It turns out that the Source cancelled it’s “Churchgoers” party in favor of their Full Moon party today, so I didn’t bother. Brett called me a disfunctional homosexual at their party last night, but I really cannot see the point in dancing all the time. Instead I stayed home and edited most of the day. I don’t know how many times I should go through the entire book; I suspect that knowing when to stop editing will be difficult.

Rain, rain, and more rain. People are setting off firecrackers, and the smell of traditional barbeques is everywhere. All around town families are gathered around little disposable grills where they are cooking strips of meat and corn as they peer up at the sky, looking to catch a glimpse of the full moon. If one sees the full moon, it means good luck, but the chances aren’t very good as it’s been cloudy. Earlier this evening I looked up and saw the moon peeking through a small gap in the clouds, just before it vanished. The weather is cooling off, and the breeze is quite refreshing. Now I could use a little sunshine. The mosquitos are terrible, no doubt breeding extra fast due to all of the standing water after the flooding.

I bought the Akira DVD, but I can’t stand the goofy English voiceovers. I’d rather listen to Japanese I don’t understand than a bunch of really badly-written and terribly performed voiceovers. It’s still a great movie, though, one of the few ‘anime’ features I can really get into. Kaneda’s motorcycle kicks major ass.

Whenever I’ve searched for anything on Google or on several Yahoo! sites for the past couple of weeks, I either got a 404 or, if I could get through and actually search for something, I get this:

“You are not authorized to view this page. You might not have permission to view this directory or page using the credentials you supplied.

If you believe you should be able to view this directory or page, please try to contact the Web site by using any e-mail address or phone number that may be listed on the www.google.com home page. HTTP Error 403 – Forbidden”

This sucks because I had come to rely on google for just about all of my searching needs. Now I have to find something else.

Anyway, tomorrow is Monday, and I’m off. It’s a great feeling, far better than having Friday off, since Friday is almost the weekend, while Monday is the beginning of a new week, the perfect day to miss. Of course, I’ll probably spend most of the day editing, but later on Kirk, Victor and I are going out for dinner and maybe tea at a teahouse located near Kirk’s apartment, in a one-story Japanese-era wooden house that creaks in the wind and smells old. Such houses are becoming rare these days as they require a lot of maintenance, and the temptation to sell the land to real estate developers is enormous. Still, if I had my choice, I think I would prefer to live in one of those old houses, if it were in good shape and had a yard, than in a large, modern apartment building. Hopefully there’s enough people out there with a similar take on the situation to help preserve at least some of the Japanese structures.

Maurice, orchestrator of the infamous Voyage to Shulin, has got to be the worst purveyor of bad instructions I’ve ever met. Not only was the address for Carl’s Appreciation dinner wrong, but even the right one was misleading. And Maurice was 40 minutes late. Consequently, I wasn’t able to eat before I had to leave for the Moon party in Hsichih. I did see a lot of the people from the play, though, which was good. Steve was there, saying farewell before he sets off for Blighty. The long table the restaurant had prepared was still half empty when I left, so I assume there were more people on their way.

The driver of the taxi I took on the congested route out to Hsichih was one of the more inquisitive I’ve come across, and he had me talking about all sorts of things. When he heard about my peculiar situation, he said to me, “Wow, so you have two families! That must be nice!”

“Not really,” I replied. What I meant by that was, in the states, legal status means a lot, so the fact that I was legally adopted by Taiwanese parents means that my family in the US doesn’t seem to be willing to accept me as part of their family, while blood is more important to Taiwanese, so the fact that I am not ethnically Chinese means that my family here doesn’t really consider me a “real” part of their family.

Fortunately, this rather depressing train of thought was interrupted by our arrival. Lots of people were there, including Harry and Kirk, and the food was delicious. Later on Yuan-ming, Ah-hui and Guang-ping showed up as well, just to see me, which was really nice of them, especially as they could only stay for a little while. I also made some new acquaintances, including a policeman from Panama named Victor who is studying Chinese here for five years (he only has two years left).

Kirk and I were the last to leave. We caught a taxi over to Funky, which we found packed with people. There were some rather good-looking guys there, but for some reason I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Everyone there seemed just too damn happy. The kind of happy that makes you suspect an unsuccessful lobotomy or two is lurking in their past. Rather than just getting drunk and just enjoying it all, we decided to catch a cab home instead. Tomorrow there is supposed to be an event ironically named the “Churchgoers Party” at the Source. I might go check it out, even though I said I wouldn’t go there again. If it’s anything like the Tea Dances they used to have in Hong Kong at Club 1997, it might be worth going to.

This morning as I walked to the MRT station, I was crossing under the Jianguo overpass when one woman nearby me asked another woman, “Excuse me, I’m looking for the American Institute in Taiwan. Can you tell me where it is?”

The woman told her that it was just up Xinyi Road, in the direction we were headed. We continued walking, but when when we got to AIT, with its lines, guards and signs indicating where to line up for visas, etc., the woman walked right by it. She obviously thought that the American Institute in Taiwan, which basically is the US embassy, would be housed in something a bit more elaborate than a couple of run-down shacks with tin roofs. I suppose she thought that the high-rise next door that houses the National Health Insurance Bureau looked more suitable, because that is where she went, looking around her confusedly. I walked discreetly on, thinking that she would find it eventually, and even though I would have liked to see the look on her face, I wanted to get to work on time today for a change, since my annual review is coming up and hopefully I’ll get a decent raise. And while I’m dreaming, I might as well hope for a place on the New York Times’ Best-seller list when my book comes out.

My parents finally responded to my constant emails concerning a possible trip back to see my grandmother or possibly attend her funeral. I guess they figured they couldn’t ignore me any longer.

“You’ve made your life in Taiwan,” my mother wrote from the small town in Oklahoma where they live now, about an hour’s drive from the even-smaller town where my grandparents live. “Your friends and ‘family’ are there and I think to try to recreate some sort of ‘family’ here would be a mistake. You must remember that your grandparents have shown no love to you in many years, if ever.”

Harsh.

I had a terrifying dream last night. I was in some medium-sized city, perhaps DC, and it was under a WTC-style attack, and nobody knew where or how it would happen. I went up to the roof just as a huge C130, painted olive drab, was swooping down out of the sky and heading just a little to my left. It looked like it was going to slice in between the building I was standing on and the one next door. Its wings hit both buildings and the rooftop began exploding towards me. I realized that there wasn’t any place for me to go, and I wrenched myself awake. It was some time before I was confident enough that I wouldn’t be returning to that dream to go to sleep again. But I did return. I can’t remember what was going on, but it was the same general situation.

This might, of course, be an indirect result of sandwiches and the several different types of alcohol I imbibed last night at 45, along with Dean, Graham and eventually my friend who informed me of the job offer yesterday. Also present was a short Taiwanese girl named Rita. She was sitting with Dean when I got there, but he didn’t seem entirely happy that she was there. When Graham arrived, still dripping from the wet windy weather outside, we politely excused ourselves and went upstairs to a table, but Rita didn’t take the hint and followed us up. I didn’t think much of it until she began trying to enter the conversation. Now, there’s nothing wrong with being part of a conversation, but her contributions were a tad, shall we say, kooky, even if you don’t take the alcohol into account. At one point she said to me, “You speak Mandarin and Chinese? Wow!”

Another time she was talking about how many Taiwanese fawn all over foreigners, and I said I hated that kind of behavior. “No!” she exclaimed. “No, no, no, no! You love it!”

No, I assured her, I detest it. But she was adamant. “No, you foreigner! You cannot feel that way! You love it! I am Taiwanese! I hate it!”

Okaay…

At another point she asked me the question everyone wants to know: “Do you have Chinese girlfriend?” I said no, I didn’t.

“How many Chinese girlfriend you have before?” she then asked.

“None,” I replied. She stared at me, shocked.

“I don’t believe!”

“It’s true,” I insisted. She stared at me some more, and then a sly grin appeared on her face.

“I think maybe you….homosexual!”

“Yeah, maybe I am.” But she was shaking her head.

“No, I just joking.”

When I didn’t say anything further, trying to shift my attention back to the others, she burst out laughing. It seemed I was a hit of some sort.

Needless to say, our interaction with Rita quickly descended into the kind of polite nodding one reserves for escaped lunatics while one is waiting for the authorities to arrive and take them away. She didn’t take that hint either, however, and stuck around until we left around 1am. Luckily I didn’t have to pretend to be out of business cards; I really was fresh out. A close call, actually.

In between Rita’s odd interjections, the rest of us discussed the new job opening, which, it turns out, isn’t at all definite just yet. It sounds interesting, but Graham probably needs it more than I do at this point. Still, we’ll see what happens. This month has really thrown everyone for a loop; it’s hard to keep up with everything all the time.

The following cell phone commerical is on the radio all the time these days:

(sound of cell phone ringing)

Woman with ridiculously high-pitched voice: Eee!* What’s that sound? It’s wonderful!

Randy Businessman: Oh, that? Why, that’s my cell phone!

Woman with ridiculously high-pitched voice: Wah-ooh!** It’s so great!

Randy Businessman: Yes, isn’t it? It’s proof that I am a superior male with a large penis. Have sex with me!

(sound of cell phone still ringing)

Woman with normal-pitched voice*** in the background: Someone answer the damn phone!

*Taiwanese women use “Eee!” as a cutsy exclamation. Foreign men who were taught Chinese by their Taiwanese girlfriends can also occasionally be caught saying things like this, which is pretty damn funny if you ask me.

***Taiwanese women with normal-pitched voices are seen as less attractive than Taiwanese women with artificially high, sickly sweet, almost childlike voices.

For the last couple of days I’ve been getting almost constant ICQ messages from porn sites. I don’t know why this is, but the “ignore user” button wasn’t working. So I decided to try the “reason with user” button:

nadiasuc4: Check out my pics at http://imaslut.de.vu

poagao: Go away.

nadiasuc4: Check out my pics at http://imaslut.de.vu

poagao: What you’re doing is illegal. What’s worse, it’s really annoying.

nadiasuc4: Check out my pics at http://imaslut.de.vu

poagao: My lawyers will be in touch with your business. Expect a summons.

nadiasuc4: Check out my pics at http://imaslut.de.vu

poagao: Check out your last day on earth.

Somehow, I don’t think I was getting through.

A friend of mine from the newspaper called me this afternoon and said there’s an opening at the newspaper where he’s working now, which is a different one from the paper where we were working before. My first instinct was to call up another friend, Graham, and tell him about it, since he just got back and is looking for work. But then I began to wonder if I should consider it myself.

This position would probably pay more than I make now, but in return I would have to sacrifice my evenings, as working hours there are 3pm to 10pm. I’d also have to sacrifice half of every other weekend. The content I’d be editing would probably be more interesting, but then again there’d be that daily deadline to deal with every day…and there’s all of the reasons I took this job after working my last job at the newspaper, even though I’m not making as much here as I was there.

Maybe I should ask for a raise. If I were making more money here and not sitting next to Whiny Woman (hopefully I wouldn’t be after we move to our new office in January), it would be a lot easier to get up and come in every day. Also, I feel like here I am at least still living in Taiwan, since everyone here is Taiwanese, even though some of them are annoying. At the paper there were so many foreigners it felt like I was working in a little bubble of extraterritoriality which irked me no small amount. It seemed to sap all the meaning out of living in Taiwan.

Again, the danger of apathy towards one’s job is that one will be unnaturally attracted to other jobs one won’t necessarily like any better. It’s like going to the supermarket when you’re starving: you probably won’t be the best judge of what you should eat and will most likely end up stuffing your face with the first thing you come across, which could very well be Little Debbie Cakes covered with Ragoo spaghetti sauce. But after an hour you realize that it probably wasn’t the wisest choice and swear off using second-person ever again.

Hoo, there really should be a license to analogize.

As I was taking the MRT (elevated line) home tonight, I noticed that the illustration on my pass card was amusingly appropriate, considering the fact that most of the subway is under water or full of mud at the moment. City Hall says it will be at least two weeks before we can use the underground portion of the system again, not including Taipei Main Station, which was completely inundated and will take even longer to get working again.

It looks like work is still on for tomorrow, in spite of the typhoon weaving about drunkenly in the ocean to the southeast of us. Fortunately, my friend and former News co-worker (I know, they’re everywhere) Graham is back in town after a stint back in Blighty, and we’re going to go to 45 for drinks after work.

I’ve also come up with a small banner you can use if you so desire. These are actually pretty fun to make, so if anyone wants me to make one with different or bizzarre dimensions (sorry, no supermodel figures or state outlines, unless it’s something like South Dakota), just let me know, and I’ll give it a shot.

Daniel is revamping his site and has a new banner.

Banners fun. Me need banner. Massive audience awaiting eagerly.

Sarcasm annoying.

Randall has gotten me back for posting a cheesy picture of him by posting a cheesy picture of me (He started it, though, I have to say). Notice how incredibly pale I am after sitting in the office for months on end. I look like a vitamin-D deficiency poster boy these days. I need to get out more, which is unlikely due to our steady stream of typhoons in recent weeks. Our streets reek with mold and mildew, and various pieces of soggy furniture and other detrius litter the sidewalks. The car-cleaning business next to our office building is doing a brisk business, however. Motorcycle repair shops are probably raking it in as well.

Still, we could still score yet another day off due to the next storm, which is currently heading this way and gaining strength. Coming back to the office after a week off today was pounded in for me by the sound of someone in the next cubicle clipping what seemed like too many nails for an ordinary human to the strains of “The Carpenters Meet Zamfir the Incredible Flute Thingy Player” playing over the PA system.

I don’t know why, but typhoons seem to be pouring out of the pacific ocean like those chocolate candies on the conveyer belt in that I Love Lucy episode. We got back to Taipei last night, and today the wind and rain are beating at my window once again due to another typhoon churning between us and the Philippines. They say the weather is only going to get worse. Work could feasibly be cancelled again tomorrow and/or the next day. I haven’t been to work in a whole week now. Garbage is still piled in the muddy streets from the last typhoon.

But back to my vacation in Hong Kong. I met my former co-worker Will in Wanchai later on after the last entry. Will is from Scotland and now works as an editor for an interior design magazine. He lives in a tiny little room in Causeway Bay. We went to a restaurant called “The World of Suzie Wong” or something similarly insipid, where we chatted about living in Hong Kong as I fished portions of insect anatomy out of my ginger ale. Later on we went to a loud sports bar that had a floor composed of mounds of peanut shells, as the typhoon gusted outside. Will seems a little frustrated with his job, as he isn’t terribly interested in interior design, and the pay isn’t that spectacular. I can definitely sympathize.

The weather on Friday was kind of windy and rainy due to the last typhoon sweeping through on its way to mainland China. I took the waved-tossed ferry over to Hong Kong island and wandered around Pacific Place for a while, bought some lunch and took it up to Hong Kong park to eat. I had no idea what else to do, so I took the tram up to Victoria Peak and walked around the nature path up there. The storm clouds were at eye level up there, blowing right by with surprising speed, and hardly anyone was about due to the wind and rain. The path itself was deserted, but I was amused by a sign about dangerous pedestrians. On my way around I passed a deserted mansion with an incredible view. That area is full of an absurd amount of absurdly rich people, seemingly all heavy-set middle-aged white women with small dogs. Their estates were walled off, and even the water meters were wrapped in barbed wire.

When I got back to the tram station I called my friend Dave, who used to work with me at the newspaper. He’s at the Asian Wall Street Journal now. He said to come over, so I took the tram back down the mountain and then one of those double decker trams over to Kennedy Town where he has a nice apartment with a view. He had a few drinks before heading out on a long quest for Peel Street in Central, where, according to myth, there was a Spanish restaurant where Dave’s friend and co-worker Miguel, a large, friendly guy from New York, was waiting for us. Eventually we found the place, which oozed trendiness to such a degree we required napkins. After we finished eating Miguel got a phone call from a slightly asthmatic woman who needed her inhaler, which for some reason was in Miguel’s posession. We walked over hill and down dale to the Fringe Club, which I kept mishearing as the French Club, where we found the remnants of a crowd enjoying the cool night on the roof. Among these were the asthmatic woman and Michael, a co-worker of Dave’s and Miguel’s who reminds me vaguely of Jack from Will and Grace.

We decided to go out to Sheung Wan to the Rice Bar, a small but nice place, with trendy stools and actual rice under the glass bartop. We had several rounds of drinks and talked amid the steadily growing crowd while Michael played eye-tag with various guys across the room. Then Dave, Michael and I went to Works, at the site of the old Propaganda was. More drinks ensued, but it was crushingly crowded. There wasn’t even room to move, much less dance, so Dave and I went to the new Propaganda. Still more drinks, and by this time I was quite drunk. We hung around the dance floor until they started playing decent music, but they never did so we just got so drunk we would dance to anything. I haven’t danced in ages. It was a lot of fun, but I was pretty tired and woozy by around 3 a.m., so I left Dave on the dance floor and made my way out to the street after forgetting my bag and having to go back for it.

My head was buzzing and my knees were achy from all of the dancing. The reason for this is that when I dance I don’t do much more than jump up and down while doing Tai-chi exercises with my hands. I stumbled down the stone steps through narrow, winding streets to the nearest ATM to get money for a cab back to my hotel. The first one I found couldn’t make a connection with my bank back in Taiwan. Neither could the next one. Neither could any of the ATMs in Central, or in Hong Kong, apparently. I am definitely going to have some words with my bank tomorrow, if they’re open.

In the end I flagged down a taxi and said “Take me as far towards Tsim Sha Tsui as you can for HK$72.” That got me through the tunnel across the harbor but not much further, so I walked the remaining distance to my hotel. I tried not to appear drunk as I picked up my key from the front desk, but I’m sure they’re used to drunk guests. A strong hot shower, air conditioning, fresh sheets and towels all laid out…seldom have these things felt so wonderful.

We had to check out by noon, so I forced myself out of bed at around 11:45 to find a beautiful sunny day outside. I stuck all of my stuff into my backpack and headed out to the harbor front to enjoy the weather. Once there I called up a guy I’ve been chatting with on ICQ recently. Communication instantly became a problem, however, since he doesn’t speak much Mandarin and I don’t know much Cantonese. When we were chatting it didn’t matter, since we both know Chinese characters, but when on the phone we found that we couldn’t actually communicate verbally. A few minutes after hanging up in frustration, his friend, who knows a bit of Mandarin, called up and arranged for us to meet in Causeway Bay at 3 p.m.

Being short on money due to my card’s inability to negotiate with ATMs in Hong Kong, I took the ferry to Wanchai and walked over to the Mitsukoshi across the road from Sogo, where I waited for Kevin, my ICQ friend. He turned up about 15 minutes late, and handed me a tiny bag with his picture and a new leather wallet inside. I tried to tell him he shouldn’t be giving me things like that, but he wouldn’t take it back. We went downstairs for a drink and tried to communicate by writing characters on a piece of paper, but it didn’t go so well, so we went to meet Kevin’s friend, the one who could speak Mandarin, at a nearby mall.

Kevin’s friend’s name is Lawrence. He is about my height and is in dire need of braces for his teeth. He acted as an interpreter between Kevin and I, but in all honesty I have to say I like Lawrence better than Kevin. Not that I could have any kind of relationship with either one of them, or anyone else in Hong Kong, for that matter, but Kevin seemed to think we were involved in some sort of relationship already, which I find a bit disconcerting.

I bought an Attar action figure at one of the toy stores in the mall, since I think Attar rocks, even if Planet of the Apes wasn’t exactly the best movie I’ve ever seen. Kevin paid for it, even through I could have used my credit card, but he wouldn’t have any of my protests. We took a tram back to Wanchai and then took the ferry back to Tsim Sha Tsui, where I took some more pictures of the Hong Kong skyline across the harbor before returning to my hotel, where the bus to the airport was waiting. I felt bad saying good-bye to Kevin and Lawrence, who stood by the bus waving at me until we drove off. The flight back was packed with old businessmen. There was a bit of turbulence and a bad meal on the way, but thankfully nothing more eventful than that.

Every time I go to Hong Kong I wonder about actually moving there and living there full time. It seems so much more intense than Taipei, so much more international and three-dimensional in so many ways. After all, I’ve lived in Taiwan for so long, maybe a change of venue would do me good. If I could get a job similar to Dave’s, ensuring that I would have enough money to live fairly comfortably, I think I would give it a shot. Of course I would like to get my book finished first, and preferably get my next film project done as well, but I could get that done no matter where I lived. I have more resources and am more familiar with things here in Taiwan, but in Hong Kong I could buy a decent-sized motorcycle. Hmmm….

I’m in Hong Kong, at a hole-in-the-wall Internet Cafe across the street from my hotel. The typhoon, of course, followed me here (I thought my luggage was a bit heavier than it should have been). So the weather is not, shall we say, at its best. I still can’t believe that I’m going through the same typhoon twice.

My hotel, the Hong Kong Hyatt Regency, is nice, but the idiots at the travel agency for some reason told them to not give us any phone service, which they later denied. These are the same idiots who ‘forgot’ to give us the correct forms to fill out before we went through customs. Now I can’t even make a local call because of those parsimonious bastards. Not just that, but I couldn’t locate the hotel bus to my hotel because there isn’t a single person at the Hong Kong airport who knows where the hotel buses are located. I asked several people and nobody knew. Incredible. I ended up taking the airport train, and then finding my way out of a particularly maze-like apartment complex, then walking over to Tsim Sha Tsui, soaking myself with sweat in the process. At least there was an ice cream stand in Kowloon park on the way.

Last night I met up with the Big White Guy himself, over in his traditional stomping grounds in Causeway Bay. When I called him, his voice didn’t match my original expectations. From his appearance, I expected something more, I dunno, dangerous sounding. He’s actually a really nice guy, fun to talk with. I hope we can get together again before I have to leave. We had some drinks at a teahouse/restaurant place, took pictures of each other for our websites and then walked around the area, the bwg pointing out various places where he had cleverly affixed “Goatee Style” stickers. Later on we even beheld the famous Steps of Pain.

I just had a great lunch of Cantonese cuisine, including Chang fen, which is basically big noodles with meat inside. I also had a nice massage which included baby oil and being nekkid. That’s all the details you’re going to get from me, so don’t bother asking.

I called a couple of other friends this afternoon, guys I knew from when I worked at the newspaper, and we’ll probably meet up later on. I don’t know what we’ll do, other than get wet from the pouring rain. It’s great to be back in Hong Kong, although I know that I’d have to make a lot more than I make now if I wanted to live here. It’s quite expensive, and seems like a much more intense living experience than I’m used to in Taipei. That might be just because I am used to Taipei, though. If I were accustomed to living in Hong Kong, I might feel the same way about it. One thing I am reasonably sure of, though, is that after walking around this hilly terrain for a few months, I’d have great-looking calves. Hong Kong people tend to have really nice calves.