Things lately, or late things.

It's been quite a while since I've written. I've been pretty busy lately, is why - I'm taking 5 classes in my major, and they're all quite a bit of work. I'm auditing Chinese, too...I should be writing more and speaking more than I am, but, I have been busy. Heheh...and all this while trying to keep things up with 家寧, who had the bad taste and contrariness to be born on the other side of the planet. (She knows what I've been up to! But I guess the rest of you don't.)

I'm taking so much at once because I thought I still needed 30 credit hours to graduate - before the semester started. After it did, though, I found that, in fact, I only need one class more to graduate after this.
And I can't take that other class now, or in a shortened form! Agh. So I'm here one more semester, for one class, when I could be in Taiwan. It's possible that I might be able to do it by correspondence, but that would really depend on the teacher.

I'd be able to handle all the classwork, normally - I've done this much before. But I've fallen behind. My truck didn't get driven much while I was away. It did get used, but not enough. I feel bad saying it - my dad spent $1000 of his own money trying to get it running again right before I got back.
And I've spent, maybe not $1000, but a significant amount of time trying to get that damn thing fixed. Obviously I don't have any money, since I haven't worked in over a year, and just got back from a year of spending (a very pleasant one, though! You should try it sometime! Except I'm afraid you'll have to find your own girl/guy to fall in love with. Unless you've already found someone...which many of you have...so...skip that last part.), so I can't afford to put it in the shop - and I don't really trust them, anyway.

Heh. Actually, I had been thinking recently, if I'm going to be married soon, I'd better know how to fix cars at least a little. So I'd been wondering about how to go about that. And then my car is broken! Prayers really do get answered!

So, yeah, I have the Haynes manual for my truck, and I'm pretty good at guessing, so that's what I've been doing.
And it's mostly worked.

I don't even remember what all I've done, but, among other things, my fuel injectors started acting up. I took them out - the number 5 was dead, I think, and it looked...clean...which was not a good sign, as the rest of them were so filthy I thought they'd melted. Heheh. A little cleaning fluid fixed that right up. It's amazing stuff.
And a new fuel injector. 5 was dead.
There was the fuel pressure regulator, too.
And a new fuel strainer and filter. And spark plugs. And oxygen sensors. I think the oxygen sensors started a lot of it, actually.
A new fuel pump, too.
Mostly my truck wouldn't go very fast or reliably; it chugged a lot, it smoked, it backfired, and on a few occasions, it died. It liked staying dead, too. And unfortunately, it didn't always die at convenient times.

Part of this was also because the fuel tank was rusty. It was like looking into a deep-sea wreck. Except you can't smell gas underwater...so far as I know. And, though the minorest of rediscovered relics often find absurdly overblown praise, no one would have been excited at its discovery, except maybe fuel-tank sellers. I wasn't - excited or a seller (nor a scrap-metal buyer).
So, in addition to the truck not always knowing how much gas it needed due to the malfunctioning O2 sensors, the rust flakes were plugging up the fuel pump and filter.
So that was a pretty good combo for a dead truck.

I spent a lot of time fixing it - each time I thought I'd got it about done. Well, that's not true. When it was chugging and misfiring, I knew it wasn't right, but I thought maybe if I just added some fuel cleaner it'd get better in time. In reply, my truck died.
Death is a lousy form of correspondence.

So anyway, I'd gotten everything I mentioned above done, and at first, things were working real well. After a couple days, I noticed it had less power and some hesitation starting.

So I'm going to school one day. The truck is getting shuddery on the way to Athens. I'm concerned, naturally, but I figure it'll be alright. It is sometimes. I'm optimistic. And I do get to school just fine. I end up getting there a little late due to my truck, and so I have to park on the fifth floor of the parking garage. That's almost at the roof - I've never parked up there, and that morning, I'd never seen the top, either, and I thought about parking up there just for the novelty of it.
I didn't though. I got lazy.

I went to class, like usual. I talked to 家寧 on Skype for a couple hours, like I usually do, since there's a big gap between my two classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. My last class on that day got out at 4:45, and, since I get there at about 9:20 or so in the morning, I'd had plenty of time to forget that my truck was acting up.


So I went out to start it. I was anxious to get home; it'd been another long day and I was hungry.

It didn't start.

So I wasn't happy, but this was also nothing new. I started messing with things - when I'd tried to start it, the engine had turned, but it was not firing up, and I couldn't smell gas or anything, so I guessed probably it wasn't getting any fuel. Or that it didn't have any fuel. It was really, really low...so I decided it might be out of gas. I was hopeful. There's a gas station just a block or two away, so I decided to go there.

It had looked like rain all day. Naturally, the moment I stepped out of the parking garage, it started raining. So I started jogging. Then it started pouring. I always was fond of reciprocity.
So I jogged uphill the one or two blocks to the gas station, by which point I was rather confident about my non-flammability.
I grabbed a new gas can (probably the 6th or 7th that I've bought - my parent's garage is beginning to be littered with them...hmm...a litter of gas cans...what would whelp that? A gas could? Oh, sorry, that's a lousy pun.), noticed it cost more than the gas I would buy, and walked the the counter.
The guy looked at me funny.
Now, you may not know this, but I like rain. I grew up in the desert, remember. Also, I think I like miserable conditions. I nearly always smile, unless I'm really in a lot of pain from it. So, if I get stuck running in the rain, I don't complain - I smile. Especially when it's dumb or absurd. I kind of enjoy times like that.
So this guy sees me, wearing about 10 gallons of water and an idiot grin, holding a gas can, and says something like, "well, at least you got a good attitude." I agree, thank him, and go get my gas.
It does, in fact, cost less than the can it's in.

So I start running back down the hill and discover - oddly - that my hand is getting wet. I thought it was wet already. I didn't know wetter felt different.
I didn't put it together for a few more steps...
and then I realized I was sloshing gasoline out of the can and onto my hand. That's why it felt cooler!
It turns out the can lacked a tight seal. So I walked the rest of the way.

I got back to my truck, wet, smelling of gas, and hopeful. I flipped up the fueling hatch, dumped in what remained of the gas, and discovered that only most of the remainder was obtainable. The rest, due to the poor design of the gas container, could not be poured out. So I twisted the thing around in an effort to get the rest out, and I succeeded, but as you guessed, nearly none went into my truck.

Still, it was probably a gallon and a half. More than enough to run a vehicle.

I got in the cab, got my hopes up, and turned the key.
*cough*
*grr-rrr-rrr*
nice. I tried again.
*grr-rrr-rrr*
Yeah. I always liked getting growled at.

So, since I truly am a pretty optimistic person, I decided to pull out the fuse for the fuel relay, or whatever it might be called (I forgot and I'm too lazy to look right now), in hopes that when I put it back in, the fuel lines would automatically be re-pressurized.
And sure enough, when I plugged it back in and turned the key, I heard the fuel pump doing something.
Not anything particularly, just something.

I turned the key again.
More coughing.

Well, that was unpleasant but not unexpected.
I decided to see if there was pressure in the fuel lines, so I took it apart just up from the fuel filter - there was fuel in the line. And just below it, as well. I knew this because it all spilled out on me. I knew that would happen, of course; I'd positioned myself so it wouldn't spill on my face - so it managed to dribble all over the metalworks down there, from which the path to my face and other non-fuel-using parts was fairly clear.

So that seemed fine. There was fuel in the lines. So I thought maybe the fuel pump was dead - if the filter had been too clogged, there would be little or no fuel on the up side of the filter. Of course, if the fuel pump was dead, why would there be any fuel in the lines at all? But I didn't know. I had to have some sort of answer, even a bad one.
I messed around some more, but I don't remember with what. This was all taking some time, and I actually had some people stop and ask if everything was alright. That surprised me. I think it makes a difference if people see you, and can't pass quickly. They're more likely to stop then. Or maybe it's a thing of being used to seeing things in certain places - it's normal for people to be broken down on the side of the road - it happens all the time and is nothing remarkable. But being broken down in a parking garage is not normal.

So, having concluded that it was a simple matter of a dead fuel pump, I decided the best thing to do would be to call a towtruck. It's a long trip from Athens to my house - about 45 miles - so getting towed is not cheap. Even so, it's going to be cheaper than going to the shop. And it wouldn't be the first time that month. Besides, this time I had a cellphone with a towing plan.


(I'll continue this sometime soon. It won't be a 3 month wait, this time. Heheh. And, in case you were wondering, no, I didn't forget about the other things that are unfinished. I am actually working on one of them, slowly.)

to be continued....

The Interpretator, Part Three

I was right.
And the corner's angle was not. Oh no, especially not after I pried it open. If it hadn't been postmodern to begin with, it was now. Or it was just a ruined sloppy drywall and detritus job. More like a rat's nest, really.
That, I suppose, was appropriate; pack rats should live up to their names, after all. Me and Confucius agree about that. "If names are not rectified, then language will not be in accord with truth." And all that follows from that. Especially things being hard to accomplish, and the unjust punishment bit. Yeah, he was a smart old guy.
Enough speculation. The hell with those dead old ideas. There was a hat to be concerned about -
and it was well worth being concerned about. Mostly in that I expected it to fall on me, and crush my ribs. The thing was damn enormous.

Not too heavy, though. Actually, not much heavier than a heap of feathers and poorly-sewn quilts, which it seemed to be composed of. I was surprised it could stay upright. It was as tall as a fancy wedding cake. The kind parents of spoiled brats dread. The kind their spoiled little daughter will demand, to dwarf those of all weddings she's seen before.

Yeah. It was a big hat.
But not dangerous. Except for being magnificently, proudly ugly.

Just to be sure, I tried to wear it.

Well, I couldn't really stand up in here, not with the hat on. No mirror anyway. How could I tell if it was dangerous, if I couldn't see how bad it made me look? My reputation, what there was of it, wouldn't be helped, I was sure. I brushed the broken plaster dust off, then moved to turn -

and found myself examining the ceiling again. Except my face hurt. And so did my ribs. My ears rang, too, as though to give me a message. I didn't appreciate their help.

Had they come home and thought I was an intruder?
The lights were still off. I eased my eyes around the room...the left was a bit sore with me, I guess, and wouldn't open up more than halfway. Still, though, there wasn't anything there.

Except a dent in the wall. More than a dent. A sideways sinkhole. And all that moved were a few crumblings of plaster and paint flakes from it.

No, there wasn't anyone there but me.

A dark form caught my eye. A crumpled heap on the floor! Did they -

Oh, hat. Right. Just a hat.

I eased my way up, like an illegal at McDonald's, trying for management. I wanted for something to comfort my nerves; whisky, namely. I had none.

Going from the floor up felt like trying to earn time off. It was slow. No paycheck, either.

My time off the floor, once earned, involved more aching and throbbing than I'd planned. I hobbled first to the wall. Damn. That hole was about my size. No way could I fix that tonight. I could barely stand...my legs hadn't wanted to complain before, I guess, when I hadn't been asking anything of them.
So I hopped and span until I faced the closet. A bit of the doorframe was missing. I found it right away, though: that was in my hand.

Alright.

Good a place as any. Misery loves company and all. What the hell, though? Like I held it while I was being shoved.

The only other thing that'd changed in the room, was that the hat was on the floor.

The Interpretator, Part Two

It was a shame the woman (it had to be a woman - no self respecting man I know would write like that...and the legible handwriting was a pretty clear clue, too) hadn't given much hint as to where the hat was.
But I had an advantage. She was a parent. Parents always hide things in closets. Sometimes the attic, but seriously, no one likes going in the attic, and she was probably afraid of spiders or something, so she probably put it in a closet; likely hers.
That's how my parents were.

So, I was digging around: I found all sorts of things - unpaid bills, Christmas cards separated into two piles, some hole-filled clothing that someone must've meant to fix, bank statements, and some stuff that convinced me most everyone's more kinky than they let on. Man, you just never know someone till you dig through their closet.
But there was no hat. At least, there were hats, but I couldn't find a way to make any of them dangerous. The closest I got was, I looked dangerously queer wearing them. I guess that's something. Maybe they were concerned about the kids cross-dressing or something. Who the hell knows?
I took one last look at the closet.
Yep....
It was a closet.
Odd corners and all. Full of junk, like a closet. Maybe more dented than some - one of the corners looked like it'd been poorly repaired - but, hey, not everyone's an expert.
Ah, maybe they sold it.
So I went downstairs to my couch. And sat. If closets were only full of junk, then I guess couches were only good for sitting. Nothing interesting was going to happen tonight. Same as ever.


I'd been counting the specks on the ceiling. It wasn't one of those sprayed on ones that some houses had, but nonetheless, there were quite a few spots. Must come with having kids. It wasn't entertaining. It beat TV. I was just counting again, even assigning constellations, when something occurred to me. The bedroom, and closet, were directly above this room. There were no odd corners here. In the closet, of course that'd happen on the one side, since there's always some machinery or odd angle in the attic, but on the side where the load-bearing wall was, if there was something there, it should continue down to the ground, unless it was done as some sort of post-modern commentary on the structure of houses, and society, and the family in general. I doubted it was. Unless the whole point of it being hidden away and never seen by anyone was...
No, that was dumb. How many frustrated postmodern architects were there, anyway?
I would check out the closet again, because there was something odd about that angle.

The Interpretator, part 1

Well, I said I'd write for an hour every day...but my mind is not cooperating much right now. How's this for an extremely terrible story? Odd that an unproductive mind has born some fruit.

• THE INTERPRETATOR. INTERPRETATING CRIME.

It was a dark, drizzly day. It always was. Shouldn't even be called day around here.
I was just settling in for a dark, drizzly evening of couchsitting. I wanted to make sure it didn't go anywhere, and, while I wasn't getting paid good money to do it, I was getting something: the opportunity to watch TV in someone else's house.

You might wonder why I don't go home and watch the tube. Well, home doesn't have Japanese game shows. Or Korean soaps. Poorly translated Chinese everything. No, this was definitely a perk of this particular job. And this was a job I intended to see through to the very end.

So, yeah, I was being paid to sit on my ass. Not a bad deal. And not one I was going to leave.

I guess I should mention I was also broke. That also helped make the job.

So I had pretty well settled in, watched a bunch of trash - the usual poorly budgeted soaps from Taiwan, complete with ghosts and insane people setting their homes on fire, some puppet shows, a transcendently beautiful Korean soap that nonetheless was indistinguishable from every other Korean soap ever made, a Japanese show that, as far as I can figure, was about humiliating both children and their parents, and probably some other stuff while I was half-dozing.

I woke up a little when a kung-fu drama came on. It had some guy flying around in what looked like a big red tube. Not sure what that was, but at least it was different. For the hell of it I dug around in the cushions. I'd like to say dag. I really would. But, you know, I'm just real regular about some things, and I guess I'm just gonna keep saying dug. All the usual accumulated crud was back there. I pulled some of the less gross stuff out to see if it was worth anything.

There were the usual keys, bits of popcorn, coins, dead bugs, dog's/children's toys, the remote, just very mundane stuff. I'd wondered about that remote, before. I supposed I could change the channel now, if I wanted. I didn't, though. There was a note, too - "honey, I am putting the speed hat away. I don't want you letting the children near it. It's much too dangerous."

I looked at the crumpled, (soda?)-stained paper again. A dangerous hat?

Well, that sounded better than whatever shit was on TV.

More things you should know (about Taiwan)

At the top of my blog right now there is an ad, "Urination cone for women." That's what I get for writing about toilets, I guess.

As you may have guessed, last time's short list didn't cover everything.


So, without further ado...

大

That's the character for 'big'. It's said, "da", with a descending tone. Not condescending. Descending. You know the way you speak? Most of you probably start a sentence off at a higher pitch, then get lower as you come to the end. Think of going from that high pitch to the lower, finishing pitch, but in one sound/word.

It looks like a guy with his arms spread really wide, doesn't it?
It's good to know.

小

That's 'small'. It's said something like (shiao), with a descending, then rising tone. Do the falling tone, like for the last character, then think of the way you end a question. You know the way your pitch goes up? Do that right after the falling tone. It's all done on that one little word.


It's good to know those two characters. When you go to order food, the server might ask you whether you want a large or small order, or they might be listed on the menu.
Also, you could recognize the name of my school, which is 台大 (台 is short for 台灣 - that's Taiwan, and 大 is short for 大學 - literally, big school/learning).

And yes, the tones do matter. If you say da with the falling, rising pitch that's used in 小, it means "hit", "punch", "fight", or play. So probably, you don't want to say that. If someone asks what you want, and you tell them you want a punch, what do you think might happen? heheh.
And if you say 小 with the falling pitch, it could mean "smile", or "laugh". Getting either of those is better than a punch, but it will not get you food, or clothing, or whatever else might have different sizes.




Alright, that's enough characters for now. You probably think they're a headache. You're right. They are. Those are simple ones.


One thing you will notice right away - people here do not want to get tan. At all. Girls walk under umbrellas when the sun's out (or when it's raining. About the only time they don't use an umbrella is when it's cloudy; probably half the time). People do not go to the beach to tan. (Actually, they don't go to swim, either. So I'm not sure why they go to the beach. But they sure do! Beaches are crowded on weekends.)
Stores are full of whitening agents. So for those of you like me, that is, ghostly pale, you will be greatly envied. If you're a woman, you can probably get a modeling job here.

It's not that they want to look like white people. Not at all! No, it's here like it was everywhere else in the old days - having a tan means you're poor. Farmers are poor. Farmers are out in the sun all day, as are almost all other manual laborers. They're all poor, and they all have tans. Only people who can afford to stay inside are pale. I assume this will change in time, but for now, pale is sexy. Enjoy it while it lasts!


Not a very nice segue at all, but the next thing you'll notice is trash. Actually, it's probably the second thing you'll notice here, after toilets.
First: one might be inclined to ask, "WHERE THE HELL IS THE TRASH CAN?" Or, if you're more patient/polite, you will simply carry your trash around in your hand or pocket for the better part of the day. It's hard to find trash cans. I asked someone why that was, and the explanation I got was,
"So that people don't throw trash all over the place."
Yeah.

When you do find a trash can, there will be recycling next to it. Notice I did not say, "there will be a recycling can next to it." No, there is unfortunately no singular form for recycling can in this country. There are always at least four separate kinds of bins for recyclables. Good luck figuring them out.

One last thing that you'll wish you didn't notice: trash trucks are musical. You see, Taiwan has not yet invented or imported the dumpster. The concept of a large garbage container apparently eludes the best and brightest of Taiwan. So, that means you have to hold onto your garbage until the trash truck shows up. You run out to it, hurl your garbage into it, then go home. It's like watching the stupidest ambush, except that no one is excited.
Oh, and all that sorting of recyclables you did? They all go in the same truck. But it's required by law that you separate them.
And the trucks all play "Für Elise". Not even the whole thing, either. Just the start. Over and over. You can hear its biting, electro-chiming barbs floating across the city everywhere you go.
I'd say I can't stand the tune now...but...check this out!


Gotta admit, that's pretty cool.


That's it for now!

Things you should know

Should you choose to come to Taiwan, there are many things that either you had best know already, or that you will learn.

• Chopsticks. You will use them.

While Taiwan is a very modern country in many ways, people still insist on putting sticks in their mouths. I suppose everyone keeps some old habits.
Forks and knives are sometimes available, depending on the restaurant. If you go to an actual sit-down restaurant, they very well may have silverware available. Don't count on it, as this is only a possibility. If you visit a food-vendor's stall, or someone's home... you have two realistic choices: use those sticks, or find a way to eat with your hands that doesn't look too barbaric (or get you too greasy). Or you can eat like a dog, I suppose, though your host may not be impressed. (Side note: from what I understand, some of the older folks, especially the mainlanders, still think of all non-Chinese as barbarians. Jokingly. But not that jokingly.)

• Toilets. You may be surprised.

Again, while Taiwan is a modern country in many ways, there apparently is some fondness for squatting over a hole in the ground; this is expressed in modern commode design. In a concession to modernity, they now have ceramic holes in the ground, complete with flushable water, and a splash guard. You do not sit on them, you squat over them. The upside is you never have to touch another filthy toilet again. That is a rather major advantage. There's no downside, unless you have bad balance, and then the downside is where your hand goes. There are sit-down toilets in many modern bathrooms, like in the MRT stations and nicer shopping areas; some are even aggressively modern and have a bewildering assortment of buttons and options - these are imports from Japan. I have no idea what the buttons do, aside from the heater, the bidet function, and what looks to possibly be a service bell.

• Toilet Paper - more confusing than you think.

Since we're on the subject already: upon entering the bathroom, you will notice that it smells worse than what you're used to (well, most of you). And, should you enter a stall, you will notice a small trash can. This is not where you put your old coffee cups and food wrappers. No. It's a sort of paper that comes into contact with ...post-processed food, shall we say, when you're on the....

Yes, they have signs and everything. "Please do not flush toilet paper." They warn of all sorts of dire consequences. Or they'll anthropomorphize the toilet and it'll be saying something like, "PLEASE DON'T FEED ME TOILET PAPER, I WILL VOMIT."
Maybe I exaggerate. But not by much.

• Toilet paper. No, of course we're not done.

I should also mention that bathrooms often have no paper whatsoever, unless you count the ones that have thoughtfully been pre-moistened and pre-tested for you. (I suppose if you wanted to be clever you could substitute a three-letter word that rhymes with "pre-"). You can find those in the can. However, for those of us who are not fond of strange people's bodily functions (or even those we know well - perhaps they are worse, in some ways), you must bring your own tissue. Fortunately, nearly everyone carries some with them; it comes in little pocket-sized packets. It's ubiquitous. Hucksters and advertisers of all sorts will hand out free packets of tissue as you pass by, especially in election season. They are not pointing out your poor hygiene. No, those packets all have pictures and ads on them. They travel with you everywhere, for quite some time, so you do have a better chance of remembering them. However, you also tend to associate those politicians or products with something that rap has been accused of being (and with which it even rhymes!), and I'm not sure that's...productive. (Side note: if you sweat a lot, people will offer you some of their tissues. They also wipe tables with them.)

• English. Oh, the fond memories.

If you are familiar with English, if you think of it fondly, or at least dislike it only a little, you may enjoy reading the English in the local environment. I'm sure most of you have heard of "Engrish". If not - it's what happens when the rest of the world tries to use our language. The Japanese are apparently the worst and most serious offenders, but the Chinese are giving them a serious run for the money. Sometimes it's simple, but odd, matters of word choice - archaic words are a favorite. For example, when you ride the MRT, you will hear: "when you alight, please heed the platform gap." To my knowledge, I had never before heard someone actually say that word. At least not in that sense. Other times it's a matter of mis-spelled words that accidentally spell something funny. Other times it's just...odd. At home, we can buy a Corvette, or a Camero, or something like that, right? People ride scooters here. This here's a scooter town. So, naturally, there are many makes and models of scooters. One of my favorites is the model called, simply, "Heroism." I had never thought it possible before to ride a concept to death. But someone has found a way. Oh, and speaking of death -

• Traffic. Better than third world countries.

Scooters are popular, as I mentioned. Sometimes it's the only transportation a person, or family, has, and I can report that yes, it is indeed possible to fit an entire family - Mom, Dad, brother, sister, baby, and the dog, on one scooter. When I say scooter, you, like I did, probably think of some puttering mis-begotten motorcycle. That may have been accurate once. But I know, from personal experience, that they can generally attain 50mph fairly easily. You are not strapped in, of course, though they recently passed a law here requiring all riders to wear helmets, which I've heard is helping.
Anyway, there are swarms of scooters. They buzz about everywhere, weaving. There are also a fair number of cars, trucks, busses, and etc. Many of them are, like the scooters, not especially careful. And that brings us to -

• Taxi drivers.
  

They want you to die.

I don't think they care one way or another whether they get paid first; they probably would prefer you dead before you arrive, since in that case they can take all the money off your corpse. They will ignore all rules of traffic whensoever the whim strikes them. Red lights, blind alleys, blind turns, steep mountains, canyons - these are merely obstacles, and ones deserving only contempt. Never tell them you are in a hurry; they will take this as an invitation to show off their car-chase skills, in addition of course to their general disregard or outright disdain for human life and safety. If ever you want to make a cheap car-chase movie, this is where you'll do it. Just...you wouldn't be riding in it yourself, of course. That's what actors are for.
Oh, I got sidetracked for a moment - I forgot to mention that for aesthetic reasons, all taxis have their seatbelts jammed somewhere inside the seat. If you search, you will not find. Just give up. You're going to die anyway, might as well be in a taxi, going somewhere.

On the positive side, they are relatively talkative and even somewhat friendly, which makes their fierce disregard for life somewhat...jarring. Also, fares are cheap, compared to most places I've been to.
And finally, regarding your well-being, we have:

• Medicine. Better than you thought.

If you're only taking a short trip, let's hope you don't get sick. After all, you can get sick anywhere, why try it somewhere new? However, if you're here a little longer, something is bound to happen, and when it does, you're in luck. Taiwan has a good medical system. True, they don't always have the very latest surgical techniques or equipment, but they are more than competent in what they do have. I'm totally uneducated, and the wrong person to make this sort of assessment, but I'm here, and I'd guess Taiwan's medical system is just 5-10 years behind ours in general. Anyway, going to the doctor here is very cheap. If you go without insurance, the fees may approach what you'd pay in the US for minor things. But if you have the national insurance, or are a student, you are in great luck. For example, we have a clinic on campus. Before I had insurance, a trip to the doctor cost $90 NT ($3 US!). Medicine was extra, but generally only cost another $2-300 NT. Now that I have insurance, it's only $50 (~$1.70 US!) to see the doctor, and medicine is included. I went to the emergency room a few weeks ago for reasons I already wrote about, and that only cost me about $600 (or $700?) NT - less than $20 US. Not bad.
I hear some people come here just to have surgery done - it's like Mexico, but better. And friendlier.

Anyway, that's about enough for now. There's plenty more to talk about, and maybe I will soon. 再見!

Beaches in Taiwan

Another sudden interruption of nothingness!

Do you wonder, when God interrupted the nothingness the first time, was it irritated at the break in its routine?

Probably not. Being irritated would be something, which is exactly what nothing is not.
Anyway.


I recently decided I would write for one hour every day. That won't necessarily always be here, but that means I probably will write here more often.

So, I suppose I should say something.



I'm going to post some more photos pretty soon - 三個星期以前我跟家寧去沙灘倒了．I felt like typing in Chinese. Of course most of you can't read it, so here's what Babelfish says I said -

Three weeks before I rather went to the sand beach with the family but actually

So now you know Babelfish is crap. Let's see if Google is any better!

Three weeks ago I told Andrew Ning goes to the beach

So, now you know you should never, ever buy automatic translation software. Even if I totally screwed up, which is very possible, the two shouldn't be quite that different, right?

Here's what I think I said:

Three weeks ago Jianing and I went to the beach.

So let's assume I am right (my understanding of 到/去 is not very good, nor is my understanding of grammar in general, in any language. Surprising for someone who likes to write, isn't it?) in saying that, and move on.


Something you should know about Taiwan: many of the people here either do not, or cannot, swim. I thought this was strange at first, but it turns out there's a good reason for it: it rains really hard here. No, it's not that they're tired of the water, though I suspect some wouldn't mind sending a few fat rainclouds somewhere else - instead, Taiwan is a very mountainous and small island. This means that rivers are very short, and when they are flowing, they flow very hard. Swimming in the rivers here could be considered a suicide attempt at worst, or the culmination of a life-long habit of drinking heavily and having bad ideas at best.
"Well, what about lakes? Or the ocean?", you might be saying. As for lakes, there aren't many - as I said, this is a very mountainous (read: steep) island, and not especially large. There just aren't many lakes. They've found space for a few reservoirs, but those are off limits as they are drinking water (this has never been a problem in the US, I know, but this country has its legal quirks. Whether I meant oddities in the legal system or quirks that are legal, I leave up to you. Either would likely be appropriate.).

That leaves the sea. As I may have mentioned, the island is quite mountainous. It rises sharply from the sea, and just didn't see any reason to stop once it broke the waves, I suppose. What that means is, where the water meets the land, it does so violently. This has been a brutal conflict, as one can see from the many boulders torn from the island's side, lying unmoving in the water, but even now fighting against the breaking advance. In other words: if you get in the ocean, it means either jumping off a cliff, or scrambling over slick, sharp rocks. Once you do get into the water, the ocean will simply slap you, hard, until you have helped to break down one more rock. It is not expected you will be of much help, or that you will survive the process, but the ocean does not care; it is tireless in the pursuit of victory. It's just too bad you won't be around to see it, or, even if you were, there wouldn't be any land left on which to stand.

So the ideal beach that springs to mind, long, sandy, with nice regular waves, no horrific undertow, not too crowded, and lots of sun, undoubtedly does exist; I have seen it. It is just not a Taiwan beach.
But there is one that's not too bad, not far from here. So we went there. And it was nice. Fortunately, it was raining, or it would've been crowded. And I got to take pictures of pillboxes, which is something I always felt cheated of doing on other beaches.

So I'll post those pictures. In the next few days, likely.


I think I should write about things you should know before you come here since, in fact, a very few of you are coming here soon. And the rest of you can just get a nice idea of how this place is different. But I won't do it today; it would be an extremely long post. So for right now, I think I'm going to say goodbye. Well, write it, anyway.

Something I've had on my back

Sorry to interrupt the regular silence, but I have something to tell you! Lots of things, actually, but not so much time.

For about a month or so, I was extremely ill. Before that I'd only been kind of sick for about a month or two. You see, I had something on my back.

Literally.

A year or two ago, I noticed a lump on my back. It appeared, but then didn't get any bigger, so I figured I'd ignore it. I pointed it out to the doctor who screened me at UGA before I came here, but she wasn't concerned, either. So I mostly forgot it.

Sometime in late February or early March, I noticed it was growing again. And it hurt. And it was red, and hot. I figured that wasn't good. Also, I started feeling weak and tired. After a few day of ignoring it, during which it unexpectedly (but predictably) did not get better, I went to the doctor. He asked, among other things, if I had a fever. I said I didn't think so (both I and 家寧 had been feeling my forehead for just that reason, and it seemed normal). He had the nurse check.
It was 38.4 C, which at first did not concern me, until I saw everyone's worried expressions and did the math...that's 101 F. I'd probably been running that for a while.
They started me on antibiotics.

After those ran out, I thought I was feeling a lot better, so I didn't go back.
Stupid.

After a few days, I felt like crap. I was running a fever. I went to the doctor, he was upset that I hadn't come back right away (though he'd never mentioned it and talked like I only needed the one week). He started me on another round of antibiotics.

That was on a Wednesday or Thursday, I think. Friday of that week, I started getting tiny little red dots everywhere. I ignored it at first, because I'd gotten extremely hot during the night (I was alternately freezing cold or boiling hot for almost the entire month or two), and thought they might be caused by heat. In the back of my mind, though, I worried that they might be a reaction to the antibiotic.

And I was right! I was now allergic to that particular antibiotic. I noticed that because the next day, the red spots were big, tall, and red and angry-looking. It's good to watch out when you've got spots like that, just the same as people who can be described that way. I can't remember if I ignored them one more day or not, as I intended to go back to the school doctor when he reopened; whatever the case, 家寧 persuaded me that that was a bad idea, and that we should go to the hospital right away. Unfortunately, that meant going to the emergency room.
We waited there a long time. When the dermatologist finally saw me (a specialist! not a general doctor!), she was extremely concerned, and gave me all sorts of medicine, and of course a different antibiotic. I think I was taking five different kinds of pills every day. I felt like an old man. I probably looked like one, too, as bad a shape as I was in.

The awesome part? Going to the emergency room cost me about $15 US, since I have the national insurance here.

The spots cleared up fairly soon, and my medicine ran out. I think I ran a fever again, and went back to the school doctor. He gave me more medicine. I went back to the hospital, and the dermatologist there said we should take out this cyst, or tumor, or whatever it was, but first we'd have to get rid of the infection.

Sometime later, possibly only a week, I woke up on a Monday morning. That is normal. The unusual thing, though, was that my throat hurt obscenely, and I could barely speak. I went to class anyway.

The next day was worse. I thought I had a fever again. I went to the doctor, and he said it was 38.5 C or so. Unfortunately, 家寧 had to work then, and go to her class, and I wasn't able to speak anymore. I was able to gesture and whisper, though, so the doctor and I communicated alright. They literally scraped my tonsils. Then I got more medicine.

The next day I had an appointment at the hospital with another dermatologist. 家寧 again couldn't come; we figured I'd probably be alright, as there were several things she had to do for school/work, and it was just a regular visit to the doctor. Oh, also, I still couldn't really talk, and my fever was still high.
The doctor looked at my back, then said, "show me where the tumor is". By this point it had gone down, true, but that was not what I wanted to hear from a professional. Then she said, "would you like to take it out?" I said yes.

I just didn't know she meant right then. I'd explained about having a fever and all, but I guess she wasn't worried about it.

The doctor doing the procedure worried me, too...she also asked me to point out the tumor, and spent a good five minutes poking around my back. There was a point when she said she couldn't find it. With my help, though, she finally managed, I got a local anesthetic, and then she cut me open.

That may be one of the worst ways to have surgery done. If it was a spot I could see, it wouldn't be so bad. In fact, I'd kind of enjoy it, since I'd get to see what they were doing, and how to do it. But when you're numb, and can't see what's going on, you can just vaguely feel your skin being tugged at - there is no way to know how much is being cut, how long, how deep, or how skillfully. All you can feel is the tugging your skin. Like an animal being skinned. And then there was the smell of blood - weak at first, but ever stronger. That, together with my unease over the doctor's troubles finding the thing, made me uncharacteristically nervous.

The doctor spoke with me, though, and after a while she said there was a lot of almost necrotic tissue where the infection had been. She scraped it out. After about 15-20 minutes, she finally was able to find and remove the troublesome tissue - she said it'd mostly collapsed. I even got to look at it! It was like a chunk of fat off a hunk of meat (which I suppose it was) - wiggly and white and stringy. It was about the size of a pinkie nail, attached by a string of tissue to another about half that size. She sewed me back up, and said I should come back in two weeks to have the stitches out.

I got a taxi, limped home, and immediately fell asleep. I slept at least 3-4 hours. And when I woke up, I felt better than I had in months. And the next day, my throat didn't hurt anymore! In fact, I felt almost normal!

It was great. Of course the stitches needed to come out after only one week, not two, and 家寧 wasn't willing to cut them, so I went to the school doctor. He was surprised and initially unwilling, but he helped us in the end.

Everything turned out fine - in fact, I went last Wednesday for the follow-up where they were supposed to take my stitches out, and learned that it was, in fact, a benign tumor. Hardly, of course, to make an old joke, but much better than real cancer.

I'm not sure what I enjoy most about having that thing out, besides feeling healthy again - being able to swim, or being able to lean back (and sleep on my back). It's kind of a pain not being able to properly sit in chairs for a few months.


Anyway, I wasn't feeling very well, or very energetic, for quite a while there, and that's a lot of the reason I wasn't writing. But things are better now! So much better that I'll be busy probably all the time! (I missed quite a few classes...but in better news, in the last three days, I have gone karaoke-ing, and then to the beach and some hot springs with 家寧! So I'm busy.)

So, I hope you're all well, and I'll try to keep you better informed from now on. 再見! (zai4jian4, in case you're curious, is "see you again", which, considering neither of us can "see", may not be totally appropriate, but I don't feel like thinking up an alternative right now)



P.S. - I started another blog where I don't actually write! (much) - I just post interesting links and briefly describe them. It updates a little more often since it takes almost no effort. It's here - http://thrownupon.blogspot.com/

P.P.S. - the medical system here is really pretty good. If you have to get sick, do it here! Doctors work fairly cheap, and most things are pretty modern.

What's going on?

Right now, I'm not sure if it's really hot or really cold. That is because I am fairly sick and feverish. It's a little hard to concentrate.
Anyway, though, I posted some more photos from my trip!...two months ago. Heh. Also, Cathye, (well, and anyone else who'd like...), you can find photos of that certain someone if you look here.

I think that's it for now.

After that...

I have to apologize. It must seem like I've dropped off the face of the Earth. Some of you have been wondering what's happened to me. Heh. Well, I've been...busy, I guess. I have no idea where the time is going, but I hope I'll be able to recover some of it, sometime. (Oh, a subtle, and bad, pun!)
Though I don't know where the time is going, I do know how it's being used. I am trying to spend my every instant with 家寧. When I go home, she is not coming with me. We hope that we both can graduate quickly, and see each other again, but...that's a year apart, at the least.

I hope you'll forgive my neglect of everyone, and everything, else.

Last time I posted, I ended with the TA inviting me to coffee.


So, we went to coffee.

She led me off campus, and I thought we were going to the first shop I saw - a chain called Dante's. But we kept walking.

We ended up not far away, at a nicer place, highly decorated, especially with wine bottles, called Cafe Bastille. We drank tea and coffee, talking for hours, and by the end I was certain that she'd never want to see me again. I had been unexpectedly honest and forthright with her, and I know I'm sort of a loser. Heheh. Also, fairly early on, she mentioned that she already had a boyfriend.
She was fun to talk to, though.

At some point she mentioned a book club on campus - she asked if I'd like to join it. Of course I said yes. Though the books were in English, the discussions were in Chinese; I thought I'd go once or twice anyway just to see what it was like.


After a few hours, we parted, and I thought that though I'd probably see her in class again (she is the TA), I didn't expect the two of us would talk alone again.

And I was right.

For a few weeks.


Her name was 家寧.

How we met, and what happened then

Originally, I was going to write a monstrous post. It was going to talk about my trip to Hualian and then, it was going to talk about how I met Jianing. The two things are related. But then I realized it'd be easier for everyone, myself included, if I just wrote a little about how she and I met. I hope this might satisfy your curiosity.

So - from the beginning.

I came to NTU with no friends, and no idea what I was doing. I also came last thing at night, and caused plenty of trouble for myself and everyone trying to help me. The next day, my roommate and his volunteer were going to get him a phone and see the Taipei 101; they invited me along. My volunteer was busy, I had nothing else to do, I needed a phone, and they seemed nice, so I gladly accompanied them.

My roommate's (Halmer's) volunteer was extremely nice. We kept going places and doing things together. She's studying philosophy, but thinking about switching to business; she's also very intelligent and had good English. There was plenty to like about her.
After we'd gone a few places, just she and I, I decided I'd ask if she'd like to go on a date.

By e-mail.

She said no.

Since I am not one to give up, I asked her again, and said one date's all I was asking for; if it didn't go well, we could just forget it. She said, "let's be friends." I said date or nothing. She chose nothing. Heheh.

As you can imagine, I was slightly bummed. I hadn't been hanging around anyone else very much, so I didn't really have any other friends at the time. And it was my birthday.

I was kind of mopey. I didn't go out much. I was, sadly, acting like a loser. And, because I was feeling down, I thought maybe I wouldn't even sign up for any other classes, just stick to Chinese. Or more like, I hardly wanted to leave my room to go to the other classes.

Of all things, though, there was a class on Shakespeare. Taught in English. That intrigued me, so I decided I'd go.

But nothing is ever easy. The online course selector thing doesn't really tell where your classes are, except in Chinese, and then not always. So I didn't know where the class was. I wandered through several buildings, and was starting to think I wouldn't find it at all when suddenly, someone smacked me in the back and started yelling.

It was Toby. Toby is German. He was also my classmate in Chinese. He is extremely, extremely boisterous. Many people do not particularly like him. They have their reasons - for example, after being here a grand total of one month, he got in an argument with the entire school newspaper staff, because he knew better than them what relationships were like in Taiwan. Then he wrote an article about it in their paper. No one was convinced.
But at that time, I was glad to see him, because he was looking for the same class! So we wandered around together.

But it didn't help. Neither of us could find it.

And just when we were thinking of leaving, he bumped into a girl. She was looking for the same class! Fortunately, she spoke Chinese, and was able to ask where it was. The three of us were in the wrong building, it turns out.
We made our way to the right classroom, and were only about an hour late. (That girl only came that one time - she went back to America or something after that - she was just there to see a friend).


Since I was in Taiwan, and this was a class on Shakespeare, in English, I expected no one would show up.
Roughly 80 people crammed into one room proved me wrong. In fact, the Professor said there was no more room in the class for any students (the limit was 30, I think), but also said that if we would come back the next week, a few slots might possibly be open from students dropping.

The next week, I almost considered not going back. But I did. And it was indeed emptier, though not by much.

Toby sat in the front row, right next to the TA. Toby is a shameless flirt. In fact, Toby is just shameless. It is impossible to embarrass, fluster, or discourage him in any way. He is very lively, not very perceptive, does not pay attention to anything, nor is he ever serious, except when someone expresses doubt in his opinions.
I thought to myself, "no! Please, please, sit anywhere but there - sit next to anyone else!" I wasn't entirely clear why I thought that at the time, though mostly it was because I didn't want anyone getting a terrible first impression of foreigners through him. I was embarrassed, because of him, to be a foreigner.

The TA began ignoring him after just a few minutes; he didn't shut up during class, which evidently annoyed her. My opinion of the girl went up immensely. He tried a few more times to chat her up, but she seemed happy to politely blow him off.

After class, I came to the front to have the professor sign my registration sheet - I had to register manually, since I couldn't do it online, and because it was already full. He was nice enough to let me into the class. Right after that, the TA introduced herself, and asked a few questions about me. I told her all the usual stuff, then explained I was taking a Shakespeare course in Taiwan basically because I was bored and liked Shakespeare. I think I also mentioned that I liked writing and reading. We talked a little more, then she suddenly asked if I'd like to meet for coffee.

I immediately agreed.

Trip to hualien, part 2

So, this didn't come within "the week". It came not within a week, either. But it was close.

As I was about to say, and then got sidetracked for better than a week, I planned to leave for Hualien on that Thursday morning.

Wednesday night, I was goofing around. I had not done laundry or packed. This is typical. While I was wasting time, 家寧 called (Jianing, in case you've forgotten the characters).

We talk every night, so that wasn't surprising. What was a bit unexpected, though, is that she said on Thursday that her sister was going "mountain-climbing". Actually, that wasn't surprising, either. Nor was the fact that she was going with her ex-boyfriend. Nor the fact that her gay roommate and his boyfriend were coming as well.... I should probably tell you, 家寧's sister, Jessy, broke up with her boyfriend (or did he break up with her? I think so, but it's very unclear) because of this gay roommate. Her boyfriend believed, and still does, apparently, that this gay guy is not gay at all, and so he broke up with Jessy. They've not been dating for a while, but they still hang out, and he still stops by their house. So Jessy thought maybe if her ex-boyfriend saw her roommate with his boyfriend then maybe her ex would figure things out.
家寧 and I believe he's just playing dumb as some sort of control game. Or something.
Enough of other people's business, though.
What was surprising was that, though 家寧 herself had helped me buy tickets and pick a time to go, she was now asking if I'd like to go mountain climbing with her and this group, instead.
Of course I said yes.

We met early the next morning; early enough to go to the train station and change my ticket. After that, we made our way to the park, and got there around 9 or so. The gay guy and his boyfriend didn't show up. I forget why. So it was 家寧, myself, Jessy, and her ex.
Oh, and like I just said, we met at a park. Not a mountain. We did not go mountain climbing.
There was a good-sized hill, though, next to this park, and we did walk up that. It was steep, and it was pretty. And at the top, there were old people.

Something I need to explain about Taiwan: the old people here have often led difficult lives, have nothing much to do, and nowhere really to go, and I think it's made them all a bit nuts.
So there're a bunch of old people in odd places, trying to stay busy. Generally, they do Taichi (太極拳), except most of them don't appear to know Taichi. They haphazardly flap their limbs and/or hop. It's almost funny, except for the serious and precise manner in which they carry out their 'exercise'. They've perfected the "old people stare", which they level at any who dare watch, as if to say, "I am old. I have earned the right to do whatever the hell I want. You will not only respect that, you will admire it. Then you will thank me. Maybe, if you are able to stop being worthless for more than a few minutes, you might live as long as me and also have this right. But I will be dead long, long, long before that happens, and honestly, you can't do shit to me after I'm dead." And they will glower at you, pointedly, for so long as you are there, while never missing one of their inexplicably irregular but precise flapping motions.

The top of the hill was covered by a small congregation of old people doing the old people thing. They sometimes enjoy seeing young couples but more often do not. And the old men especially dislike seeing a young couple consisting of one foreign guy and anyone/anything else. We attracted some attention.

The day was warm, the air was clear, the lake was cool and still, and the wind blew gently.

But nothing much happened. We all sat separately at the top for an hour or two, talked, and then made our way down. The ex didn't seem to want anything to do with anyone besides Jessy. We originally were going to eat lunch together, but then this guy decided he wouldn't come with us. And Jessy said she had to meet with the gay guy's mother (she used to think Jessy was going to be her future daughter-in-law - they got close over time, and still are on good terms). It wasn't until later that I learned the ex didn't like "pda"s (public displays of affection, if you didn't recently attend high school in America). We had shown our extreme passions by - I hope I will not offend my more sensitive readers - holding hands. He found that inappropriate.

Anyway, 家寧 said she knew of this restaurant nearby that was good, so we went, and indeed it was. It had Thai food. While we were there, she broke out the Valentine's chocolate I'd bought for her, and she insisted that we had to share it, because she couldn't afford to eat it all herself. I did my best to persuade her otherwise, but I lost. It looked like good chocolate, so losing was a winning proposition.
And it was.

The day was shaping up to be a pretty good one.

Afterwards, 家寧 said there was an orange grove nearby, where we could pick as many oranges as we liked and eat them on the spot. If you want to bring any home, though, you have to pay. That sounded nice, and it was a pleasant walk through a rural area. Through - and I have been waiting to use this word for years - a dell, alongside a small, swift stream.

A half hour or more of extreme leisure went by. And then, much to everyone's shock, not ten feet in front of us, coming down the path, were her parents.

Back, but not home

It's been a while, hasn't it? I should write about myself, and what I'm doing. There are a lot of things I could cover, but some are complicated, and will take time.

Interesting things have happened. For example, I took a trip, alone, last weekend, in which I decided I knew how to ride a scooter and then proved myself right. I was glad of that. Dying on a scooter would be embarrassing.
I've got pictures of that I'll upload later. There were other trips, and more interesting ones, before, but I was alone on this one, and must write it down soon, or forever forget some details.

Alright - to make a long story short - I am dating 家寧. That's awesome, because she's awesome. However, for other reasons that also take more explanation, I was not able to spend this last weekend with her. She had family obligations. So, I was thinking of taking a trip anyway, and with her convincing, I actually managed to go.


At first, I was thinking of trying out paragliding. Flight is appealing, especially in a country where it's cheap to learn. However, according to the site Wings Taiwan, this is not an especially good place to learn. Most trainers are not qualified, and most sites are somewhat...unsuitable. Ordinarily one learns to paraglide by taking little hops down pleasant, grassy, rolling hills, gliding further and further each time, until one is comfortable and experienced. In Taiwan, someone with a healthy disrespect for life, safety, and more or less everything else but money, will 'train' you...and in the most suitable location, that means being shoved down a hill into some trees. In the less suitable ones, it means being shoved down a hill into some trees, powerlines, and possibly a farmer's explosive booby-trap. Heh.
I e-mailed the guy who runs the site. He recommended Bali for learning paragliding. Unfortunately, Bali is some distance away, and only marginally cheaper than learning back in America. I really do want to see Bali, and I really do want to learn this. However, I also really do want to retain the option of eating for the next few months, something I would have to forgo if I were to take such a trip. Yup.

Next, my idea for a trip was to go to Kending (墾丁). It's the tropical area of Taiwan, and it's got lots of nice beaches, surfing, snorkeling, scuba diving, national parks, etc. However, I was informed that Chinese New Year is about the busiest time one could go there. So I figured I'd do it later.

So I decided on Hualien (花蓮). Everyone says the scenery is pretty. It's got hot springs nearby. And there aren't many people. So that was that. I went with 家寧 on Wednesday morning to get my ticket, and planned to leave on the 10:00 train Thursday morning. Notice I said planned. (That's called foreshadowing, by us fancy, educated folks.) I would stay until Sunday or Monday, as I didn't have much to do in the immediate future.

But the rest will have to wait! There will be pictures with that. It will come soon. And I don't mean soon in God's time, geological time, or my time - I mean, like, within the week. Heh...see you then!

more bumps

I got up from my chair. My head hurt, of course. My stomach was empty, but all I could find was a bag of oatmeal. It's all there was. I should've known, but couldn't remember, why it was just the bag. There was no label. There were also no ants, so I was happy enough. I couldn't remember if it was instant or not, so I ate it dry.

I vaguely remembered being rejected, again. I'm getting good at that. Vaguely remembering. I don't need to practice getting rejected: I seem to have an innate skill.

Ah, paper's the same as always. Bad news from around the world. I'm all for globalization, but...sometimes it makes me feel like God. Aware of all the bad things all at once. It must've been nice before. Back then, a million people could die, but you'd never know. Life was better. Except if you were dead. And lots of people were.

Hmm. Another heartrending piece about fatherless families and the lost potential of young soldiers. Neighbors killing neighbors. The blind killing the weak. Shame.

I passed by the phone, and noticed there was a message on it. No new messages, but more messages than I had before....
Oh yeah! Last night.

"Dr. Livingstone, I presume? Haha. An harmless joke for a very lost man." The guy's accent was a little strange - I couldn't tell where he was from, though it sounded a bit foreign.
"If you don't mind, I will call you Dr. Livingstone. You are a doctor of sorts, and all doctors are explorers - of knowledge, anyway." He spoke very evenly, clearly, and moderately. His was a very professional voice - smooth and polished, like an upscale sportscar. I wondered if it was possible to take it for a joyride. When he was a broken-hinge-voiced teen, that's probably what it sounded like. Joyridden.

"But that's not why I'm calling. You have a very interesting idea, even if your choice of venue was a bit unusual. We request that you find time to meet us; if you consent, and we think you have reason to do so, please come to the main library's parking garage at 2 tomorrow afternoon. You will be compensated, as is usual. If you are unable to meet tomorrow, a meeting can still be arranged - though the process will need to start again. This number will remain active until 5 o'clock tomorrow. Good day, Doctor."

That was one of the stranger messages I'd ever received.

Bumps in the road

I have to admit I'm excited about this meeting. That's unusual, of course. Usually you just practice saying yes, though sometimes to beat boredom I try saying yes in new and equally boring ways. Or I stay quiet. Or at worst stay awake; saying no is just not a good idea. Last time I said no was the last time I had a decent job. This, though, will be no office meeting. It's better. I think.
It's - well, a little frightening, too. I'm not sure quite what they want from me. Or exactly who 'they' are.

It started serendipitously, as you'd have to expect. I haven't ever done this sort of thing before. I don't know anyone who has - well, that I know of. I'm starting to get suspicious now. After all, this had to start somehow. Someone I've met must be involved already.

I was at a party. Nothing special. Just a party. The kind that has a fair number of people, and an unfair amount of alcohol. The kind where not everyone can drink to their heart's content (or liver's discomfort, if you prefer). It was upscale, and I ordinarily wouldn't have been there for that fact alone, but I've reconnected with a few old friends recently. And the women at these things tend to be a lot smarter, or at least better educated. Sure, in the long run they might be quarrelsome, but they do know how to talk. And I like talking. Which was, after probably a few too many drinks, what I was doing. Loudly.

Of course it was politics. No one wants to talk about anything else anymore. Well, I guess there's always music, too, but it's just as bad. I like not insulting people, so I don't have any particular politics of my own; just whatever keeps the world running well enough. I like to call it vehicular politics. You don't need to change the oil every 1,000 miles, or use special blends, or special gas, or check out every little ding and squeak and squeal. Nah - so long as it keeps running well enough, that's good. Same with the world. It'd be better, maybe, if we did all those other fancy things that could be done, but no one's serious about doing them. The few who are are crazy. Things usually work out. And - I always have to smirk a little when I say this - it gets us where we're going anyway, right?
In fact, it gets us where we're going faster if it's not working right. Heheh.

So I was talking about my vehicular politics. I was resolving some little political trifle or other, probably the economy, when some wit suddenly turned to me and said, "Hinayana or Mahayana?" I scowled at him - I always scowl by default when I'm confused, fortunately people usually take it as displeasure - but then I said it'd have to be Mahayana, since it gets us all where we're going well enough, and it must therefore be quite large. Then I added, "and isn't 'lesser-vehicle' insulting to non-Mahanayas?" Spineless, PC bastard that he was, that shut him up, and I'm glad, because I don't really know much more than that. Funny how political correctness defines what people know and say. But it has its uses. Like shutting that guy up.

Anyway, someone else then added, "while we're on the subject of vehicles, how about oil? And Iraq? How shall we navigate that mess without getting our car bombed?" She smiled hugely, like her teeth were thinking of leaving her body to make their own republic (probably they'd call it Teethistan), as though she thought that was a very clever thing to say. Another added, "or sick?" He looked around, disappointed and a little sheepish, "you know, carsick?"

Early in the evening I'd realized that I stopped talking to these high-school 'friends' for a reason. But I figured now that I was here, I might as well try to impress people. For that question, however, I think I may have an answer. I didn't flounder like the asker was probably expecting. I hate floundering. And flounders. I hate that word. Bottom-dwelling, lopsided fish. It's not even symmetrical.
Anyway, I have a solution, and I think it'll work. It's partly based on the Malay Emergency, and actions of the British Army in putting that down, and partly also on a...well, somewhat anachronistic view of the world and human rights. Plus a big healthy dose of realism. Unlike some people, I believe the job of soldiers is to shoot people, not stand in the dirt waiting to get shot. They exist solely to make other people do things they really don't want to do. I doubt extra guys with guns standing in the dirt for a couple weeks, trying to act polite and respectful of local traditions and customs, will be stopping any wars anytime soon. This problem was at least fifty years in the making, if not centuries. Everything so far has failed, so I say it's time for something new.

I won't bore you with details yet, but I told them all about that. I got a bit carried away: I was describing some of the worse things I'd learned from reading. I tried to keep it light, but that comes across as gruesome sometimes when you're talking about dark issues - I was telling them how many thousands or millions I expected to die, and from what. I guess just for shock value I told 'em some stuff I'd read in the newspapers, you know, some of those heart-rending stories journalists do. If I was talking to soldiers, or other realistic people, it probably would've been fine, but these were party people and intellectuals. Neither had ever seen anything real. Even as inebriated as I was, I could see they were uncomfortable with me. They'd rather not think too hard about what it takes to make a decent world.

I'm pretty sure it's been said before, and better, but partiers get away by drinking. The ones who have opinions don't get them on their own. They borrow thoughts from the angry musician of the moment. Whichever furiously delusional middle-class punk is hot at the moment, that's the party people's political voice. Intellectuals aren't much better. They act like they do care, but they get away by getting close - through a pinhole. Imagine a room full of people, and they're all holding newspapers. Each person's newspaper has one tiny hole in the fold, and these people spend all their time looking through it. They can't see much of anything; most of the time they only see empty space, or someone's shoe, or a patch of carpet - they have to ask someone else where to look, and even then they hardly see anything, but they study that patch of view like it was God's own face, and they tell the rest of us what the world is like. It's like Alice through the Pinhole, the things they tell us. They're all afraid of the world. That's why I'm sure that's been said before - people never change.

So, isolated and awkwardly alone, I decided to make my exit. Granted, several of the people who'd heard me seemed interested in what I had to say, but once their friends and spouses started looking edgy, they backed away, too. I heard one woman, one of my old high school acquaintances, actually, and back then always very open-minded, muttering something about treason. "Well," I thought to that, "free thought might be dead. Better get some free food."

I scored a few mouthfuls of those pretzels and m&ms that inevitably fall into every living-room couch at every party, some diced fruits, an especially salty little meat-cracker thing, and a couple oranges. I was glad I wouldn't need to buy dinner. Money has been a little tight lately.

Before I left, I noticed the wine bottle, and the punch bowl. I'd really been expecting things to go better than they did. I thought people cared about this stuff. Soldiers getting blown up. New wives and little babies, whose man is never coming back. All the people over there, the way they suffer. Killed just for being born in the wrong place, to the wrong family. So I see these protesters and whoever, and they go and have marches and rallies and scream a lot, but give 'em a solution, and they act like they'd rather not know you. I had a few more drinks. And maybe a few more after that. My idea really was good. I wish they'd at least think about it.

It took a while to get home. I might have been driving drunk. The trip home was long and hazy, and I didn't get there until very late. And when I went inside, there was a message on my machine. I wondered why they hadn't just called my cell. Maybe it was the people from the party. Maybe they didn't actually want to talk to me, but just pretend to care by leaving a message. I was tired. So I hit play, sat down, and ...fell asleep.

O?

"I can't make it today." I wondered if he'd believe me. My voice was shaking.
"Oh. Alright then, guess I'll see you later." I'm sure he didn't really believe that. He didn't seem convinced we'd meet again. We hadn't for a while.

I can't make it today, because...I have to pet the cat.
No! It's not an excuse, or I would have said it! I would say that to someone I never wanted to see again, and...I do care about my friends. But they have to understand - priorities are priorities. If they were in my shoes, I'd want them to do the same. But they aren't, and they couldn't. Anyone could do what I'm doing, but no one else can do it right.

This started a few weeks ago. I noticed, on my daily walk, that the air didn't seem right. It seemed...fuzzy, almost. And lots of people were sick. Everything buzzed, and my ears never had any rest. I couldn't sleep. I think there was an earthquake, too. But what could I do? That's the way of the world.

I've been going to these classes, you know, to improve myself. To gain 'higher understanding' and 'self-enlightenment' and good health and all that. It seems like a good idea; I know this one guy, Barry, and he lost a lot of weight, got promoted, things like that; it's really helped him out. So I thought I'd do the same, except I'm not going where he's going - I don't want to look like a follower. No! "We all must act like leaders, and then we will be leaders!" I learned that in class.

So my teacher was talking about the AUM yesterday. He says it's this sound that the universe and everything is made out of. It's a vibration! And anyone can make it. It's pretty neat, I guess. We practiced for a while.

I didn't realize until later, but, after we chanted, the world seemed less fuzzy. It wasn't shaking so much.
Actually I didn't notice until I got home. My cat was sitting on my favorite chair again, since it is his favorite too. I don't like to make him move, so I pet him until he gets so happy he has to get up. It's pretty clever. He always falls for it. Anyway, while I was petting him, he started purring like always.
But it was the AUM! I know it.
Yes, while I was petting him, the world became peaceful, and the fuzziness was almost gone. Oh great hairy vibration-machine!
So I sat in my chair, petting my cat all evening. I was creating world peace!

In the nighttime, no one petted the cat, so he wasn't purring when I woke up. That's pretty normal, except the shaking had gotten much worse, and that wasn't normal. I was afraid the roof would fall on me. I could hardly get out of bed. Someone wasn't doing their job! I decided then it was because not enough people were saying AUM.
Luckily for me, my cat always jumps onto my bed when I wake up. He's happy to see me, and so I always pet him. I did the same thing as always, and the shaking stopped!

That's when I realized that cats make the AUM when they purr. I'm pretty sure it's just because of them that the world doesn't shake itself apart, because I know people are pretty lazy and they don't say it much.
I'm kind of worried. I think if I stop petting my cat, things are going to get bad.

I tried calling my best friend, 'cause he has a cat, and I tried telling him to pet it, but he was at work. He said it was pretty strange I wanted him to do that.

Actually, I'm getting really worried. I didn't say it before, but my cat seems bored. I think he doesn't want to purr anymore. He keeps wiggling.
Oh no! His tail is twitching! And he isn't purring at all! Things are getting fuzzy again...

"Ow! Stupid cat! You were saving the universe! Why did you have to claw me?" I'm gonna run after it. I have to catch it. It's my cat, and he's going to have to save the world whether he likes it or not. I can't believe how selfish cats are.

"Hey! Come back!" It got outside. I caught it, but it scratched me a lot. I don't think that's very fair. I dropped it cause it tore my shirt up pretty good, and now I'm bleeding a little. It hurts. It's hard to chase cats when everything is shaky.

My yard is empty. My street is empty. The whole neighborhood is empty. My cat is gone. I'm worried that bad things are going to happen - really bad things. I can hear buzzing again.
- wait. I think I see....
Yes! It's a cat! Not mine, but it'll do!

Just have to sneak up on it...it's a nice kitty...
"Haah! Gotcha!" Ow! OW! Crap. I forgot they have claws, again.
Alright, it didn't run too far.

It got away again.

"Haah! Gotcha!" Alright, it's really angry, but I got its legs this time. I'll just pet it until it starts purring, and everything will be right again. I think I felt an earthquake.

This isn't working. Ok, I think I know where to pet it that'll make it happy...

My neighbor? Wait, with a -
"Get the hell off my lawn! I don't want to know what you're doing with my cat." He cocks his shotgun. "But you're done now. You're gonna leave it alone. Or else."

"Oh crap oh sorry sir i'm just trying to save the world since you have to pet cats and the vibrations keep everything good and it wouldn't purr and my -"
"NOW! LEAVE!" He swings the barrel my direction.

I'm laying on the lawn. I think I fell. The cat is gone. My neighbor is purple, almost.
I think the world is shaking apart. I just can't stand up. Well, my legs are shaking pretty bad, too.

"It's not what it looks like! I was just trying to save the world!"
My neighbor only shakes his head. "That's what they said in the war, too."