If you recall this post from last June, I’ve been living in a rented apartment while renting out the apartment I actually own to a friend for the last year and a half or so. A couple of nights ago I packed said friend, who was quite drunk, into a taxi headed for the airport at 3am so that she could return to California.

So I’m moving. Again.

The last couple of days has been a scramble to arrange things; I had painters over last night, and the noxious smell wafting from my door led to an introduction to my new neighbor, a French guy who didn’t particularly care for the odor. I can’t blame him; it was foul indeed, and lingers disturbingly enough to make me consider staying at a sauna for the next few nights. I mopped the floors this morning, and I’ve also been trying to arrange my things into a somewhat movable state. Steven the Mover is on his way over as I type this to help me accomplish this decidedly unpleasant task.

It will be strange transferring my flag back to the Water Curtain Cave (as Winter approaches, I don’t like the wet, damp image that name suggests so upon moving in this time I’m thinking of rechristening it). I’ve grown accustomed to the light, spacious airy feel of the rented place, though I could never bring myself to come up with an inventive name for it. The Muddy Basin Ramblers recorded the lion’s share of our upcoming album here. The sun shines in in the morning and afternoon, and a nice cross-breeze can be enjoyed with windows on both sides open. But there is the fact that I’m occasionally forced to listen to piano practice, as well as the proximity to Bitan firework activity, and I suppose it’s also living a bit beyond my means, and I didn’t want to have to deal with being a landlord any more. My own place is nice enough, especially if what the watchman downstairs told him about the loud elderly couple spending a lot more time living at their children’s house is true. If not, I’ll have to put some money into soundproofing. And some new blinds.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, Steven’s knocking on my door.

UPDATE: It’s dark out now. Everything’s moved over to the Cave, everything except for my computer, that is. I’m sitting in my computer room, surrounded by echoey white walls bathed in glaring white fluorescent light, as well as detritus left over from the move. For some reason I feel reluctant to leave. If I don’t turn my head, I can pretend that everything is normal.

But I guess it’s time to get to it, though, to unplug the computer and Internet, pack the speakers on the desk and roll it on over to the new/old place. The garbage truck’s playing its melody downstairs, and mosquitoes are flying in the slot left by the removal of the air conditioner. Time to go.

Between tai-chi practice and the resistance-is-futile nature of the weather on Saturday, I didn’t get much done. In fact, I thought I might even be late for my own photo exhibit at Bobwundaye, so I splurged for a cab over from Bitan.

Turns out I shouldn’t have worried. When I arrived, the place was deserted except for a bored-looking foreigner sitting at the bar. I ordered a CC-ginger ale and sat down for bit. Then I looked at the photos hung up on the wall. The lights didn’t quite manage to fully illuminate them, but they looked pretty good. The terrible framing job caused ripples, however. I won’t be going back to that frame shop again. Which isn’t too big of a problem as there are 34 just like it on the same street.

After a while a group of women, including Chris, arrived, and sat down at the table in the back. I sat down next to them, feeling awkward as I didn’t really know any of them except for Chris, who disappeared into the bathroom. Was I interrupting some kind of “hen party” or whatever it is called when women get together and talk about female issues? I had no idea. I’m not much of a talker anyway, so I pretty much sat there and nodded.

Other people began to arrive, some of whom I knew, such as Maurice, Wayne, Mark and Gaby, and many I didn’t. I had no idea if they were there for the photos or just there or drinks. The Ramblers were all there, including a surprisingly stylish Thumper. It was now officially a Party.

I got a few inquiries about purchasing photos, but I hadn’t really thought out a sales strategy and didn’t close any deals. I also got a few questions about things like “inspiration” and “meaning,” and I pretty much explained that I had simply seen things I found visually interesting and taken pictures of them. I find it odd that other people don’t see the same things, but I can’t really explain it. In all honesty, it’s hard to feel that great of a sense of accomplishment as photography isn’t difficult or hard work for me. It’s just something I do and get pleasure from. It’s gratifying that some people seem to enjoy the results, but it’s not like filmmaking or writing a story, where you actually have to put effort and forethought into your project. I suppose, in musical terms, filmmaking is like the trumpet, which I spent a lot of time learning, while photography is more like the washtub bass, which I just seem to…do. And I have fun with both.

Speaking of music, by and by we Ramblers picked up our instruments and played a few songs, which the crowd seemed to enjoy. We played and drank until well after midnight, and no police disturbed the show for once. I’d had just enough alcohol, not too much, so I wasn’t terribly interested in the whiskey shots Kat was handing out, but in deference to the work she and the other staff members put into the exhibit, I downed it and pitched past buzzing into Trunk Derritory.

But it was a talkative drunk, and I chattered to Sandman and Jojo all the way back to Bitan in the taxi, my spirits buoyed by all the people coming to see the photos, hear us play, drink and have a good time. The whole thing was a success, if I dare say so myself.

Ironically, I didn’t get any photos of the event.

In other photographic news, some of my pictures are now featured on an interesting new website called Guess This City. It’s just sets of anonymous pictures of a city you click through, and then it tells you which city you’ve just been looking at. Can you guess which city I did? (Hint: it’s not Antlers, OK)

“Your left and right hands should cooperate in your strategy,” Teacher Xu told us on Saturday morning at CKS Hall. I’d missed the previous week due to having to be in a parade featuring a naked man on a truck. “While one is opening the door on one side, the other should be closing the door on the other.”

I’d run into Mr. V in the subway on the way to class that morning, which took place in our old practice space, which was vacated by the black-shirted kung-fu group for some reason. I should note that Mr. V isn’t really that Violent; there are many students, especially the newer guys, who are much more egregious than he is. Still, he hasn’t expressed a desire to practice with me since that time when he was pushing with one hand.

Actually, Teacher Xu says that we should abolish the word “push” from tuishou, because it’s detrimental to the real practice of give-and-take actions and intent that is Tuishou. I agree, in that I can’t bring myself to push on command. I tend to concentrate more on being fluid and only “attack” when I see an opportunity that I just can’t pass up and sticks around long enough for me to recognize it, as I’m a little slow. Oftentimes my partner will tell me to attack them, but I find that if my intent is to attack I do much worse.

While watching other students push, I paid particular attention to their feet. I noticed that the newer students’ feet rolled around and left the ground a lot, while the more experienced students’ feet stayed more or less flat. Then I noticed that Teacher Xu’s feet rolled and lifted as he pushed, but the difference was that his feet seemed to be making those motions at his command, rather than in reaction to being pushed as seemed to be the case with the newer students. I suppose it’s a phase-by-phase thing. Later, practicing with Mr. Hu, I found that concentrating on his feet would occasionally call attention to an opportunity I would otherwise have missed. But I still found that by relaxing and using circular re-direction of his force helped a lot more. It was very instructive, as he’s a lot more forceful now than he used to be, and if I directly countered him I’d end up losing or “winning wrong” i.e. relying on brute force instead of relaxing and manipulating his energy. Also, people tend to expect resistance, and when they don’t meet it, they get confused and don’t know what to do. It throws them off.

One of the violent new guys was trying to throw the UPS guy around the balcony, resulting in a lot of thudding and tumbling. Little Mountain Pig was teaching while his wife minded their small son and daughter, who were crawling around their dual-seat stroller. No sign of Little Qin. In the middle of the square, a group of enthusiastic foreigners kicked and played tag, counting up as far as “three” in Chinese.

我要辦第一個攝影展。 其實， 這還不能算是一個真真的展覽， 只是把我的作品掛在一家酒吧的墻壁上。 但是， 雖然這種發展應該十幾年前就開始， 但是還算是一小步。 那家酒吧餐廳叫做 ‘復古花瓶’ 地點在捷運六張里站附近。 我這禮拜六， 就是十月二十七日晚上八點左右會在那邊跟一些朋友聚一聚， 如果有興趣可以來看一下。另外， 有一家美國大規模出版社要用我的攝影作品當它一本即將要出的書的封面藝術。 聽到當然高興， 但是還感到自己書的英文版無法初的遺憾與嫉妒。

好消息中還需要有壞消息當陪伴： 我還要搬家了！

Well, kind of. The stylish, slightly mad individuals who run Bobwundaye have graciously allowed me to hang some of my more popular photos for public exhibition at their establishment. I had 12 shots, from both my 20D and my IXUS p/s cameras, printed out and framed at various printers and framers in town at a good size, and Bobwundaye has, I think, six spaces on the walls for such things. In order to celebrate this small step in my photographic career, I’m having a little get-together there this Saturday night, starting from around 8pm or so. Feel free to swing by for a drink and a gander.

In other photographic news, I was contacted this morning by a large publishing house in the US about the possibility of using one of my shots as the cover art for one of their upcoming novels, which is pretty cool. Now if only I could get them to look at perhaps publishing my book in English…hmm.

Due to a prolonged hunt for earphones in the city, I was late to practice, arriving around 9:30pm. Everyone was already there and busy practicing. A rather violent new guy was throwing people around, or trying to, narrowly missing me as I walked up. I hoped I wouldn’t have to deal with him before he mellowed down.

I did some of those exercises where you bend backwards until you fall over, falling on a railing or something similar, to increase my backstance’s range a bit. Then Yang Qing-feng and I practiced for a bit. I was really tired, but it was good. Not a lot of instruction, just straight practicing.

I noticed that some people, in addition to having dramatic post-push poses, hold on to them for a long while, as if they’ve just pushed their opponents into another part of the country and are waiting patiently for them to return from a prolonged vacation. In the meantime, the person who has just been shoved slightly off balance stands waiting awkwardly for the PPP act to end so they can get back to pushing. Funny.

Teacher Xu was busy with the violent new guy, so I pushed with his son, who seems to have improved a bit. He’s still easy to evade, is pretty pushable, and needs to cut his fingernails. I was so tired I nearly fell asleep, which was probably good for my pushing, very relaxed and natural. At one point I kind of wrapped his arms around his head, causing him to spin like a top, and I have to admit I laughed at the sight.

Afterwards he and Teacher Xu left, and I went through the sword form my usual three times. The sword still feels heavy starting out, but by the third time I was into it again.

Saturday was a full day. I was late again meeting Sandman down at the 7-Eleven, but we eventually caught a cab to the corner of Renai and Jianguo, where the annual Dream Community Parade was forming. Traffic was blocked up, and the street was lined with floats. We found David, Slim, Conor and Thumper gathered around a large pig-shaped float that was supposed to be ours, but it turned out to be a mix-up. The pig was for BoPoMoFo. Ours was actually more of a “court jester” themed float, and much smaller. Two banners with the indecipherable “Planet Alasida” written on them flanked the small truck, and a little painted guy wearing only a blue loincloth was fussing around on top the cab, which had a railing. He seemed pretty well-endowed, and we stood at a distance, wondering if he had added anything down there. It was at this point that we should have realized what he was planning.

We walked up and down the line of floats a bit. Kids on stilts wobbled up and down the road. Two guys dressed in upside-down clothing staggered around pretending like they were walking on their hands. David and I did an impromptu guitar-and-bass piece; I shredded the colorful pencil I’d been using as a pick, so I prowled the offices of the elementary school looking for something to replace it. Hopefully nobody will notice the absence of a blue pen from their table.

Back outside, Thumper was letting some kids play his washboard, but suddenly the parade was starting up and we all jumped up on the truck just as it started off. The painted guy stood on the cab dancing and waving a flag. We moved slowly along Renai Road, following a group of Jedi knights, while a large goldfish followed behind. Periodically bubbles and smoke would emit from the goldfish, which made us wonder if there were some kind of party going on inside.

The weather cleared up as we played. I was standing against the ladder on the cab, facing the back of the truck. At one point I looked up to see David, Slim and Sandman staring aghast at something behind me, and I turned around to see that the painted guy had taken off his loincloth and was dancing, buck naked except for his “extension”, to our music. We kept playing, however. There seemed nothing else to do at that point. The people standing by the side of the road watching us giggled into their hands in embarrasment, or pointed and stared, for once not at us. We drove by a group of policemen who seemed to wonder if they should do something, but didn’t. This being Taiwan, we didn’t encounter any Puritan-style Outrage or shocked hands over children’s faces.

We continued down Renai, past a plethora of brand new luxury high-rises. We played “Reefer Man” but substituting “Naked Man” for the title character. “Have you ever seen that funny naked man?” David would sing, and we would all answer “Naked man!” while pointing at the oblivious subject of our commentary waving his flag on the top of the truck.

Eventually another man, who was painted purple from head to toe and sported angel wings and a fig leaf like some giant heaven-sent grape, ran up and had a conversation with the naked guy, who then put his loincloth back on. I’m guessing the police had words with the grape guy and sent a message through him. Afterwards, people began to look more at us than the painted guy, and we were finally able to concentrate on making music without distractions. A couple of times we passed a woman on the side announcing what each float was. “And the next float is….Planet Alasida! They use….uh, what the….kitchen implements! Let’s give them a hand!”

The sun went down as we approached the presidential palace, where a large stage had been set up. We continued to play even after the truck had stopped, as there was an audience of people listening to us. I was tired after a couple of hours balancing on one foot on a moving truck, though, and was glad when we finally stopped. We gathered up our stuff and got down to look at the other groups. Thumper went backstage and got himself a picture of himself with Mayor Hau, while Sandman went to gawk at the Brazilian dance groups. He came back with a small flower for his hat.

We decided to go to California Grill for hamburgers before adjourning to Da-an Park to watch the gypsy show, but although Slim and I ended up there, the others gave us the slip and went to the Italian Job instead. Later, Thumper joined us at the park, but we didn’t go watch the gypsies; instead we laid on the grass and chatted while looking at the stars.

At around 10pm we caught a cab over to Bliss, where we were playing a farewell show for our friend Chris. We got two free drinks, and the rum cokes perked me up a bit after a long day. A very blonde woman named Karen was taking money at the stairwell, but there weren’t that many people, which wasn’t too bad as Bliss can become very uncomfortable with too many people. Occasionally the whole building would sway a bit, a feeling Thumper and I attributed to the nearby subway construction.

The show went well, though it was difficult at times to make ourselves heard over Karen’s fascinating stories concerning her textbooks. We played two sets and called it a day. Charles borrowed my euphonium for a bit, but Sandman wanted to go home. I was bushed as well, so we packed up and caught a cab back to Bitan.

Usually people only show up for class around 9pm, so I hung around a nearby coffee shop by the park until 8:30 before going over to the monument. Just about everyone was there already, however, and busy pushing. I stretched and went through some form work before pushing with Not From China, who was surprisingly subtle, though he had the annoying habit of repeating “Don’t use force, don’t use force” while he shoved in a definitely forceful manner. Teacher Xu told him to avoid excessive force, which explains it. Anyway, better than usual, though he nearly took my eye out with one quick blow.

Next up was Weeble. Pushing Weeble is like pushing an overly excitable fireplug. Any attack would generate a flurry of motion, and he was almost completely unyielding. As we practiced, a middle-aged foreigner walked into the park, accompanied by a couple of Taiwanese girls, and asked me what we were doing. I said it was a kind of applied Tai-chi. “So not like Karate?” he said.

“No, softer.”

“Like sumo!” one of the Taiwanese girls said. At least I think she was Taiwanese. I could be wrong, as I never heard her speak Chinese. But the foreigner shook his head.

“He’s not fat enough,” he said as they left.

Teacher Xu reiterated the idea of pushing the back of your opponent, and luring them in with imaginary lines. Also, he said to concentrate on their feet, but never on your own.

After class, when most everyone had departed, I went through my sword routine a few times, and showed Yang Qing-feng my new practice sword, which I’ve gotten used to and like a lot actually. I can feel its weight and even the wind on the blade when I swing it. Qing-feng uses a heavy sword himself, so he appreciated its heft.

I didn’t go to practice last week, and the typhoon hit on Saturday, so practice was canceled. This Wednesday was Double Ten, a holiday. So I didn’t get back until Saturday at CKS Hall. Workers were taking down a bunch of scaffolding left over from the celebrations, and I took pictures of them.

Not many people were there this time, though I showed up late, around 10:30. The black-shirted Kung Fu guys were nowhere to be seen or heard, but some students were practicing cheerleading routines.

I didn’t get much pushing in this time; mostly I went through my forms. Teacher Xu told another student not to just go limp when confronted with force. “Relaxing isn’t the same as just letting go of everything,” he said, and I realized that that is probably what I’m doing wrong when I’m trying to relax, i.e., I’m confusing relaxing with just letting go of everything and throwing it aside. I should instead relax, but keep everything in the game, so to speak.

While I was pushing with the UPS guy, a large, chunky foreigner and his extremely blonde girlfriend walked up after watching us for a while. It turned out that they were Austrian. “We have something similar in Austria,” he said, demonstrating a kind of pushhands where the feet are outside of each other and the opponents hold hands and try to shake, push or pull each other off balance. He tried it a few times with the UPS guy and failed. Then they tried to do regular tuishou, and the UPS guy kept pushing the Austrian guy over, as his girlfriend watched with an encouraging expression on her face. I felt kind of bad for her, and was about to suggest letting the Wookiee win when the UPS guy lost a few bouts. Whether he did it on purpose or not I have no idea, but the couple seemed gratified when they finished.

Taiwan’s been suffering from a bit of typhoon fatigue, due to the high number of storms that have come through our fair island this season. So when people heard about the latest and greatest storm, Super Typhoon Krosa, I think most everyone just sighed and though, well, ok. Another one. Meh.

I thought the same thing, even as the storm hit, as the high-rise buildings next to us blocked most of the wind, and we got none of the window rattling or moaning and swaying accompanying previous weather. But when I looked out from my window on Saturday morning I could see that the wind and rain were doing quite a bit of damage in our area. The river was high, higher than I’d ever seen it before, and rushing below the bridge at a surprising speed, carrying tree trunks, trash and the occasional piece of furniture within its brown, frothy wake.

Naturally, I had to go take a look. As a trip to the 7-Eleven downstairs had soaked me down to my underwear in seconds, I prepared for my excursion by donning my old TVBS weather gear, jacket and pants, slipping my older Canon digital camera in one pocket.

The bridge wasn’t rocking too badly, as the wind had died down, but the rain was heavy. I walked to the other side of the river and up towards Wantan, where I saw that the little community of buildings on the far shore was flooded. Along the Xindian side, there was no sign of the playground equipment, and the water reached towards the top of the basketball hoops. All the shops were closed except one, from which Karaoke music sounded.

I walked back downstream, under the highway bridge, where a newly installed railing was being bent over by the rushing water, and down to the traffic bridge, where the sluice gates had been opened to admit a crashing maelstrom of brown fury. I continued down to the parking lot, past some guys busy fishing along the edge of the water, to a halfway submerged parking lot. Waves were crashing along the cars, which were floating and bumping into each other with every motion of the water. I waded towards a pavilion nearby, following a fellow in a yellow poncho, but at one point my foot plunged into a hole. That was close, I thought, and took another step into a much deeper hole, a hole that, as far as I could tell, had no bottom. I grabbed the side of the shack, scrapping my hand in the process, and hauled myself back up again. My pants had protected my wallet, but my camera got a soaking. It still worked, but the image was fuzzy and it wouldn’t turn off for more than a minute, turning itself back on again.

Cursing, I stalked back towards Bitan, where, crossing the bridge, I saw the swanboat guys out trying to rescue one of their wayward pontoons, which had been folded in half by the floodwaters. Amazingly, one guy jumped out onto the mostly-submerged roof of their shack, which was emitting metallic groans as it struggled to maintain its moorings amid the stream, and then onto the pontoon itself. He then used his legs to push the pontoon out into the stream and jumped back onto the shack, dodging the mooring lines as the pontoon swept downstream again. I filmed the spectacle with my little wet camera, and the guys on the bank asked me if I was a reporter from TVBS. “I used to be, but not any more,” I said. I think they were disappointed that they wouldn’t be on the news. Well, they’ll be on my video of my little walk that I put on Youtube at least.

When I got back I took the battery and flash card out of the camera, dried everything off, and the image is back to normal. It still turns itself on, though, so I have to store it without the battery. I’m glad I didn’t take my phone out with me.

This morning the river was still high, but not nearly as high as it was before, and the typhoon’s mostly left. I suppose we’re lucky we didn’t lose electricity and water, as it was a pretty strong storm. Hopefully that’s all this season has in store for us, but I wouldn’t bet on it. I’m getting pretty sick of these weekend typhoons.