Yesterday morning I got a call from my friend Chris, the girl who lives just above the suspension bridge and for whom I found Rusty the Cat. It seemed that her lovely apartment, the site of so many memorable parties, was effectively condemned and to be made uninhabitable by the government.

On Saturday.

It being Tuesday, you can imagine Chris’ consternation. She made a frantic search of the surrounding area, as she understandably wishes to stay in the Bitan area, but decent apartments here are snapped up almost immediately upon entering the market, so there were none to be had. We did find one apartment in my building, but Chris got out her little compass and made some measurements, and decided that the direction was violently opposed to her personal karmic resonance or something else to do with an individual’s feng-shui, just as surely as the color red (she’s more of a blue/green type, whereas I have to have red around). My apartment, however, suited it just fine.

You can see where this is going, can’t you?

Yes, indeed. Although I thought that my moving days were over with when I settled down and bought an apartment, it seems it just ain’t so. Basically, Chris will be renting my present apartment from me, and I will be renting the new place.

I called up Steven the Mover, and he’s coming over tonight. I’m a bit distressed about the sudden jolt of having to move with only a day’s notice, especially just when I had my little Water Curtain Cave all done up just the way I liked it. I just put in a ceiling fan, and was even getting used to the neighbors’ shouting matches. I don’t even hear the waterfalls anymore. On the other hand, the new place is bigger and has better views, though I’ll need to get some air conditioning for it and re-install the showerhead to accomodate my height again.

I’ll post some pictures of the new place after I get settled. If I ever do get settled again. I’m destined to do a fair bit of wandering first, it seems.

Another busy weekend. I spent most of Saturday filming in various parts of the city. By the time I got home and cleaned up it was time to head out again for a Muddy Basin Ramblers gig at the Huashan Culture Park just off Bade Road. The last time I took a cab to that location for a gig I got an incredibly stinky cab. So, since I am a complete idiot, I decided to take the MRT, hauling all of my stuff through the steamy heat, while wearing our usual formal attire, across the bridge to a crowded train, up to the main station, where I switched trains to the Shandao Temple Station, from which I walked to Huashan. Inevitably, every part of this journey was a battle to break through swarms of the great oblivious, the mouth-breathing public. By the time I arrived, I was, once again, in a foul mood.

The former warehouse where we were to be playing was filled with more noise than people. This doesn’t, of course, mean that the band was bad; it was just a horrible venue for loud bands. Apparently they just couldn’t hear themselves. The remains of many snacks lined the wall, and some computers were projecting Li’l Rascals videos on one side. I stalked through the crowd, glaring at people until I found David and stowed my gear.

Slowly, the other members of the band arrived from wherever they’d been hiding, and we had a quick warmup session before going on. With the first song we found that it was indeed quite difficult to hear oneself play, and all of the instruments kind of melted into one big, mushy sound. The crowd seemed to like us, though, especially Sandman’s sax, which was the one instrument that sounded really good in that setting. They seemed to like the trumpet as well, though it was difficult to fill the space.

After the show I talked with a few people; apologies if I seemed distracted and short with anyone; the bad mood was still wearing off. Sandman was entranced with the sound of his sax in the echo-ey room, and we continued to play off each other’s riffs for a while, until they threw us out. We ended up taking taxis back to Bitan and Athula’s rhotis, where we played yet again, until past midnight, when Athula told us to knock it off before the neighbors threw us on our asses.

The next day, Sunday, was the day of the Hoping for Hoping Peacenik Fest, down in Longtan at the Kunlun Medicinal Herb Garden. Slim, Chris and I squeezed into Sandman’s car, with wife Jojo at the helm, for the ride down, only stopping at a 7-Eleven on the way to pick up supplies and food. There I saw a mysterious cracker/cookie thing called “Natural Brown”. The rest of the packing was Japanese, though I could tell it was 5 percent something. Turned out it was a kind of cheesy-lemon flavor affair.

Storm clouds were brewing overhead when we arrived at the site of the festival. It was just like last year, except muddier. One band in particular, The Minstrals, really stood out as I walked around the stands. Again, I was tempted by the “Healing Hands” tent, but I decided against it. Thumper, Slim and I took a walk up a nearby trail, only to find a smelly garbage dump at the other end. Later, we did a warmup session behind the temple which I didn’t really contribute much to, and then we were on stage.

I’d purchased a bigger basin, 28″ instead of 24″ as before, and I was happy to find that it works very well. Thumper had commented on my use of many different kinds of plucking instruments over the months since I started playing the bass, and I replied that I’d finally found one that wouldn’t break. Apparently I jinxed myself when I said that, because right after we got on stage, ink started to leak out of the white pen I’d been using to pluck the string. Fortunately, Zoe managed to get it open so she could thow away the inside portion. I wiped out the shell as best I could, but as I played it still managed to spray ink all over the new basin, as well as my hands.

Other than the ink fiasco, the show went well. We could all hear each other, and David only broke one string. The audience was out there dancing and jumping as usual, a heartening sight.

Just after we got off the stage after a too-short show, it started to rain in earnest. The last band up was a drum corps deal, led by an enthusiastic band leader. I stayed in the temple for that, taking pictures of things like stage lamps and the lotus leaves in the pond as well as the burnt-out incense sticks in the urn out front.

It was getting dark, and the rain hadn’t stopped, so we all piled back in the car, the huge basin mostly covering Chris in the back seat, and set off back to Taipei. A brilliant lighting show entertained us as we sat in stopped traffic on the elevated highway for an hour or so. Sandman passed out in the front seat, so his yearnings for more rhoti went unheeded, and we ended up at a nice Chinese restaurant near the Xiaobitan MRT station. We got there just in time before closing, and the food, including fried shrimp with pineapple and mayo, green beans, “Da Lu Mei”, and fried egg tofu, was great; we were all hungry after going most of the day without eating.

Then, after we’d stuffed ourselves and staggered back to the carpark, it was back to Bitan, and bed in our comfy, respective apartments, safe and dry.

Last weekend we filmed our first scenes with Alex Chou, a co-worker of Dean’s, as well as Azuma’s wife Jane. We originally cast Tony Lee from the first film in the role of PLA General Song, but Tony’s disappeared. We think he may be in Hawaii. In any case, Dean had to have another uniform made for Alex, who is a bit bigger than Tony.

We returned to the train station on Saturday morning, early because Alex had to work later, and we only had the car, a black Cadillac almost identical to the one we used in the first film at CKS Hall, until 1pm. So we had to hurry, but by now I guess we should be used to it. Almost every shoot we do we’re in a hurry.

Dean and Jane were already at the station when I arrived, still half asleep. Dean and I went over the storyboards while Jane changed into her PLA-esque uniform, but then we realized that she’d forgotten to bring her “billfold” hat. I liked the hat. I like hats in general. I think more people in films, if not real life, should wear hats. So I told her to go back and get it, since she lives close by.

While we waited the Caddy pulled up, with Alex inside. We had to make room in the taxi line for the car, but just before we started filming a cargo truck pulled up perpendicular to the curb and started unloading, so we decided to just add it to the scene. We do try for a reasonable amount of continuity, but I’ll be the first to admit there are large gaps here and there that we can do nothing except hope they aren’t too glaring or distracting.

After I got the exteriors we all got in the car and headed off to the Xinyi District. Except I’d wanted some interiors at the train station, so we circled back again to get those. Then we were off, to the building a block from the world’s tallest building, where we’d filmed some scenes before, and, unfortunately, where the security guards had called the cops on us.

This time our shoot was cop-free, and I managed not to fall on my ass whilst jumping over the curb. Even a shot where Dean comes running out of the building and falls as if shot while I filmed from the Caddy window came out well. And no cops. Heaven forfend a real shootout occurs around there, though.

Alex was done for the day, though he forgot his pants and had to come back. We took the caddy back to the train station and sent it on its merry way so that Dean, Jane and I could get the rest of the interior shots there. At least we’re done with all of the car shots for this film, which is comforting.

Sun was shining through the skylights, creating some nice lighting. We were lucky it wasn’t storming like it has been every day recently. I shot Dean and Jane walking through the station, getting as few gawking people in the background as possible. We’ve figured that carrying the camera on the tripod, folded up, is just as stable as using the home-made glidecam, so that’s what we’re doing, since the floor doesn’t work with the dolly.

And so that was a wrap for that part of scene 14, which is a real monster of a scene; really confusing and convoluted but hopefully cool and very suspenseful on screen. Next week we’re all going to be busy with various national holiday events, but the weekend after that we’re planning to film the final bits of scene 14 at various locations in and around my apartment complex. Shirzi and I went over some action sequences downstairs in the parking garage this morning, and it should be pretty exciting.

Saturday night I went to a party at my friend Chris’ place overlooking Bitan. It was a celebration of the 40th birthday of Athula, the man who keeps most of us filled with rhotis a great deal of the time. His stand down on the other side of the bridge has become a real social center since he set it up a few years ago. Athula’s rhotis have also become the staple of Muddy Basin Rambler jam sessions, which either begin, end, or are bookended by the wrapped delicacy (the tuna and potato is my personal favorite).

It was also the birthday of Our Dear Leader, David Chen. So, all in all, a performance at the party was pretty much guaranteed. I’d just purchased a huge, 28-inch plastic basin and was eager to try out the sound. I also brought my other instruments, my pocket trumpet in my backpack (the main reason I bought it, after all) and the euphonium.

It was really hot on Chris’ balcony, though a fresh breeze was blowing as close as the bridge just a few feet down. A few people were already there when I arrived, but before I knew it the place was jam-packed. Athula brought vats of curry, meat and sauce along with rice. Between the still air and the curry, I was baking and had to escape a few times to get water and fresh air.

We hadn’t played in some time, so it was a refreshing surprise that the “show” went so well. The new basin works nicely, with a nice long sustain in the lower register, though the higher notes are a bit soft. As usual, the strange-looking device got a lot of attention. We sang Happy Birthday a few times, once in A-minor for a somber feel, and once in the traditional major key of C, or possibly D. I can’t remember, as I was already exhausted from a full day of Lazing Around on My Sofa.

I left around 3am and slept until Sunday afternoon. Thus I got a late start on my bike ride. I’d hoped to get over to Sanchong, and I did manage to cross the Xinhai bridge, but it was too late to do any more exploring of the bike paths over there. Some other time, when I can give it a full day, I guess. A lot of people asked me about the Crazy Bike, of course. Most seemed to think it was imported, and were surprised when I told them it was made in Taichung. Judging from the reaction it gets, I’m a bit surprised that I’m the only one riding such a bike here. Perhaps they don’t even bother marketing it in Taiwan, but I think they’re missing out on some sales, at least in Taipei with its well-developed bike path system.

Dean rented a car last weekend so that we could hastily shoot the last of Azuma’s scenes before he left for a semi-permanent position in Hong Kong this week. Azuma, Maurice, Sandy and I met up at Dean’s house on Saturday morning. Dean provided Azuma with an overcoat so that he wouldn’t garner too much attention walking around Taipei in a PLA general’s uniform.

We walked to the car, set up inside and started filming car interior shots while Dean headed to the train station before us. Maurice didn’t quite know where we were going, and traffic was stop-and-go the whole way, it being a weekend and this being Taipei. Continuity between car-moving and car-stopped shots is going to be a real headache to patch together. At one point I saw a place to pull over but was too late in asking Maurice to pull over, so when he stepped on the brakes our ears were greeted with a chorus of squealing tires directly behind us. “Ok, uh, let’s not stop here,” I said.

After getting pretty much all that needed to be done in the car (I would have preferred more time and more takes, but Azuma had to get going), we drove to the train station, which would be standing in for our airport in Beijing. As Dean went to park the car, I found that our dolly wouldn’t work on the tiled floor of the station, so we would have to resort to using our homemade glidecam to get certain shots, such as the two parties walking to meet each other.

Azuma reluctantly put aside the overcoat once again, but besides a few strange looks we were ok. Before doing the glidecam shots I first got the tripod-mounted shots overwith. The glidecam shots turned out shakier than I would have liked, but we got them, and that was that. We still have more scenes to do in the same location, but with different actors, mainly Dean and Azuma’s wife Jane.

On Friday night after work I went over to Dean’s again to get some shots of the more-or-less completed MacGuffin- I mean, Gozen Engine for the new trailer. Rowan was there as well, so I got a couple of shots of him for the trailer as well.

Next up are the rest of the airport shots, as well as some Beijing HQ shots that we should be able to shoot downstairs in my very own apartment building, sometime in the next few weeks. The narrowing-down of our “to do” list proceeds, and as always I look forward to possibly the most challenging part of the filming, at least in terms of locations, i.e. Rowan’s scenes. We still need to find environments exuding “a deteriorated grandeur”, which can be difficult because grandeur in Taiwan deteriorates rather quickly and thus doesn’t last that long. We’re also still looking for an airplane, but we might just wait until October and take a chance on the new high-speed railway, if it’s completed in time.

My flickodometer just turned over the 50,000 mark, i.e. my photos have been viewed 50,000 times since I started using Flickr. Not as many as some people, but respectable. Not long ago I was contacted by an art agent in town who is interested in putting on some exhibits of my photography around town. All I need to do is figure out how to blow up my digital prints to an acceptable size, and we’re in business. It could be pretty cool, in fact.

In other news, it turns out that, previously unbeknownst to me, this journal actually does have comments; the comments and options only seem to appear on the individual post pages for some reason, so you have to click on the time to go to the individual post page to comment. And they’re in black, so you have to mouse over them to see them. I’ve written Blogger about this. Hopefully they’ll reply with some kind of solution; if not, I’ll just leave it the way it is, as my code at this point is like one of those cartoon closets that explodes all over anyone who dares open the door.

Now, all of you who have heard me say at one point or another, “…and that’s why I don’t have comments!” are probably wondering why I should have a change of heart on this issue. The main reason I took comments down in the first place was to placate a certain friend of mine who had great, unresolvable issues with the whole concept of comments on blogs. What’s different now? First of all, said friend has told me to screw myself, left the country, and, incidentally, installed comments on his blog. Secondly, these newfangled comment systems the kidz are using these days have moderation built right in, so I can avoid all of the “Screw you, man, you only write about yourself all the time!” kind of comments I inevitably get. Not that I’ll be getting any comments as I’ve probably lost most of my readers over the past year or so due to infrequent updates and less-than-inspiring content.

And now, for those who expect some kind of continuity around here, I should add that Ms. Li Xie Shu-zhen won the borough election. Her shop was crowded with well-wishers when I passed by that night on my way home. We also have the good fortune, so far, to have avoided being beat up by the losing parties, which is certainly a point in our favor.

My old Chinese classmate Prince Roy is now in Taiwan after a long absence. I met him 17 years ago, when we were attending classes together at Tunghai University in Taichung. Now he’s been posted to the American Institute in Taiwan for a couple of years. We arranged to get together on Sunday for some kind of outing, along with Mark from Doubting To Shuo and Wayne from the now-defunct A Better Tomorrow.

The plan was to do Keelung, a scheme I found unlikely due to the fact that it had been raining for a week, but as luck would have it, Sunday dawned clear and blue. I got on the MRT a bit late, having just missed the departing train, and wondered at the fact that, now that there are new stations open I haven’t been to, the whole system seems a lot more appealing. Perhaps this is the difference in feeling between Taipei’s metro and, say, Hong Kong: If there’s unexplored bits of the system and the city, it has a greater attraction to me.

We all met up in front of Taipei Main Station, and then went downstairs for some lunch at the underground mall. The mall was pretty busy, and we sat in the middle of it all at tables set up out in the hallway. Wayne had to go after having curry that took roughly an age to make, but the remainder of our party decided to hop on a train to Keelung, the Rain Capital of Taiwan, as the weather looked like it was holding up.

The ride was pleasant, even though we found ourselves sitting in the “female-only” car. Nobody, including the conductor, seemed to care, and besides the signs on the windows, in both Chinese and English, there was no indication that the car was anything but just another railway car. I guess the only reason they implemented the policy was to seem all Japanese and Advanced or something. I took a picture of PR sitting by the sign, and we chatted about blogging and the curious phenomenon that, among a certain subset of Taiwanese society, foreigners who learn Chinese are regarded as spoiled goods, while those who are blissfully ignorant about Taiwan are somehow “pure”.

As we travelled through the suburban/industrial belt that stretches from Taipei to Keelung, PR remarked that, outside of Taipei, Taiwan didn’t seem to have changed that much during his absence. It’s true; while Taipei seems leaps and bounds ahead of where it was a decade ago, the rest of Taiwan doesn’t seem to have quite kept up. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, if you’re nostalgic for Ye Olde Taiwan of Lore, but nonetheless the difference is quite striking.

We arrived in Keelung and caught a cab up to Zhongzheng Park, which lies on a mountain adjacent to the downtown area. The cabbie was quite talkative and tried to convince us that a trip to Jiufen was what we really wanted to do. He painted a nice picture of the place and even included good-looking women. We must have looked to him like a gang of sailors on leave or something.

We got out at the top of the mountain, which is adorned with a temple and a large, hollowed out Guanyin statue. Vendors sold smoked sausages just ouside of the gate, and bumper cars whined around banging into each other both inside and out of the temple grounds. Occasionally a big bell in a tower boomed as tourists pulled the large log of a ringer back and forth.

PR bought a bag of incense, and we paid our respects to the temple gods and then lined up to go inside the hollow statue. Except people kept coming down the steep, narrow stairs. More than seemed possible, actually, like a clown car that keeps disgorging clowns. Eventually the stream stopped, and we climbed up, but the head of the statue was off limits, so we only got as far as the shoulders. Still, it was a nice view out the peepholes.

We rang the bell in the tower and then visted the wishing well, a grated hole with several white-gloved spinning hands that looked like they once belonged to a giant eight-armed Mickey Mouse at the bottom. The idea was to throw a coin and get it to land on the specific spinning hand with what you wanted to wish for printed on it. Some said riches, some said health, etc. Mark eventually got a 10-yuan coin on the “health” hand, after exhausting his supply of 1- and 5-yuan coins.

We navigated the bumper cars and avoided being hit by the young learners on our way to the library, where a small girl was shrieking at her parents at the very idea of even approaching a room full of books.

We’d read about some fortifications in the area, so we got directions and then started walking along the road in search of them. On the way we passed some tanks and airplanes, old jets, maybe F104s or even older. Beyond a motocross course we found the artillary emplacements and the ruins of an old Qing-dynasty fort. Unfortunately, it lay at the bottom of a long series of moss-covered steps. A sign warned that the steps were slippery and dangerous, and they were especially so after so many days of continuous rain. Mark fell on his ass almost immediately, and the rest of us proceeded with extreme caution. I could just envision my camera and lenses bouncing down the steps after a nasty fall, so I went even slower than the rest.

The fort, which is just a bunch of low green walls that look like they’d have a hard time keeping anyone taller than Herve Villachaise out, was interesting. Nearby were three graves, of whom we couldn’t make out because the characters on the stones were nearly obliterated by time. I wonder who they were and why they were so special to get such treatment.

After gingerly making our way back up the Steps of Slippery Death again, we went back up to the motocross area to watch the sunset, which was disappointing, and to also be partially eaten by flying insects. Luckily I had some Off with me. Since we had time before Wayne joined us after his frisbee-playing, we decided to walk back down the mountain and into town. It was my favorite time of day, just after sunset, and perfect for walking. After we got off the mountain, though, we had no idea where we were, so we took a cab back to the station, electing to wait for Wayne at the dockside Burger King. I know, how pedestrian.

Wayne joined us presently, and we set off for the Miaokou Night Market, just a few blocks away. It was awash with people, of course, and we paused once or twice to sample different kinds of food. I got a chicken dish that bore absolutely no resemblance to the picture of it on the menu, and had to wring the grease out of it before putting it in my mouth. Later we stopped for corn on the cob, which was quite dry and hard, but tasty, and the stall operator even gave us special service by manhandling each stalk before applying the special sauces.

At each intersection of the night market I noticed two things: a big bunch of balloons and a buddhist monk or nun. I wonder if some tourist took a photo of such a combination, and then it got published somewhere, and now they require it.

It was getting late, so we headed back to the station to get a train back to Taipei. As we passed through the gate, we noticed a commotion. A couple of workers were trying to restrain a rather violent man in a white shirt. “Oh great, a fight,” I said. When we got on the train, we found another violent person, this one a middle-aged woman in a pink pullover who was shouting at the train employee. It seemed she had part or party to whatever altercation had just occurred. “Don’t treat me like I’m not Taiwanese!” she screamed at the poor fellow. “I have an ID card; I’ll show it to you if you want!”

Just then the man in the white shirt lunged toward the train. “Closethedoors closethedoors close the doors,” I said quickly, and thankfully the doors closed before he made it to the the train. As we pulled out of the station the woman in pink harangued the people in the car, asking us for the number of the police. Everyone ignored, some staring, some just talking among themselves. The woman used the phrase “You Taiwanese people” several times and finished her little speech with “report over!” leading me to believe that she was from the mainland, probably Fujian since she spoke partly in Minnan. She shattered the peace of the train several more times after that with phone calls. I silently pitied the people on the other end of the conversations.

When we got to Taipei, I came very close to leaving my camera on the train. Thankfully a kind soul reminded me about it, though. That was close. We then went down to the MRT station and went our separate ways. It was a fun outing; I should do that more often. Between filming and music and bicycle-riding and rough weather, I don’t get out of town as often as I should.

There’s another dragonboat activity down at the river today. I was woken up early this morning by loud “Zamfir Plays Love Hits” music blasted by loudspeakers on the other wide of the river at an incredible volume. I went downstairs to find two of the non-incumbent candidates for village chief out by the road, where they were looking to shake hands and exhort people to vote for them. The election is on the 10th of this month.

There are three candidates in the elections. The incumbent is Mr. Zhang Jian-liang, the son of the guy who runs the restaurant across from Rosemary’s Kitchen, where they play a lot of Bollywood flicks on the VCR. The other two candidates are both women, Mrs. Li-Xie Shu-zhen and Mrs. Hong Li-mei. Mrs. Li has a kind of art studio shop, but I’m not sure what the purpose of the place is. Mrs. Hong runs the local convenience store across the street. I’ve talked with both of them. Both Li and Zhang are KMT, while Hong is independent with seemingly no broad political connections. Hong often has a mouthful of betelnuts, while Li comes across as more of a politician, more cultured, but when I went to speak to the candidates about issues, I found neither of them had any concrete plans or ideas.

With the loud music blaring across the river at 8am on Sunday morning, I thought I’d see what they both thought of it and go from there. There was no question of seeing what Mr. Zhang had to say on the subject; obviously he was ok with the problem as he’s already in office.

The first one I approached was Mrs. Hong, who immediately said someone should do something about the noise, that this was a residential area and it was too much, too early. Fair enough.

When I asked Mrs. Li across the street about her stance on the issue, she gave me a blank look and asked “What noise?” When I explained, she said, “What do you think?”

“I want to know your position on it,” I said.

“Well, Taiwanese people love ‘re-nao’,” she said, hesitantly. “So it’s natural to have such loud music, just like they do during Thanksgiving in America!”

Well, I guess I have my answer.