After work today I was about to catch a cab over to Dihua St. to scout out some shooting locations when I ran into Xiao Bing near the CKS Hall. I’ve known Xiao Bing forever, and coincidentally enough, CKS Hall was one of the first places he took me when I first arrived in Taiwan. He was also one of the first friends I made here. He was on his way to take a test though, so we didn’t have too much time to chat.

Dihua St. is famous for it’s old Japanese-era architecture and its Chinese medicine shops and candy shops. It smells great, and efforts have been made recently to clean it up a bit. Being near the river, it’s one of the oldest parts of the city. I found a few places that might be suitable for shooting. I’ll have to go back there and to CKS at night with my camera to take some test shots.

I walked south looking for some more old neighborhoods, but I guess a lot of the streets in the West Gate District have been rebuilt since the Japanese era. Wanhua probably has some old neighborhoods, come to think of it. While I was there I checked out microphone/digital recorders I can use to gather sound for the film without having to go through the camera. On the way I visited a couple of bookstores. One had already sold all of it’s share of the damn book, and Eslite only had two copies left. I offered to sign them, but they cited their policy of not letting authors sign books because “some customers might open their book and say ‘Ew, someone’s written in my brand-new book!'”. Whatever.

Getting all the stuff together for the film is going to be a real headache as well as a pain in the wallet. I’m still looking forward to starting shooting, however. It feels good to actually be doing something instead of just whining about it all the time. I’m going to need at least two vehicles, a motorcycle (Sandman has volunteered his; thanks, Sandy!), a wheelchair or some other kind of pseudo-dolly system, mics, lights, mirrors, little terra-cotta soldiers, and some mini-discs, among other things. It’s a goddamn scavenger hunt. I love it. Alphadogah and Tall Paul’s film The Big Cheese, both starring Dean (much to his dismay), are going to be shown at the Urban Nomad film festival on Saturday, and Dean, Maurice, Dolly and I are planning to go after we meet for dinner so we can discuss parts. Azuma and friends are going to be dressed up in their favorite Star Wars outfits for a Star Wars novel-related event earlier that day as well, so Saturday’s going to be pretty busy.

The square in front of the Taipei Art Museum was full of girls trying to dance like the LA Boyz when I arrived there this evening for sword practice. Our group had been relegated to a dark corner near the back. When the girls finished practicing their awkward jerking movements, they left behind them a shitload of trash strewn all over the square. My teacher just shook his head and sighed. “Parents don’t teach their kids anything these days,” he said. “Once when we were practicing at the CKS Hall a guy rode up there on his scooter, going round and round. I finally had enough and just waited for him to come round again. When he did I knocked him off his bike.”

Needless to say, my teacher is cool. He told us about trying to use your brain as little as possible when doing Tai-chi: “Your body is made of of millions of little brains that know far more than your one big brain. Every cell of your skin is a little brain, and you have to learn how to listen to them and trust them.”

And now, for no reason whatsoever, my first digital watch. It may have been my first watch, period; I don’t remember. It’s certainly the most memorable, though. I got it in 3rd grade and spent most of the time I should have been using to practice multiplication tables or watch films entitled “The Dangers of Being Run Over by a Schoolbus” just sitting and pressing the button to make the time (and date!) appear.

I was invited to a dinner get-together last night at a restaurant over near the intersection of Minsheng E. and Jianguo N. Roads. I only know the guy who invited me, Joseph, from a previous gathering. Everyone else at the two tables was a stranger. The food was good, lots of Sichuan dishes and tasty sesame-filled pastries for dessert. We talked and chatted throughout the meal, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. I like the idea of such gatherings much better than going out to a pub. It would be great if someone would organize “Tea Dances”, like the kind I used to attend in Hong Kong at 1997 in Lam Kwai Fong, just lazy Sunday afternoon get-togethers where there’s no dancing, just brunch, drinks, and chatting. There’s all sorts of teahouses in this city that would be perfect for that kind of thing.

Right before dessert was served, though, one of the managers came over and started whispering to the organizer of our party. They looked at me as they did so, but the host just shrugged, so another member of our party was consulted in a similar manner. Eventually the manager, who was blushing, asked the guys next to me if she could talk to me, and they said “Huh? Why don’t you ask him?” So she came over to me and said, “Excuse me, sir, but we need to know your nationality.”

“Pardon?”

“We have to know your nationality.”

“It’s ROC, just like everyone else at this table,” I said.

Everyone was staring at the manager by this point. “Why are you asking him this?” Someone else at the table asked her, but the manager beat a hasty retreat, muttering, “Nothing, it’s nothing.” We discussed this strange behavior for a bit, and the general concensus around the table was that such a question was really wierd, so someone called the manager back over. This time she had an explanation.

“You see, when we hand out the desserts, we always stick little flags in them if we have an international visitor, so we wanted to know what flag to use for you.”

The entire table then went “Aaaaah…ok.”

I got this email the other day:

Dear Paogao,

Sincerely,

Hoffman Netter Entertainment

I don’t get it, personally. A video about my blog? Isn’t that like saying “We’d like you to compose a piece of music about your book”? They’re two different media, after all.

Plus, and I hate to break it to you, but, well…it’s a blog. And you spelled Poagao wrong.

However, speaking of videos, Dean, Mindcrime and I made some good progress today on the Lady X project. No details yet; let it suffice to say we’re ahead of schedule at the moment. I think it’s going to be good, and at the very least a lot of fun to do. Mindcrime’s Mind is taking a cue from the Depth of Fashion that is this site by including Chinese on his blaaahg today. Will wonders ever cease?

昨天晚上我上了漢聲廣播電台的”比目魚” 的節目, 跟她聊天聊了半個小時, 也聊得滿愉快. 沒有我想的那麼無聊. 但訪問完了就開始偏

It was raining, and I was going to be late for the radio interview, so I took a cab. I told the cabbie the address, but he couldn’t find it, so I told him it was the Hansheng Radio Station; he knew exactly where that was. “I listen to the old Chinese songs on there all the time!” he said.

My host, aka “Bimuyu”, was waiting outside. A young woman with dyed hair, she seemed disappointed to learn that I’d been out of the military for a number of years already. Apparently she thought I’d just gotten out. She was also worried that I was a morose bastard who would ruin her show with excruciatingly long silences and a lot of “Uh……I dunno”-type answers. “By the way, welcome back to base,” she said as we passed the guard station. Hansheng is run by the military, thus their interest in my book I guess. Bimuyu isn’t a soldier herself, but she said she got a lot of ribbing from the employees who were in the military. The offices were almost empty save for a couple of lucky conscript soldiers carrying out important Instant Noodle-related missions. Bimuyu went in to the studio first and then called me in when it was time for the show to begin. We began chatting, and before I knew it, the half-hour was up. At one point she laughed at the name of one of the officers I mentioned, and I said “You should talk with a name like Bimuyu!” She just laughed. Most of her questions were good, though. Apparently it went well. I had fun.

Afterwards I was walking across the CKS square when I noticed some familiar vision problems. Uh-oh, I thought. Migraine. A bad one, by the look of things. I stopped off at a small pharmacy and got some Panadol, and then went to a noodle shop for something to down the pills with. The old lady was watching the news about SARS on TV and complaining that no-one came to eat at her restaurant anymore. “Everyone’s afraid! Nobody ever comes here to eat anymore!” she said to me.

“I did,” I said, unable to think of anything else to say. She nodded and went back to her TV news.

My headache got worse on the MRT up to Yuanshan for sword practice. There were some new guys there tonight, and one of them turned out to a an English teacher, a Taiwanese fellow who had apparently spent some time in the states. We chatted a bit, but I’m afraid my conversation wasn’t too stimulating due to the intense pain. I only get these things once every few months, but when they do come they can be pretty bad. I started getting migraines when I was a teenager; my dad gets them too.

Despite the pain, practice wasn’t too bad. I concentrated on some rough edges, and the teacher told me about opposites in concentration vs. movement. By the time practice was over the pain wasn’t quite as bad, but even now I can still feel it. Looking at this screen isn’t helping, either, so I’m going to wrap this one up, turn off the lights and listen to some classical music in the dark.

P.S.: I’ve added a nifty little translate tag on the menu. It looks neat, and who knows, someone might even use it someday.

The filming last night went pretty well, all things considered. I got there a little after 8pm to find Tall Paul already hauling equipment inside the restaurant. We were waiting on the last two customers to leave. Whispering loudly to each other about interesting worms we had found in our salads seemed to do the trick…kidding! We actually did no such thing. Instead we waited politely about six inches from the table in question, letting our silence and stony glares speak volumes. Seemed to work.

Before too long everyone had shown up, including Dean, Alita, Daryl and a guy from the play named Hugh, who was filling in as the waiter. It turned out that Hugh had some experience in lighting that proved quite useful, and he was happy to help out. We had pretty much set up when the owner of the restaurant came in and had a chat with us about how to close up, as it was quickly becoming obvious that we weren’t talking about coming in and flashing around with a video camera for a few minutes of V-sign giddiness. We’d taken over the place.

It was a good thing Tall Paul brought a monitor, as the difference between it and the viewfinders was like night and day. I also made a list of Things I Should Not Be Without on a shoot, including things like foil, gels, little hooks and gloves. It would also be nice to have lights with real barn doors instead of foil, but we made out ok. We did two or three setups, and Dean and Alita quickly got into the swing of things. Their emotions were so strong that it lingered in the room for awkward minutes after Tall Paul yelled “cut”.

When we played back the tape at the end of the evening, there seemed to be a Morse Code-like pattern of clicks accompanying on-and-off artifacts on the screen. I sincerely hope that it was some sort of electrical interference via the S-video cable and not some fatal flaw in my camera that would require me to take it back for repairs or replacement. Tall Paul is looking at the footage and will let me know. I went back and looked at the test footage I shot and didn’t see or hear anything like that at all. (update: the footage is fine; it must have been a cable/interference problem. Whew!)

It was about 3am by the time we finished, and I didn’t get to bed until after 4. Work today, needless to say, was rather dreamlike. Dean, Mindcrime and I got together at the Curry House to discuss another project we’re involved in. This one should be good. More on this later.

Tomorrow I’ve got to work on some freelance translation jobs, and then go do a radio interview at Hansheng some time between 6 and 7, followed by sword practice. I suppose I should bring my sword to the interview, but that would not only feel strange, I’d be tempted to gut the host every time she asks a stupid question. And then I’d have to explain the blood to my sword teacher, who no doubt feels I’m not quite ready to be slicing random people in studios. Bad form, you know.

I was accosted by protesters yesterday on my way to lunch. I had heard them from my room already; periodically they would get together and shout “No war! No war! Peace! Yeah!” They had a bedsheet on which they were asking people to sign their names in the square downstairs, and as I walked past they swept down on “the foreigner” like vultures. Three of them surrounded me and started demanding that I sign the bedsheet to support “World Peace”, which due to their accents sounded more like “War Peace”. I asked them how they wanted to bring about War Peace, but they didn’t seem to have a plan. No steps, no real goal, nothing. “We’re not against the war,” they said at one point, “but we want everyone to show their love to everyone else.” At one point they even called over an obvious “Foreigner Expert”, i.e. someone who claimed they knew how to deal with foreigners. She spoke exclusively in English, even as the others were talking with me in Chinese.

“Just sign it, ok? Just sign it!” the Foreigner Expert wheedled. When I asked her for a concrete reason why I should, or any reason at all, she hit me with even more blinding logic in the form of: “Look, Japanese are taking photos! They think it is important!”

“First of all,” I said, “Japanese people take photos of everything. It doesn’t mean they think it’s important. Second of all, those are not Japanese people.”

I would have loved to keep talking with them…well, no, it was getting real old real fast, and I was late for lunch. I wished them luck in their search for a motive behind their actions and left.

We’re shooting the restaurant scene tonight at 8 or 9, even though one of our actors has cancelled at the last minute due to an intercrew love-spat or something. We can’t cancel, though, as Dean’s already shaved his beard and is itching (itching, get it?) to grow it back ASAP. Final Cut Pro 4 is out, which would mean more to me if I had a Mac, but if Mindcrime can get it on his machine we might be able to work out some sort of editing arrangement.

I was in the middle of a very nice nap this afternoon when Graham called up and told me to get my ass down to Juke for lunch so we could go karting later. Keeping their excellent pancakes in mind, I managed to drag myself over there, late as usual. We were joined by Dean later on, but all of our entreaties to join our karting extravaganza fell on deaf ears, so we rode over to Kuting Station and took the train to the end of the Zhonghe line at Nanshijiao, and then took a taxi over to the Kart Formula Motorsport Co., Ltd. We were surprised to find it quite uncrowded, but then we were informed of the weekend rates and were enlightened. One session costs NT$350 a pop, and an all-day pass is a cool NT$2000. As we were already there, we figured we’d take a couple of laps just to check it out. Graham had been before, but I hadn’t been karting since I was in elementary school in Texas. All I remembered was piloting underpowered crates around a decrepit oval along the highway across from the Giant Slide. Of course, it was my dream to actually own a real go-kart when I was growing up. I used to sit in the family room drooling over the karts featured in the toy section of the Sears catalogue. I can still see them now. The two-seater was lime green, the one-seater orange.

We proceeded upstairs to the barlike atmosphere of the waiting room, which overlooked the track. The track was well over the size of a football field, or seemed so, and the little cars were racing through the labrynthian curves and straightaways at speeds that had nothing at all to do with what I remembered. These things were fast! We turned in our tickets and five minutes later were called to pick out helmets and then go wait for the current batch of racers to return to the pit. Soon enough, they did. We took their places, listened to the staff warn us about driving recklessly, and then we were off.

If the cars seemed fast looking down at them from the second floor, they felt even faster at ground level. At first I found myself driving them like I would a regular car, but I soon realized that the grip on these things was much, much higher, and the oversteer was fairly easy to control and even utilize for faster turning. The brakes were a joke and weren’t even noticable at speed. Bits of the track were uneven, and several times I ran over decent-sized rocks. I had a pillow in the seat, but every sharp turn threw me into the side of the seat with such force that I began to dread left turns because I knew they’d hurt. As I was just getting used to the track and the car, I didn’t really appreciate the other cars out there with me, but we seemed to be travelling at fairly similar speeds so it wasn’t too bad.

At the end of the first session the right side of my back was hurting, and the mask you have to wear underneath the helmet was suffocating me, so we went upstairs for some orange juice and target practice with pellet guns that seemingly would only work if either Graham or the lady in charge were holding them. They simply wouldn’t work for me. Oh, well. We watched other racers from the observation area. More people were arriving, and there seemed to be plenty of first-timers who were edging cautiously around the track. I had been right in the middle of the pack during our first run, but Graham did much better, earning second place. Couples could elect for the two-seater versions, and while some of them took it really slow, others drove the two-seaters just as fast as they could. There was even a kiddie track next to the big track, and we watched one kid bang into the walls several times before the operator got exasperated enough to pull the kid off the track so that the kid’s older brother could proceed without a crash every few seconds.

We’d bought two rounds, so we turned in our cards again after a while. This time we had to wait a bit before our names were called. By the time I got out among the cars, though, there were no more pillows left, so I just chose a car at random for the second round.

This time went much better. I was getting used to the environment and pushing the car harder. At the end of the longest straighaway one of the cars in front of me hit the graded wall and actually flew up into the air. Fortunately he didn’t flip, but it was a harrowing sight. I began to use slides to turn, and found the cart quite forgiving. Passing was the challenge now, and I realized that going around the track by oneself must be pretty boring. You knew when you flew out of control for no reason that someone behind you had hit you on a turn. Spinning out was a no-no as you’d basically stop and lose time due to lack of low-end torque. I had pulled the hood off my nose so I could breathe, and the pillow-less seat seemed much more comforable in corners than the previous one had. I really enjoyed myself on that session, getting fourth place out of about 20 cars. Graham, of course, did even better. He had one of the top lap times of the day. My cart was pretty good, though; it was fast enough in the corners that my keys came out of my pocket.

I enjoyed that session so much I suggested we have another go. While we were waiting some of the “professional” karting enthusiasts took over the track. These guys were decked out in full formula-one regalia, flame-retardant suits and all, and their carts had duel engines. One guy even had a two-stroke screamer that blew everyone else away. When one of them tried to pass another, you could look forward to a lap or two of high drama. Still, I have to say they looked kinda silly thusly attired while driving go-carts.

Unfortunately, by the time we were up for our third session, many of the drivers were the cautious, scenic-route types, which, while it makes for more interesting passing, also really cuts down on the speed factor. I happened to choose a slower car this time as well. At least my keys stayed put. Graham, however, had to go back to the pit to exchange his car because it was so slow. They gave him a good one, though, because he blew right past me when he got back on the track. I made sure I knew the number of the car so I can get it the next time I go. And there will be a next time. It’s been a long time since I’ve had such a good time, and if we can get more friends to go with us I’m sure it will just be that much more fun. Unfortunately it will be difficult to get anyone to go on a weekday when the prices are low, but NT$2k for one day every couple of months isn’t too bad, I guess, especially if you go on enough races to make it worthwhile.

I could be singing a different tune tomorrow, though. I’ve got the feeling that I’m really going to be feeling it in my back. Damn pillow.

When we left, the “pro” guys were sitting around the waiting room drinking and sharing “war stories” from the track. We walked out and caught a taxi driven by a driver who didn’t know quite where he was. Luckily we knew generally where we were going.

I went out and rented The Touch to watch while I slurped up delicious home-made spaghetti. A fairly obvious Michelle Yeoh vehicle, this movie had a lot of good music and even more bad effects. The scenery was good but got a little much by the end, and the characters were largely meaningless. It was entertaining, though, if not actually good.

Work again tomorrow, followed by shooting Tall Paul’s film likely all tomorrow night and into the morning of the next day. Hopefully that will go smoothly; no one wants to deal with a restaurant full of cranky cast and crew at two in the morning.

I rented Orange County a couple of days ago; I watched it twice today, once this afternoon and then again this evening at Dean’s, as he hadn’t seen it. I quite like this movie, it’s a lot of fun. The writer, who appears in the film as the English teacher, is Jack Black’s next-door neighbor, and everyone is someone famous’s son or daughter. Colin Hanks is good, though, as is everyone else for the most part. It really brought back the feeling of being in high school, the anxiety of college, SAT’s, etc. I got something like 1380 on the tests, with a much higher verbal than math score, and I applied to several schools, including Wake Forest, Oberlin, Washington & Lee, Yale and Cornell, plus Florida State as my ‘safety school’. W&L, located in Lexington, VA, was the best school I could afford with my scholarship, but I had decided on Wake Forest until I actually visited the campus and then compared it to W&L’s, which seemed much better. My parents wanted me to go to FSU so badly they said they’d buy me a new car if I agree to do so, but one look at the campus in Lexington clinched the deal as far as I was concerned. My junior year in high school went poorly, though it seemed worse than it actually was due to the angst-colored glasses I was wearing at the time. I don’t remember my GPA but it couldn’t have been too much higher than a 3.5. I think my overall college GPA was about the same, come to think of it. Damn, but watching that film brought back the time when those numbers seemed so important, so all-encompassing in their ability to measure us all. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and give myself a good slapping around. Of course, in 15 more years I’ll probably want to come back to now and do the same.

Mindcrime and I went to a tea shop to hang out this afternoon, and then to the Eslite near the Nanjing E. Rd MRT station to look at scripts. They had my book there, and I signed a few copies, but they didn’t have any scripts. So we went down to the big Eslite, where they did have scripts. I asked the ladies behind the help counter if they wanted me to sign any copies of my book, and after much debate they said that book-signings were supposed to be arranged affairs. She seemed rather apologetic about it, but I really don’t care one way or the other. Afterwards a producer from TVBS-G approached me and asked if I wanted to be on a talk show they have there. I said sure, as long as it’s not one of those variety shows where 58 “celebrity guests” stand around on a stage with big puffy microphones laughing at the hosts’ bad jokes and playing games involving plastic Hello Kitty sledgehammers. He said he didn’t think it was that kind of program. We’ll see.

Tomorrow I might go Go-karting with Graham et al, but only if the weather cooperates. The temperature’s been bouncing up and down the past few days in a manner that necessitates bringing along all possible combinations of clothing on any outing. In other words, typical spring weather.

I’m listening to Mozart’s Symphony #36 in C Major on an WPR online broadcast. It brings back memories of college in Taichung, when I was principal trumpet in the Central Taiwan University Coalition Orchestra or some such group, and we spent many weeks rehearsing this piece for an international tour of Tainan County. Our director was Tu Hui-min, who liked my performance so much he later invited me to teach another college orchestra how to play Holst’s The Planets even though I’d never actually performed it before and, due to a winter break cavorting around Hong Kong, hadn’t touched my trumpet for roughly a month. Needless to say, he wasn’t too impressed with me. It wasn’t all bad, though; at least one of the violinists was really sexy.

Still, I miss being part of a musical group these days, be it a symphony orchestra, a chamber group or a jazz band like the one my friend Boogie and I were in in college. There’s something about creating music that simply sitting and listening just can’t touch. If I ever get a proper set up, I’d like to do some more composition, maybe even score one of my films.

Speaking of films, Tall Paul is back on the island after a month in Blighty, and we’re scheduled to do principle photography on his next project on Monday night at the restaurant we scouted out last time. We met up tonight and looked at the apartment of an apparently wealthy individual who turned out to be someone I met at the play the other night. The apartment, located on the corner of Yenji and Renai, is sparsely decorated in a style that screams “Tasteful Porn King”, as Tall Paul most delicately put it to our host, who volunteered to get out some really groovy vases to add to the effect. Unfortunately, filming there is going to have to wait until the end of the month. I really should do something in the meantime.

The FTV reporter and cameraman came over this morning to interview me about the book. She asked me a few questions, some of which I didn’t quite get even though they were all in English, and they filmed some of my pictures. Then they filmed shots of me walking around in the pelting rain glaring at people. Still not satisfied, they came with me to my office, where my co-workers were fast asleep for their noon siestas, which I’m afraid we had to disturb them so the crew could get shots of me staring intently at the Windows Startup screen and shuffling papers. This brilliant collage should be airing tomorrow night at 11pm or possibly 7pm. I don’t know; I don’t have a TV in my room, but they said they’d mail me a tape or something. I can’t even remember what I was babbling on about, but I do recall losing my train of thought several times while trying to not look at the lens. Dreadfully amateur, I know; I still think I am more comfortable on the other side of the camera. At one point she did ask me if I planned to make Taiwan my home. “What do you think I’ve been doing all these years?” I wanted to say, but I just said “I think I already have.” instead. She also asked me in true multiple-choice fashion if I “felt” American or Taiwanese. Silly. Who knows how they’ll edit that mess into a coherent interview. The China Post should also have a piece on the book in tomorrow’s Prime Time. I hope they include excerpts, but they should at least have some photos.

It’s been storming heavily most of the day. Hopefully most of this will end up in the reservoirs; we sure could use it. It’s nice to hear the sound of thunder. Surely the cicadas can’t be far behind.