries or just happening to be in the neighborhood. We’ll see if Dunkin’ Donuts, despite the questionable location of their flagship store, becomes as popular as Mister Donut. You’ll know it when you see fashionable women on the MRT carrying their latest jewelry purchases in old Dunkin’ Donuts bags.

I met up with such community luminaries as Prince Roy, Mark and Battle Panda last night after work. I was the first one there, so while I waited I sat on a sidewalk planter outside the MRT exit gazing vacantly at a lobby I was sure I had entered for some nefarious purpose in 1991.

Mark had an inexplicable hankering for cheesy faux-Italian cuisine, so we headed to the alleys behind Zhongxiao where he knew of some likely candidates all lined up in a convenient row. We picked one and found they had no rice, left just noodles. The soup tasted canned; proof of this was on display along the wall, lined with various Chef Boy-ar-Dee products.

After dinner we headed over to Nanjing East Road to sample the new Dunkin’ Donuts store, despite reports that they’d taken a lot of the sugar out of the recipes to “suit local tastes.” After walking a couple of blocks from the station, the aroma of the shop brought back memories of my childhood.

There was a short line, but nothing anywhere near as egregious as the Mister Donut mobs of yore. The setup was a lot better than MD, too; you just picked up tongs and filled your tray with the donuts you wanted from the shelf, rather than being introduced to a brochure and led one by one to the counter to negotiate your purchase with the cashier.

We loaded up our trays and retired to a table at the back of the store to munch down on our goodies. All of the donuts were good, better than Mister Donut, though the frosting was a bit too waxy on some of the donuts. The regular glazed was exactly the same as the US version as far as I can recall. The chocolate-filled puffs, my childhood favorite, were not as sweet. In fact, the frosting and fillings were noticeably less sweet, though the donuts themselves seemed the same. They’re probably even better earlier in the day when they’re fresh.

I asked the cashier when the next store was opening up and where, but she just said “Soon” and “Couldn’t say.” In any case, it’s bad timing for me, because while I could have enjoyed these all through my twenties, they’re off the menu these days except for special occasions like birthdays, anniversaries or just happening to be in the neighborhood. We’ll see if Dunkin’ Donuts, despite the questionable location of their flagship store, becomes as popular as Mister Donut. You’ll know it when you see fashionable women on the MRT carrying their latest jewelry purchases in old Dunkin’ Donuts bags.

I haven’t been posting a lot lately because I’m spending just about all of my free time editing. Expect this to continue for a while.

I did get out on Friday night to play at a benefit for Stevie Ray, a local musician friend who lost everything in a fire, including all of his belongings, his instruments and his dog. Various bands gathered at The Living Room and played to raise some money for Stevie and his wife to help them get back on their feet. In the cab on the way I called Prince Roy to see if he wanted to come down; he said he’d stop by.

The Muddy Basin Ramblers were on first. We set up quickly and got playing at about 10pm. My first show with the group was on that stage, in 2004. Hopefully this time around I didn’t make quite as many mistakes.

Although we weren’t fully Ramblered up as far as attire went, I decided in the glare of the stage lights to do the show wearing some old round sunglasses I had lying around. Afterwards, not only did I not get the usual “You seem so angry” comments, people actually said I looked serene on stage. Apparently the key to the phenomenon is my eyes. I must look into this.

After the show I was felt tired. You can see me zoning out in the above picture (courtesy of Kevin Smith). I packed up my stuff and headed back to the green room, but was waylaid by a couple of people wanting to know how I could make the washtub bass sound so much like a stand-up bass. I explained as best I could (mainly I just guess where the notes are) and walked back to the green room, where Stevie was tuning a borrowed guitar for the show. I plopped down on a mat and took a nap, as the show was going to go late and I wanted to be awake for any last-minute jamming.

A little later I got a message from Prince Roy; it turned out that he had been standing right in front of me after the show, and I didn’t even notice him. Sorry about that, my liege.

The show did go late. All in all, seven bands performed. I watched from the doorway next to Parti, a Sri Lankan friend of mine who has a shaved head and goatee, and Conor. At one point, as Stevie Ray was in the middle of a quiet solo, a largish foreigner turned around suddenly and threw a beer bottle at the people at the table behind him, shouting at them to shut the hell up. Luckily, the bottle didn’t hit anyone.

By the time it was over, nobody was much in the mood for a large-scale jam, and many of the key musicians had already left, so it just didn’t happen. We wished Stevie the best of luck and went down to the street to hail cabs home.

I haven’t been posting a lot lately because I’m spending just about all of my free time editing. Expect this to continue for a while.

I did get out on Friday night to play at a benefit for Stevie Ray, a local musician friend who lost everything in a fire, including all of his belongings, his instruments and his dog. Various bands gathered at The Living Room and played to raise some money for Stevie and his wife to help them get back on their feet. In the cab on the way I called Prince Roy to see if he wanted to come down; he said he’d stop by.

The Muddy Basin Ramblers were on first. We set up quickly and got playing at about 10pm. My first show with the group was on that stage, in 2004. Hopefully this time around I didn’t make quite as many mistakes.

Although we weren’t fully Ramblered up as far as attire went, I decided in the glare of the stage lights to do the show wearing some old round sunglasses I had lying around. Afterwards, not only did I not get the usual “You seem so angry” comments, people actually said I looked serene on stage. Apparently the key to the phenomenon is my eyes. I must look into this.

After the show I was felt tired. You can see me zoning out in the above picture (courtesy of Kevin Smith). I packed up my stuff and headed back to the green room, but was waylaid by a couple of people wanting to know how I could make the washtub bass sound so much like a stand-up bass. I explained as best I could (mainly I just guess where the notes are) and walked back to the green room, where Stevie was tuning a borrowed guitar for the show. I plopped down on a mat and took a nap, as the show was going to go late and I wanted to be awake for any last-minute jamming.

A little later I got a message from Prince Roy; it turned out that he had been standing right in front of me after the show, and I didn’t even notice him. Sorry about that, my liege.

The show did go late. All in all, seven bands performed. I watched from the doorway next to Parti, a Sri Lankan friend of mine who has a shaved head and goatee, and Conor. At one point, as Stevie Ray was in the middle of a quiet solo, a largish foreigner turned around suddenly and threw a beer bottle at the people at the table behind him, shouting at them to shut the hell up. Luckily, the bottle didn’t hit anyone.

By the time it was over, nobody was much in the mood for a large-scale jam, and many of the key musicians had already left, so it just didn’t happen. We wished Stevie the best of luck and went down to the street to hail cabs home.

New Year’s festivities this year were held at David’s place in Muzha. The theme was Hawaiian, and David, Robyn and Paige had decorated their two apartments in an appropriate style. Slim, Chris and I took a cab over, Slim hauling several pineapples as his gift. I had no contribution, so we stopped by KFC on the way over so I could pick up a bucket o’ grease. Apparently picking up a bucket o’ grease is a very popular new year’s tradition, as there were approximately 300 other people wanting to do just that.

Grass skirts were handed out, but I felt there’s no point in wearing one if you’re compromising by wearing anything underneath it, so I settled for the obligatory lei. I actually don’t own any Hawaiian clothing and had to wear my Australian Aborigine shirt instead. Sandman came adorned with a coconut bra and several ukuleles. I busied myself during part of the festivities taking artsy close-up shots of the ukes.

It was a very small party. The Taipei Kid showed up, and some people I didn’t know. Sandman had brought curry and rottis from Athula, and there were many very tasty dishes on hand. Later on Robyn and Paige brought out a chocolate cake shaped like (and very nearly the size of) a volcano.

We gathered on the rooftop just before midnight, where we could just see the tip of Taipei 101. The fireworks that we could see were impressive, even at that distance, but a horrible smell made lingering there an unpopular option.

With so many ukuleles around, plus my pocket trumpet and a washtub bass, music was inevitable. We played old songs, new songs, improvised and read sheet music. I played softly lest the neighbors complain, but the fireworks going off all over the city made it less urgent a task than it normally would have been. It was well into the morning by the time we left, but fireworks were still going off over Bitan when I went to bed at 4am.

2007 feels like an oddly green, unexpected year to me, probably because I haven’t really put much thought into what it’s going to be like. 2006 ended on a low note for me; I hope for better this year. I’m going to have to make some changes, changes that I’ll most likely hate, but they have to be made anyway. I need to get into better shape. I’d like to take a nice long vacation, preferably to Europe. I also would like to see Paradigm X in a theater by the end of the year, and pick up an English-language publisher for Counting Mantou. I guess I might as well ask for a pony and Malcolm Jamal-Warner’s hand in marriage as well.

Politically, I expect the KMT to take a public-relations beating as the DPP bangs the 2/28 drums for the incident’s 60th anniversary. If the pan-greens relent on the issue of cross-strait exchanges, thus spurring the economy, things could look pretty rosy for them come 2008. Both Su and Hsieh, either of which has a shot in the next election, are generally seen as more pragmatic on cross-strait relations than Chen.