前一陣子在便利商店看

Due to lack of sleep and possibly other things, I was tired all day Wednesday. Looking out at the heavy rain, I thought I should skip class that night.

But the rain stopped, and I often feel better after a good practice, so I decided to go. It was 8:30 and a few students had already arrived. I did a little warming up but wasn’t in the mood for forms just yet and just watched other people push. Yang Qing-feng arrived and began working on the sword form, so I got my sword out and walked over to an unpopulated part of the square to practice the sword form. Immediately, the dancing women, who were sitting around on the stage talking, rushed out to retake their ground I had so inconsiderately infringed upon. I sat on the edge of the stage while they went through song after song.

Eventually they got tired and left, so I could get at least one form practice in before doing some pushing. I didn’t do much strenuous pushing as I was too tired, but it went fairly well. Not-from-China Guy and I did our usual shoving match. Mr. You found it hard to find any points to push me, and even Qing-feng, who usually has no trouble pushing me over, gave me a good bout. I’m finding that relaxing my shoulders and arms, as well as lowering my stance very useful. Now I just need to be able to do that with my lower back.

At one point I noticed that everyone had gathered around to watch Teacher Xu instruct Mr. V on pushing. Mr. V was going at him again and again, almost in a languid kind of frenzy, trying to understand some point or another.

We went until after 10:30, and I did actually feel quite a bit better afterwards. The more I do this, the more I’m convinced that there is more to us than physically meets the eye, that the exchange of energy between beings is important in our existence. It’s hard to pinpoint, just a feeling, but I’m hoping to find out more about it.

I was walking around the community on the other side of the hill out back yesterday morning when a dark red sedan drove past me and parked at the end of the road. A large white man dressed in a black T-shirt and shorts and long gray hair got out and looked at me as he walked back around the car. In my typical gorilla fashion, I glanced at him and then quickly looked away as I walked on by. When I looked back to make sure he wasn’t following me with a machete, he was walking back to his car.

I do this with just about everybody, sometimes even with people I know. It’s also the subject of much anger and frustration in places like Forumosa.com, with many foreigners accusing other foreigners of “living in their own special little world” and acting uppity and forgetting their place, etc. Typically, those complaints are reserved for small towns where foreigners are few in number and meeting one another is rarer. In Taipei, foreigners are everywhere and it’s not such a big deal, or shouldn’t be. I have to admit that I look at people when I’m walking down the street. A glance here and there, be they foreign or domestic. A glance, and then I’ll look away. If I’m in a particularly good mood, I’ll nod, smile or even mutter something vague, but I don’t understand the expectation that such interaction is required because I happen to look more like said passerby than other people in the vicinity.

Such expectations are usually defended with claims of “share cultural background or experiences” etc., but that would assume that most of the foreigners I meet on the street have the same background as I do, which would be unfair and overgeneralizing. Also “It’s just a friendly and nice thing to do,” which is fine except for the fact that I’m not always a friendly and nice person. And even if I were, whomever I’m addressing might not be. One time, many years ago, I was walking down an alley behind Zhongxiao East Road when I came upon an older foreign man squinting at a map and looking around, appearing for all the world as lost as if he were in the middle of the Sahara. I walked up and asked him if he needed any help finding something.

The look he gave me nearly caused me to step back. “There’s nothing you could help me with,” he spat.

After that, I figured that I’d just wait to be asked for help before offering any on my own volition. In any case, if you see me on the street and I ignore you like the big dumb ape I am, don’t take it personally. Now, if I stare at you and start following you around, then you might want to be concerned, as a potential beating and/or request for a dinner and a movie might ensue.

I was walking around the community on the other side of the hill out back yesterday morning when a dark red sedan drove past me and parked at the end of the road. A large white man dressed in a black T-shirt and shorts and long gray hair got out and looked at me as he walked back around the car. In my typical gorilla fashion, I glanced at him and then quickly looked away as I walked on by. When I looked back to make sure he wasn’t following me with a machete, he was walking back to his car.

I do this with just about everybody, sometimes even with people I know. It’s also the subject of much anger and frustration in places like Forumosa.com, with many foreigners accusing other foreigners of “living in their own special little world” and acting uppity and forgetting their place, etc. Typically, those complaints are reserved for small towns where foreigners are few in number and meeting one another is rarer. In Taipei, foreigners are everywhere and it’s not such a big deal, or shouldn’t be. I have to admit that I look at people when I’m walking down the street. A glance here and there, be they foreign or domestic. A glance, and then I’ll look away. If I’m in a particularly good mood, I’ll nod, smile or even mutter something vague, but I don’t understand the expectation that such interaction is required because I happen to look more like said passerby than other people in the vicinity.

Such expectations are usually defended with claims of “share cultural background or experiences” etc., but that would assume that most of the foreigners I meet on the street have the same background as I do, which would be unfair and overgeneralizing. Also “It’s just a friendly and nice thing to do,” which is fine except for the fact that I’m not always a friendly and nice person. And even if I were, whomever I’m addressing might not be. One time, many years ago, I was walking down an alley behind Zhongxiao East Road when I came upon an older foreign man squinting at a map and looking around, appearing for all the world as lost as if he were in the middle of the Sahara. I walked up and asked him if he needed any help finding something.

The look he gave me nearly caused me to step back. “There’s nothing you could help me with,” he spat.

After that, I figured that I’d just wait to be asked for help before offering any on my own volition. In any case, if you see me on the street and I ignore you like the big dumb ape I am, don’t take it personally. Now, if I stare at you and start following you around, then you might want to be concerned, as a potential beating and/or request for a dinner and a movie might ensue.

In order to make up for having an extra day off last week for Dragon Boat Festival, we only had a one-day weekend this week. After a rough night trying to break in a new mattress, I gave up on sleeping late and set out on a hike up the hill out back and back down to the community on the other side. On weekdays the sound of the cicadas is only broken by the sound of housework within the various apartments, but on Sunday more people were out and about, kids on bikes, repairmen, and one guy selling incense door-to-door. I took some pictures of leaves in ponds, squinting at the monitor in the sunlight, before heading back up the hill. As I descended, I wondered what it would be like if I somehow found myself back at the time of the amusement park’s heyday in the 70’s. My building wouldn’t be there, for one thing. My money would be no good, nor my current ID. The subway wouldn’t exist, but I might be able to take the train back to downtown Taipei. If Back to the Future were filmed today, Marty would go back to 1977. Imagine that.

Back home, a dip in our cool, little-used swimming pool awaited. After lunch I tried another nap on the new mattress, but it wasn’t having any of it. I’m hoping I’ll get used to it soon, as I miss my old mattress when I’m trying to get to sleep.

The Ramblers, minus Sandman who sadly had to work even on Sunday, were getting together for a practice session down by the waterfront in Bitan, starting in the late afternoon. On my way across the crowded bridge, washtub in hand and marveling at the number of swanboats in the river below, I ran into David Reid, who recently moved down here. He was just walking around taking pictures, and decided to come along to the practice.

David Chen was waiting on the steps by the river with his guitar. A few minutes later Slim and Thumper sidled up. The afternoon was as perfect as you could ask for, with a cool breeze and interesting, non-threatening clouds dotting the sky. My college roomie DJ showed up, fresh from the old movie exhibit in Xin Beitou, looking extremely tired. Maestro Chen began strumming his National, and we fell into music the way we usually do. Conor showed up in the middle of a song, and David inserted a verse about how Conor is always late. We were playing in a kind of circle, with David, Slim and Conor on the steps, and me and occasionally Thumper facing them. At one point I looked behind me to find that we’d attracted a small crowd of listeners. Our practice had turned into a concert.

We played a few crowd-pleasers, and then continued practicing, but the crowd remained. We even learned and played a couple of new songs that David taught us right then and there, and they still enjoyed it. Some even danced.

The evening deepened as the sun set behind the hills. Gradually we scaled down the music until the crowd was mostly gone. DJ and David Reid had to go, as did Thumper, so we sat on the riverbank chatting for a bit longer before going up to Rendezvous Pizza for dinner. On our way there, we passed a group of musicians playing at another restaurant, a guitar, some bongo drums and a wicked flute player who really got into the Nakashi-type songs they were ripping through.

We got a table looking out over the river and ordered pizza, pesto, risotto, beer and wine. The moon illuminated spider webs of clouds in the night sky, and the swanboat lights twinkled like stars in the river. We were in the middle of our food when the Nakashi band guys came over and set up at the table next to us. This time they had two flutists and really went to town on the music. David grabbed his guitar and asked if he could play along, and I got my pocket trumpet out and tried to follow along as well. It was difficult, especially considering that they were all about a quarter step south of us, tuning-wise, but I liked the challenge. All I had to do was pull out my tuning slide and figure out the key.

We played on. Conor had to leave, and then David followed. Slim, who was rather inebriated by the time, and I sat at the other band’s table and played or sang along as best as we could late into the night. We also chatted with them and the restaurant staff in a mixture of Taiwanese and Mandarin. I left Slim singing and rapping and chortling along with every English-language hit the guitar player could think of when I left at around midnight to pursue an ultimately fruitless quest for a good night’s sleep on my new bed.

I met up with David at the Yuanshan MRT after work on Friday so we could catch a cab over to the studio for some more recording with Chalaw et al. Fortified with sushi from the shop at the station, we climbed the narrow stairs at the Chongqing North Road location around 8pm. The office seemed busier this time; more people were hanging around. I decided against any alcohol this time around, and had a decent warm up before going in the studio after David’s first song. Chalaw liked the sound of the mute in my black-lacquer pocket trumpet, so I used that for the first one.

Things went more smoothly this time around; I wasn’t as nervous as last time and got a couple of decent riffs in here and there. I also stood up to play, and kept my horn warm between songs, which probably helped. When David was recording I sat on a legless office chair in the mixing room, watching Chalaw and Ho-xin go through packs of cigarettes as they worked the controls. I played along softly into the mute.

During a break, Chalaw invited us to play with his group at the Hohaiyan Music Festival early next month. As he discussed where we’d be on stage I glanced at the program to see that Cui Jian and Zhang Zheng-yue, two of my favorites, will also performing there. Also, the stage looks huge. Apparently hundreds of thousands of people are expected to attend.

At one point a young aborigine fellow with long frosted hair came in to record some vocal tracks. David and I stood outside talking with a guy on crutches who turned out to be in a position of some importance at the company. He was writing liner notes or some other promotional material for Chalaw’s upcoming album and wanted to know our takes on his music while the singer belted out rattling, leaping octaves on the other side of the wall. When he was done, we went in for another song.

Even though I kept my instrument warm, I was still tired after only three songs’ recording. I usually just fool around to mp3s on my computer occasionally, which isn’t really practicing. It was after midnight, though, so we packed up and followed Chalaw out to his car, which was parked along the riverside opposite Shilin. As we flashed past the light poles of the Jianguo Expressway, Chalaw wondered if we would mind playing in promotional concerts with him after the album is released, and of course we both said we’d love to.

I can’t but help feel a little out of my depth here; after all, as Chalaw mentioned himself, you can’t throw a small animal without hearing the squeal of it hitting a real professional trumpet player in this town, and they’re all better than I am. But it’s all been a lot of fun so far, and everyone I’ve met has been very cool, so I’m looking forward to seeing how things go with this. The worst that could happen is that I completely embarrass myself and my friends in front of several hundred thousand people as well as on several TV broadcasts. Eh, I’ve see worse odds.

前幾天在辦公室上班時， 接到一通電話， 對方講的國語有代滿明顯的外國腔。 雖然找的是我本人， 但他好像不曉得我是英語為母語。 我們聊了幾句之后， 他講到一些用國語表達有困難的事情， 就開始用英文， 所以我也跟著用英文。 他問的是關於拍片用燈光的問題，

Only Not From HK Guy was at the park when I arrived last night. He was busy doing slow forms, so I busied myself with sword practice. Mr. You appeared, and then Teacher Xu, his son, and the rest of the students in a group walked over from another area of the park where they had congregated before.

I leaned against the railing and did vertical sit ups while Mr. You and NFHK guy pushed at each other. After a while Mr. You called me over to push with NFHK, saying, “You’ve got to try this out on TC.” We lined up, and NFHK reared back and gave me a big shove. That’s your big discovery? I thought. We lined up again and I gave him the same. Mr. You laughed, saying, “You see, he can do that, too!” I just shrugged. Anyone can do that, after all.

“I practice three times a week, so it’s natural that I am improving faster than you,” NFHK told me as we resumed. My session with him was actually pretty good after that. I learned that, as he tends to go for shoulders and long reaches, all I have to do is let my shoulders go limp and lower my stance, and he has nothing to push. From there all I have to do is twist around, he he goes flying. The only problem is knowing what he is going to do before he actually does it.

Actually, I’ve found that with most sports, and even other things, being able to see a moment into the future is a useful skill. The best athletes I’ve seen seem to know exactly what’s going to happen before it does. The world-class badminton matches I’ve watched are straight out of H.G. Wells, in that the players get into position to hit a ball that hasn’t even been sent over the net yet.

As usual, what works with one opponent doesn’t work with another, I found when pushing with Mr. You later. His performance and tactics differ every time, it seems. Last night he was all about the quick shove, but I could see he was getting ready to do it well before he did, as he would tense up. The shoulder-relaxing thing didn’t work so well because he tends to go for torso push points. It seems everyone is a different language to learn.

I sat for a while on the curb watching the Tree Root Master teach his little group of followers. It seemed all about meeting force with force, but I have to admit he does have a great grasp of angles.

Teacher Xu told me about using leverage to gain the upper hand in a bout. “You have to make your opponent into a straight line,” he said, “so you can get the leverage to push him over.” He called over the interior designer I pushed with last week. He had been practicing with the tree root group, and we started pushing. It went well enough at first, but he quickly got frustrated and began shoving violently with all his force. If I had to guess, I’d say he was working through a fair bit of anger. It was easy enough to deal with for a while, but it quickly got repetitive and boring. I was tired, but I went along with it until he exhausted himself.

“Think of your opponent as very light, like air,” Teacher Xu told me as the other students were leaving. “Overreaction only gives him the advantage. You must move so that even a mosquito can’t quite land on you,” he added, quoting the Jing Lun, which is sort of the bible of Tai-chi. “If you overreact you won’t be able to take over his power and use it against him.”

My goal of taking a nice long ride on the Crazy Bike along the riverside over the Dragonboat holiday had been frustrated by rain on Saturday and Sunday, so on Monday I covered myself in sunscreen, pumped up the tires, and set off despite the ominous rumblings coming from the sky. Negotiating the mouthbreathers on the bridge was troublesome, but once I got on the path itself things went much more smoothly. It was great to be cruising along the river, looking at the views, the trees and sky, listening to the cicadas and feeling the wind. Since I last rode that path, new sections have been added, making previously twisty bits straighter and smoother. The massive highway bridge they’ve been building south of the Xiulang Bridge looks almost complete, and when it’s done another messy detour will vanish.

A huge stage was being set up along the river in Banqiao. The newly paved roads were smooth as silk. I made good time all the way up the Xindian River, along which they are building an elevated expressway that crosses the Danhan River where it and the Xindian converge to form the Danshui River. The construction site for the bridge alone is huge.

The sun came out as I rode westwards towards Tucheng, and the weather became very hot. I stopped to put on more sunscreen, and two other bikers remarked as they rode past, “Oh, right, we should have brought some of that!” Both the Crazy Bike and I got stares and remarks. It seemed most people noticed the bike before they noticed who was riding it. The path to Tucheng has been made into a scooter lane, so the bike path had been rerouted, but the riverbank is wide enough that it doesn’t really matter.

A huge black cloud loomed over Tucheng, thunder booming distantly from it every so often. I reached the end of the path and turned around, away from the black wall of weather, following a group of slow kids and pausing to take pictures of things along the way. The fact that I hadn’t ridden the bike in a long time impressed itself upon me shortly afterwards, and while it was still enjoyable, I was pretty much tired out. The return trip took almost an hour longer than the trip out, partly because of the massive crowds that filled the riverbank near the stage they’d been setting up earlier. Another reason was the multitude of people who apparently want to kill their retarded family members. I’ll be riding along and when I approach some group of people traveling the opposite direction, usually a family or group of friends, someone will always remain completely oblivious to my presence despite the fact that I am an apparent foreigner riding a bright red dragster bicycle directly towards them. I can only conclude that they are mentally impaired in some fashion. However, the other family members/friends will notice me, grab the oblivious person and invariably shove them or pull them right into my path. Thankfully I managed to avoid hitting anyone, but there were quite a few close calls.

The sun was setting over the river, reflecting off of Taipei 101 and turning it into a bright white flame above the city. It must have been raining in the Xinyi District as a rainbow appeared just above it. Bitan seemed to be shrouded in mist as I approached; it seemed particularly inviting after a long, hot ride. I rode on, through clouds of small bugs that flew into my eyes, nose and mouth, causing me to spit every few seconds.

The area was still full of holiday revelers, mandating another game of hit-the-tourist crossing back. I would have loved to taken a nice long, cool shower and gone for a swim, but I had to go to Darrell’s for looping, so I ditched the bike and went straight over. After that, I went to badminton practice, which tired me out utterly and completely. When I finally did get home, the pool was closed, so I drew a bathtub full of cool water, plunked down in it and zoned out with a tattered copy of the Dao De Jing comic.

My little brother Philip was in town on Sunday, so he came down to Bitan to have a look, as he’d never been here before. When I met him at the MRT station, he made the usual remarks about how fat I’d gotten, and we talked about his scuba dives in the Philippines as the source of his relatively svelte proportions. Bitan is a madhouse these days thanks to the Dragonboat Festival-related activities, so the bridge and surrounding streets were packed. Philip really liked the area and my place. I showed him Clay Soldiers, and he found it entertaining despite his feeling that there was a lack of chemistry between the actors.

We had dinner at the dumpling place downstairs and then took a walk along the hillside out back before going down to the river bank for the obligatory Bitan Photo Opportunity. It was nice to see him; he said he’d like to bring his wife and kids along next time.

“It’s raining,” I said on the phone to David, who was still entwined in the subway system on his way to Bitan. We’d promised Athula, the Sri Lankan rotti-provider and patron saint of the Muddy Basin Ramblers, that we’d perform on the street in front of his stand as part of the Taiwan Beer Festival on Saturday night. But all I could see from my balcony as dusk fell was sheets of rain. Still, I got my things together, just in case.

20 minutes later the rain had stopped, so I stuffed my pocket trumpet in my backpack and lugged the euphonium and the washtub bass components down the wet street and over the bridge, meeting my neighbor Brent and his wife on the way. The bridge was full of people, and I wondered if it might not be a good idea to have a sign saying “Do you know why you’re crossing this bridge?” on the Xindian side, as most people just cross the bridge and turn back. The strollers I can understand, but it’s the people who seem to be in a hurry to cross, glance at the other side, and then rush back that confuse me.

Xindian Street was full of people and pavilions selling various products under a curtain of Taiwan Beer ads, and Athula was doing his usual roaring business. We set up in the middle of the street. Just our appearance, with all of the unusual instruments, attracted a lot of people, but once we started the show we gathered up quite a crowd. They were in a festive mood, too, applauding and yelling in appreciation. It seemed that everyone had some kind of recording device running. Several people brought cups of herbal jelly tea for us all to drink through thick straws. Sandman’s dog Balu trotted around the area following up interesting smells.

The rain started in again, and we moved under one of the awnings nearby. The acoustics there were a little better, but there wasn’t enough room for much of a crowd. As soon as it stopped, we moved back out into the middle of the street. We played nearly every song that involved the euphonium, which tired me out and left my trumpet performance lacking, but I managed anyway. At one point Thumper invited a small boy in a striped shirt to play the bells on his washboard, and the kid really took a shine to it; the look on his face was priceless.

We played the Taiwan Song, which David said was meant for just such an occasion. After another song I had just put away my trumpet and returned to find a spectator playing the washtub bass with a rather confused yet determined look on his face. He used so much force that he broke the pencil I’d been using to pluck the string in half. I let him play and retrieved my trumpet to play along instead.

We were halfway through Work Song when the downpour started. Big, heavy drops began splattering down, and around us a host of umbrellas went up. Slim slipped his hat over Conor’s amp to keep it from electrocuting anyone. By the time we finished it was pouring rain. I slipped the washtub over my head and gathered up my trumpet and the euphonium, which had tumbled to the pavement when Jojo had mistakenly picked up the unfastened case, and ran back over to the awning for shelter.

It was 10pm, and the pavilions were beginning to pack up. We stood around chatting with local denizens, politely declining invitations to play again on other nights. I pinched the straw of my herbal jelly tea, trying to filter out the jelly part, but to no avail. In the meantime, some of the foreigners in the crowd were getting pretty drunk. One guy fell off his motorcycle, breaking a part off of it.

The rain stopped again. By the point, traffic was being allowed through again, and a cavalcade of little blue trucks approached to take away the pavilions. We weren’t quite finished, however. We set up again and played some quieter songs for a while before the police showed up, as we knew they would. More chatting and milling around ensued before Thumper and I whisked Slim away from his complicated social life, down to the dragonboat platform erected on the edge of the river, which was covered in beautiful fog. There, we chatted and drank until the wee hours. It was a nice evening.