Satan's Buffet of Nankan

This place is new. James bought some pig feet there. He said they were good. Pig feet are a little greasy for me.

Six is considered an auspicious number here, and it has a pleasant sounding name in Chinese - "liu." Now and then I'll see business ads with lots of sixes. Awhile back I saw a truck with a "Call This Number to Order McDonalds" ad and the number was all sixes. It made me laugh because that would never fly in the States.

In other news, I was light on posts this week because I was spending all my time finishing a treatment for the producer we've been talking to. We met her and one of her directors in a McDonalds Tuesday night. It seemed like there was lots of nodding and positive energy, so we have our hopes up...

But this is the first time they've seen anything in writing from us, so we have our fingers crossed.

I rewarded myself for all that work by watching three movies today. Yeah, that's right: Witness, followed by Panic Room, and then Drag Me to Hell at the theater. I also squeezed in a nap and a run to Pizza Hut for a large supreme.

Before you chastise me for not getting outside to enjoy a summer Sunday, let me tell you: I tried that last weekend:

I only look shorter because they're standing on the sidewalk and I'm not.

James' family is in town. We drove North to visit Dharma Drum Mountain, a big modern Zen Buddhist temple. There was a shuttle from the parking lot, but James' uncle thought we should walk.

Despite drinking water, I got a nasty headache. It's just too hot these days.

In the photo you can see my umbrella - I take one everywhere now to keep the sun off. You Americans might think I've turned into a crazy old Asian lady - but it's YOU who are crazy!

Most women carry umbrellas here for the sun. It helps with the heat, and it keeps me from getting sunburned without slathering greasy sunscreen all over. I may even keep it up when I return!

As a kid, I resented my mom insisting I wear a t-shirt when I went swimming. I've since accepted the reality of my complexion, and I plan on not looking crispy when I hit 35 thank-you-very-much.

Aside from the heat - the temple was beautiful:

From Zen Temple and North Coast Beach

We couldn't take pictures inside

The monk who started this temple lived by himself praying/meditating for SIX YEARS! I don't think I could do six days, but James' uncle said six years isn't that long compared to others.

We ate lunch inside. There were separate dining tables for men and women. And since it's a Buddhist temple, there wasn't any meat - just rice, tofu and veggies, plus some fat mango slices. Also no ginger or garlic: monks and nuns can't eat anything too spicy.

James' uncle said when monks take their vows six holes are burned in their heads with a stick of incense. Now when I see monks, I look for scars. Sure enough, they're there.

After the temple we went to a beach. But it was really crowded and we could only swim within a small, shallow area - there was a boundary rope and the lifeguards would blow their whistles if anyone swam beyond it.

There were so many people, the place couldn't help but be dirty. There was lots of floaty plastic trash. Eeeew.

From Zen Temple and North Coast Beach

I hear there are nice beaches here, you just have to know where they are. That's all the news here. Now perhaps I shall go watch some TV to top off my day of lethargy.

Teacher Lee, Fountain of Knowledge

Really Teacher Lee should get her own blog, because she just has so much wisdom to impart.

Today one of the Mongolians came in with a gargantuan fake diamond earring. The piercing wasn't new, just none of us noticed before because he'd never worn anything quite so noticeable.

E! This is bu hao (bad)! Do not do this to your body, she warned his cousin.

Teacher Lee explained that it's very bad luck to pierce one's ears, especially for men. Because unnecessary body holes make you ... incomplete?

Then she told a story about her Christian friend who did not believe in fortunetellers. However, the Christian accompanied another friend to a fortuneteller at the friend's request. When they arrive, the fortuneteller told the Christian (even though it wasn't her reading) she was in for it because her ears were pierced.

The Christian wound up in a mental institution.

But, I countered, the majority of American women have pierced ears, and most of them aren't crazy.

"Ah, that is because they don't have bad luck."

...

After Teacher Lee's class Teacher Shen arrived and I noticed her pierced ears. I told her she must have bad luck, and then related Teacher Lee's position.

"No! That is why I have four holes!" Teacher Shen countered. She was only wearing one pair of earring, but she took one out and stuck it in the other ear to prove the number of holes in her ears.

She then explained that when she was young she and a friend pierced their ears. Then she went home and her mom noticed the earrings. "Do you want to be a girl in your next life?" Mom asked. "NO!" Teacher Shen said. "I want to be a boy!"

Somehow the logic followed that she then had to go get another piercing.

The Wisdom of Teacher Lee

I'm taking 15 hours of Chinese class a week. Teacher Lee is one of my three teachers. Here are some of the more interesting morsels Teacher Lee has imparted.

1. Drinking anything cold is bad. Ever. It just shouldn't be done.

2. It's also bad to eat too much lychee, because lychee is a "hot" food, and if you eat too many you'll get a bloody nose.

3. Eating watermelon after 3 p.m. - also a bad idea.

4. If you be sure to be asleep between 10 p.m. and 2 a.m. every night - then you'll only need four hours of sleep. Teacher Lee only sleeps 5 on average.

5. That way you can get up very early and walk around Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial Hall hitting yourself in the arms, legs and torso. This prevents cancer and other maladies.

6. Night clubs - places where girls take off their clothes.

7. Karaoke joints - places where people smoke, drink, and throw up.

8. Chronic marijuana smokers will develop Parkinson's-like symptoms.

9. There are a lot of gay men in Beijing. But it's not their fault: Because of the one-child policy, these men grew up pampered princes, and this in turn made them gay.

If I didn't know anything about Chinese culture, I would think Teacher Lee was batshit. Since I do know a little something, I just think she's very traditional - and a tad eccentric.

And I can't dismiss all her Chinese mumbo jumbo: Today she read my palm and told me that while my health was fine my "QI" was "BU GOU!" I write in capitals because she spoke in capitals - it felt like a scolding. That is, my qi is not enough. I don't have enough energy, and if I exercised more, it would be a very good thing, she said.

She also pointed to a bluish spot below my thumb and said I have bad lungs: I had asthma as a kid, I've had pneumonia a few times, and whenever I get a cold I have to fight it with an inhaler so it doesn't become a bronchial infection. So yeah, my lungs are kind of lame.

Futher, I haven't been exercising, and recently I've been really tired. The gym in our building is hot, small and filled with outdated equipment and 1980's-style fitness posters. Plus it's only open select hours. And there isn't an athletic club in Nankan.

I've been mulling the lack of energy/lack of exercise correlation for some time. It's time I get it together and re-start a real gym schedule.

And for that realization, I have to thank Teacher Lee.

Eat Happy Wine

Chinese Anecdote of the Day:

Today we learned "chi xi jiu," or, "eat happy wine" is a Chinese idiom for wedding. So you say, "I'm going to go eat happy wine." And everyone knows you're going to a wedding.

Speaking of weddings, my classmate from South Africa got married Tuesday. And my Australian classmate leaves Monday for her wedding/honeymoon in Bali. The life of an ex-pat is sooooo roooomantic.

And yesterday, during a break from Chinese class, we all peered out the third-story window to watch men in dress shirts strapping a bamboo tree to the top of a sedan, another Chinese wedding tradition.

My teacher explained the symbolic significance of tying a bamboo tree to the roof of one's car, but I forgot it. I think it had to do with eternity.

Big Mistake

All my students - even the young ones - come equipped with white out, whiteout tape, chunky erasers, and all matter of blot-out contraptions. This irritates me because the kids have a way of toying with them and/or wasting time meticuously correcting the tiniest errors. Nonetheless, they all have them. And today I found out why come:

It's the first week back to regular curriculum after the Chinese New Year holiday. I decided to have a practice quiz for my 7-year-olds to gauge what they remembered from three weeks ago.

"Quiz time, students! Get out a piece of paper and a pencil or pen."

"But Miss Leslie IS BROKEN!"

Jane raises her whiteout dispenser to my face.

"It's okay. You don't need it."

"No! I need! I go downstairs and get new -

"No. You don't need it. It's ok. Sit down."

Jane looks distressed.

"Jane, look - just cross something out if you make a mistake and start over." I demonstrate this on her paper.

Gregory, Jane's classmate, is spurred to action.

"I give you!" He heroically thrusts his whiteout contraption in her direction.

"No, Gregory put that down. It's okay. We don't need to use that today. Jane can just cross out her mistakes and so can you."

Tears are brimming in Jane's eyes.

"Miss Leslie, if I ... (she makes a cross-out motion on her paper) ... my mom hit me."

For clarity, she demonstrates slapping her own back.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. This is just practice."

"You say is quiz!"

"It's a practice quiz!"

"But my mom..."

"We won't tell your mom! It's okay! Don't worry!"

She wiped her eyes. Telling Jane that this practice quiz was going to stay between the two of us, and not involve mom, finally calmed her down.

If I had to pick a theme song for the school-aged children of Taiwan, it would be Under Pressure by Queen.

Jane will probably have gray hairs before she hits puberty.

Fun with Fat Kids

In America, making fun of a fat person is not okay (or not to their face, at least). Americans don't make fun of fat kids because we're afraid we'll hurt their feelings.

But here, kidding the fat kid (or fat adult) is seen as a good time for young and old alike. It's not done in meanness, Chinese people just think fat is hilarious. Every fat kid in each of my six classes has been called out at one time or another for his paunch.

And when I say fat kid, I don't mean neckless and obese like you see some (too many) unfortunate children in the U.S. My fat kids are all just stout little boys who will probably become strapping young men once they're through the puberty business. They're boys who probably wouldn't reach the bar for fat kid in America. But that doesn't stop their peers and their teachers from laughing at them.

"Aaron is so big. He like to eat too much," cackled a Chinese teacher at my pre-school. She puffed out her cheeks to demonstrate. She was standing over Aaron at the table where the students were having lunch as she showed me.

"BORIS IS VERY FAT! WILSON VERY FAT!" a 15-year-old girl in one cram school class announced, giggling, in class one day.

"Hee hee, Gregory is so fat." Judy said to me this week.
Judy is a very sweet 10-year-old. Gregory is 7. Judy mothers the younger students at the school, I've never seen her do anything mean to anyone.
Judy rubbed Gregory's tummy and said something in Chinese.
What did you say? I asked.
"I told him he cannot have baby because he is not girl."

What surprises me as much as the jokes are the fat kids' reactions. I've never seen anyone upset. Mostly they smile, some pat their tummys, some look pleased to be noticed for something. It's not a big deal. Still, I am always at a loss for what to do. My American ways are too ingrained for me to laugh along. A couple times I've said, "nu-uh! He is not fat!" because, for serious, the kid really isn't fat, he just isn't skinny either. Or I say, "Hey be nice!" for lack of better words.

But I don't think that's the right approach: If the kid doesn't think so already, I don't want to be the one to make him feel like there's something wrong with his size.

Now mostly I half smile and lead off with, "Okay! As I was saying about gerunds..."

There is an upside to all this: Like many women who look at Vogue or InStyle from time to time, I operate under the sneaky suspicion that, despite my healthy B.M.I., I am really a lard ass who is no less than 20 pounds overweight.

I've been in Taiwan four months and no one has called me fat. This is the greatest reassurance I have ever received that I'm not actually overweight. The fact that no one has giggled while marveling at my stomach does more for me than all the countless times my mom has scoffed, rolled her eyes, and walked away as I whimper in front of a mirror. Thanks, Taiwan.

Mystery Solved

I knew much of my steely Alaskan indifference to cold weather wore off after four years in Los Angeles, but these last few weeks my wee Taiwanese students - most of whom have never left the subtropics - had me feeling like a complete foul-weather pansy.

"Teacher, I so hot!" They said frantically fanning their faces.

"Alright, you can turn the air conditioner on."

I waved the complaining student of the day toward the AC, and he or she proceeded to crank it on full blast.

It's about 16 degrees Celsius (60 F) outside. So, no, it's not Fairbanks in February - but it's not balmy either. Plus, the humidity makes it feel colder.

Once the AC is whirring, my classroom quickly reminds me of a Costco-style walk-in refrigerator. The only problem is I can't grab my crate of apples and run, I have to endure the rest of the hour.

I try to stay strong for the students, but often I finish my lesson plan with both hands tucked up my sleeves.

Do I have poor circulation? Am I being the world's biggest baby? What sort of strange, ultra-hot-blooded creatures are seated before me? I wondered.

But today I found my answer. It turned out to be a case of the layers.

I walked over to one of my 7-year-old students, Alan, who was wearing a bulky brown sweater with a polo shirt underneath. Once standing beside him, I noticed something poking out beneath the polo shirt.

"Wait a minute...." I asked. "How many layers do you have on?"

Without waiting for his consent, I hooked a finger around his collar and began counting. The kid was wearing four shirts. Gregory, seated beside him, was wearing three.

James surveyed his class on Friday. Two students had on three layers, and one had on six. Only one of his students was wearing just one shirt.

In short, the Chinese love to bundle. James underwent serious bundling, thanks to his grandma, in Cambodia. On the train in the morning, I see women wearing ankle-length coats that look like what my mom used to wear to work in the dead of Alaskan winter.

I'm just glad it's not me who's going all soft on cold weather. Now I know to blame the parents. :)

Crackpot Scheme #3,456,345 to get James a Job

James has another job interview tomorrow. We're hoping it will go well, but we've also decided hope is no longer enough. Elaborate ruses and deception are now in order.

The idea came to me a week ago.

"You should just tell your next interviewer you're Mexican." I suggested.

Most of James' interviewers have made it clear they don't want an Asian person as their foreign English teacher. It's easier to get a foreign teacher job here as a white-looking person who isn't a native English speaker than it is for an Asian-looking person who is a native English speaker. Thus, I figure the best thing James can do is convince everyone he isn't Asian.

James doesn't look Mexican at all. But there aren't very many Mexicans here, so maybe they'll buy it, I thought.

"Naw, I should say I'm Native Alaskan."

"OOOH GOOD IDEA!"

James doesn't look Native either, but it's marginally less of a stretch than Latino. Plus, Alaska is listed as his birthplace on his passport. So plausible enough, no?

Unfortunately Tienshing, his very Chinese middle name, is also printed on his passport.

"Just say it's your Native Alaskan name. Make up an alternate pronunciation. AND DON'T admit you speak Chinese."

James plans on applying all of the above tomorrow. Wish him luck, and I'll let you know if it works or not.

Preschool Hell

I was feeling a little low when I woke up today: It's Christmas season and I'm far away from home, and I've been sick for a week. I miss family and friends, American-style supermarkets and wide open spaces - to quote the Dixie Chicks.

Even stinky old Los Angeles has more open space than Taipei. This morning as I picked my way through an alley mined with dog shit, I thought about how I would be thrilled just to enjoy the openness of a Target parking lot for a couple minutes. Public green space is seriously scarce here. In these parts the "backyard" is, truly, a foreign concept.

I arrived at school thinking my dollface nubbins would pick up my spirits. As I prepared my classroom, I listened to them practice their Christmas play upstairs. They've been practicing every morning for about a month. I could hear them saying their lines interspersed with teachers' voices yowling "STAND PROPERLY" and "DON'T MOVE!" Pretty much an average morning.

Then my boss came downstairs.

"Ok Teacher Leslie, come along. We go to play. Bye bye!" She motioned to follow her down to the first floor. The other two teachers fell in step behind us. One of my students started to cry.

Me: What's going on?
Vancouver: They did really bad this morning with their play.
Boss: So I told them we are going to leave .... BYE BYE STUDENTS!

Ten pairs of big black eyes watched us from the top of the stairwell.

"NNNNNnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnOOOOOOOooooooooOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooo" Someone wailed.

We got outside and shut the door. Vancouver, my boss, and the other Chinese teacher burst out laughing. Then my boss cracked the door open, there were at least two voices bawling. But that wasn't enough.

Boss: Students! I'm going to call the police. We're leaving! The police will come by later. Bye bye!

The crying got louder.

Vancouver (to me): Calling the police is the ultimate threat in Taiwan to students. I thought it was mean when I first started teaching, but now I do it all the time.

Most people, myself included, would think reducing an entire preschool to sobs would be a disaster. But where I work, I guess it's a ... character building exercise? A motivational experience? I was clearly the only adult present who didn't think it was an awesome idea. Not that I have any problem making little kids cry, my brothers can attest to that. But a whole school?

A couple minutes later we walked back upstairs. Two of my four students were wracked with sobs, snot trickling down their faces. My boss called two more students into her office (one of mine) and yelled at them in Chinese.

By 10:05 a.m. three of my four students were in tears, and the other sat in his chair staring ahead stonily. Wonderful.

Me: So! Who wants to sing Looby Loo?

(We usually sing first.)

They shook their heads solemnly.

Me: Okay well what would you like to do.

What I would've liked to do was hug them. They were pitiful. I wasn't upstairs to see, but they probably were being a little bad during play practice. But ... THEY'RE FOUR. And they're memorizing lines in a foreign language. And they have to remember their stage blocking. And they're supposed to be good. ALL AT THE SAME TIME. The expectations were never so high when I was four.

Ivan: I want draw a picture.
Me: Okay. We can draw pictures.

We drew tomatoes, carrots and celery. This week's unit is vegetables. That's 4.5 hours of English learning centered on veggies. Next week it gets worse: household chores. I don't believe whoever wrote this textbook was ever four years old.

A few minutes later Ivan wiped an impressive booger on the table and everyone giggled and pointed, so then things were pretty much back on an even keel.

But if I ever had any delusions about a future for myself in early Chinese education - and I didn't - they would've been dashed today.

Insufferable Gambling Wench Pt. 2: Desktop Wars

I wrote about her first here. She is my employer's sister and thus feels entitled to use the school's office computer for online gambling at her pleasure. This is the second in what I fear will be an ongoing series of altercations with her.

She walked in just as I finished printing test evaluations for my 4-year-olds.

Test Evaluations. 4-year-olds. Absurd, no? Don't blame me, I just work there.

Anyway, I'd just finished doing what I needed with the computer and was stapling everything together - still seated at the computer - when the haggard old queen walked in. She didn't look at me, didn't address me, didn't say anything. She just sat down across from me and swiped the keyboard out from beneath me.

It was a gesture of stunning rudeness. And I'm fairly sure it was intentional. I think she was attempting to flex her power over the desktop because I dared ask to use it for work while she gambled last week.

Alright, leatherface, it's on. I will gladly test your iron grip on this old, slow, almost-worthless piece of machinery.

She took the mouse and started to close out of the documents I was using. And just as swiftly I planted my thumbs and index fingers on the corners of the keyboard, looked her in the eye, and smiled.

"Could you please give me just one minute?"

She doesn't speak English, but my intentions were clear.

She jumped out of her seat and ran over to the phone. I saved everything I needed and closed all my documents. As I did this, she barked into the receiver in Chinese that I couldn't understand.

I think she lunged for the phone so she wouldn't have to stand around empty handed while I finished my business. By the tone of her voice it crossed my mind she could be tattling on me, but I think the chances of that are slim. The owner is absentee, he lives in Shanghai. What's she going to say? "I was trying to get my gambling done and your employee insisted on finishing her work before I commandeered the computer."

It took under a minute for me to save and close everything. I turned around and smiled, motioning to the computer.

"Okay. All yours."

She didn't smile back.

She's been on the computer every day, morning and afternoon, this week. Sometimes I walk by and catch her using the mouse with one hand and picking her nose with the other, quite the multitasker. Nose picking isn't as taboo here as it is the States. But it's mostly older people that do it. Nose picking and guanxi. She must believe in the old ways.

I understand and admire the importance family connections play here. But no family connection, no nothing should entitle someone to use business equipment for pleasure at the expense of employees (she doesn't work at the school, she only comes to gamble). All my coworkers walk on eggshells around her. I'm not going to.

Nazism Taiwan

While on my way home today, I was confronted by a table displaying dozens of adorable scarves for 100NT ($3 U.S.).

"My God, I should buy ten of them!" I thought.

Doing so would've compromised my ability to buy next week's bus tickets. To avoid imminent folly I turned my head, intent on staring at the opposing wall until the scarves were safely behind me.

When I turned something else caught my eye - a Chinese guy, about my age, asleep against the wall. He had regrettable dyed-orange hair. I noticed an insignia patch on his sleeve - the SS Bolt. He was wearing big lace-up boots, and his shirt was military-style, black and double-breasted, like a Nazi.

I did several double takes as I walked toward my bus. I wanted to take a picture (after all, he was asleep), but I didn't have my camera on me. Argh! From now on I will bring it everywhere!

I puzzled all the way home. Who was this guy? And ... why?

I figured it was probably an ignorant, tasteless attempt at looking cool. The things that get lost in translation here are amazing - but that's a whole other blog entry. Anyway, when I got home I Googled "Nazism Taiwan," not really expecting to find anything. But lo and behold!

The AP wrote about Neo-Nazism in Taiwan in 2007, and prominent Taiwan blogger Michael Turton wrote about it here and here.

Like the majority of stupid radical ideas the world over, Nazism here is a student movement. The Taiwanese Nazis say it's not about anti-Semitism. They say it's about nationalism, preservation of Chinese values, and imposing limits on the number of foreign workers in Taiwan.

"Hitler did a lot of bad things which I don't condone, but he also turned Germany from a weak and divided nation into a world power. I admire that because unity and strength is what Taiwan needs." said one anonymous proponent, according to Turton's blog archives.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

That's like saying, "Gee, you fed me a steamy heap of turds for dinner, but I really like the bowl it came in."

The director of the Simon Wiesenthal Center wrote about Taiwanese Nazism in the Jerusalem Post. He noted Israel has focused most its Holocaust education in places where it seemed necessary; Asia has been pretty much ignored.

The AP said this about local views of Hitler, Nazis and World War Two:

While high school and university courses do cover the European experience during World War II, relatively few Taiwanese understand the revulsion — and the reasons for it — that Nazism conjures up in the West.

Hitler images and iconography have sometimes been used to promote commercial products in Taiwan — including a now-closed Nazi-themed restaurant — on the grounds that the German leader symbolized strength.

There is no indigenous Jewish community on the island, and most Taiwanese seem confused by distinctions among European populations and religions.

My grandparents served in World War Two, a lot of my friend's grandparents served, and for several friends the Holocaust isn't a textbook lesson, it's family history. It makes sense Nazism carries greater weight in my culture than the local one.

But as for the Nazi students, or the people who would construct Nazi-themed restaurants - I don't understand how you get to the part about Hitler as symbol of strength, or the part about nationalism in Hitler's Germany and completely bypass the deaths of six million Jews.

It's probably not worth thinking about too hard. I like to think Nazism gets more media attention than it deserves simply because wherever it crops up it's so shocking.

Granted, I don't know if the guy I saw was a card-carrying member of the local outfit, or just some guy taking a post- costume party nap dressed in deplorable regalia à la Prince Harry.

Suffice it to say, I was shocked.

Meet Ivan

I've seen all the boys in my all-male morning class reduced to big boo-hoo tears at least once. All my boys, but one.

Yes, everything is a really big deal when you're a little kid, but I'm sure the fact these boys all get to be the little prince at home has something to do with their outbursts. Getting to be first in line is huge, even if we're just going to the bathroom to wash hands. I threw a tantrum or two in my time, but not ever over getting first crack at the soap.

The non-crier is Ivan. He is also the non-smiler. I'm told he had a meltdown. Once. A year ago. It happened when the teacher tried to dress him up as a mouse for the Christmas play. He wasn't having it. Can you blame him? He wore his regular clothes for the performance.

I don't know who picked Ivan as his "English" name. To me, "Ivan" calls to mind a burly, Russian sailor, but the name suits him. He isn't a bully. But he has a stoic confidence about him that makes me think I'd want him in my corner of the sandbox.

Ivan's primary interests are ghosts and monsters. He reminds me of this at least twice a day.

Me: Okay students, can you say-

Ivan: What's this?

He points to my scarf, obviously disinterested in whatever I'm going to teach for the day.

Me: That's my scarf.

Ivan: Why scarf?

Me: Because it is cooooold (making the *brrr* motion).

Ivan: Oh. I like cold AND ghosts.

Or on another occasion....

Me: Today we are going to review office!

(Please, remember I neither wrote nor endorsed this textbook)

Ivan: Office have so many ghosts.

Me: Is that so? How many?

Ivan: One hundred ghosts.

Or a week earlier....

Me: Students, what animal do you like?

Ivan: I like monster!

Me: That's not an animal.

Ivan: Have monster at home.

Me: Really?

Ivan: In bedroom.

Me: Ooooooh! Did it BITE you?

Ivan: No, No ... I .... PSH, PSH, PSH, RRAAAAAAAH!

He pantomimes beating the tar out of a monster. Personally, I think he's telling the truth.

The Good, the Bad and the Guanxi

Who you know is important everywhere. From high school through college, my educators were always extolling the virtues of "networking," which sounded like something complicated that would require a spreadsheet. Eventually someone explained to me "networking" just meant keeping in touch with people - especially fancy people.

Here they call it guanxi. I doubt Chinese teachers spend nearly as much time harping on the "who you know" buzzword. No lessons required; it's a cultural given. Guanxi isn't something that might give you an edge in the world. When it comes to social interaction, guanxi is pretty much the whole enchilda.

Guanxi has worked great for me in some instances. It helped me find work. It also scored me a ticket to a fashion show at the Formosa Regent.

This billboard is at Zhongxiao Fuxing Station. I give it a little thumbs up when I change trains. The guy standing next to the flat screen is James' mom's best friend's brother. He is Taiwan's most famous stylist and he's a judge on Taiwan's version of American Idol. He is the reason I had the opportunity to salivate within arm's length of women swishing by in Dior and Cartier. I don't know him, but I like him.

However, guanxi has worked against me too. Take for instance this morning at school: There was a woman, maybe in her 60s, occupying the school office computer. I've seen her around. She never interacts with the kids, but she spends loads of time in front of the computer. Maye she's an administrator? I thought.

Today, after my class, I needed that computer to edit the test my students take Friday. I finished my rice bowl, drank some soup, but this woman was firmly planted in front of the computer. I didn't know what she was doing, but I could tell from the screen it wasn't work.

"Umm, excuse me," I said with my biggest, most wonderful smile. "Could I please use the computer for just two minutes? I need to type something for my students."

I knew she might not speak English, so I said this while motioning to my hand written notes and pointing to the computer.

There were several Chinese teachers in the room as well as the teacher from Vancouver. The old lady, looking incredulous, spouted off some Chinese to one of the teachers. Everyone - Chinese teachers, old lady, and the Canadian - looked at me like I just crapped a turtle.

Vancouver yanked me out to the library and explained my grave error.

The woman, she said, is the school owner's sister. She doesn't speak English. She comes in as she pleases to use the school computer for online gambling, and no one has the cojones to boot her off.

"I've waited days to type something up because of her." Vancouver said.

"That's bullshit."

"Yeah. I know."

"I'm not doing that."

I don't get paid for preparation time, and the test is saved on the office computer, so it wasn't something I could do at home. The old broad left as Vancouver and I finished our pow wow, so I got to edit my test and skedaddle.

Guanxi or no, I'll find a new job before I waste my afternoon waiting on anyone to wrap up Black Jack so I can prepare for class.

Culture Pt. 3: Angry Lady at a Concert

Today we were headed into the bookstore when we stopped to watch this band. They sounded like Coldplay or early U2 without words. Pretty inoffensive, right? There was a modest crowd of polite listeners and then there was this cranky lady:

This shit is for pussys! Where is the Slayer?!

And boy was she mad. Every time they hit the distortion - about once a song - she started yelling.

One Finger Salute

Then she flipped them off. This was all good entertainment, but it was also instructive for a foreigner like me. The band and the crowd's reaction to this woman's antics were the opposite of what I'd expect back home.

When she began shouting no one said a thing. Barely anyone glanced. When she continued to yell people giggled some and exchanged sideways glances. The band leader ignored her. Between songs he asked people to clap if they liked the music. The clapping was marginally more enthusiastic than it might have been otherwise, but there were no roars of approval, no hollering praise in defense of the jam session outside the bookstore.

This would've gone down two possible ways in America: Either the crowd would've agreed with the heckler and joined in, "You guys suck! Play Freebird!." Or they would've shouted her down, "Get lost bitch!"

Americans love a fight. I love a fight. I didn't even like the band much, but I might have said something for the sake of a stimulating confrontation. Unfortunately (fortunately?) my Chinese skills aren't that progressed, so I just watched and took mad pictures.

James surmised afterward that she'd probably been expecting Cannibal Corpse. That would explain why she was so upset at a Coldplay knock-off.

The Culture Convo

I've been here exactly one month and one day. This morning I had a nice online chat with a friend whose parents immigrated to the U.S. from Taiwan back in the day. Here is a truncated version of that conversation:

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Friend: What up, how's the motherland?

Me: Dude, I've been meaning to ask you ... Why are there no tampons here?

Friend: Because my people don't use them. I think they think it's really taboo to, you know, insert. Ha ha.

Me: That's so crazy.

Friend: How's the culture shock?

Me: Mostly people are really polite, except they talk about weight and money more than Americans.

Friend: OMG, tactless - I know. How do people dress?

Me: Mmm, Japanese. Layers.

Friend: You see, I have no idea about Taiwanese culture because my parents are ancient and they immigrated when Taiwan was all conservative. My parents were strict about dating growing up because Taiwan was conservative when they were young.

Me: I wasn't allowed to date until I was 16.

Friend: I wasn't allowed to date until I was done with college. But like, my dad was really serious about it.

Me: Out of college?! Your dad didn't really want you to be that socially maladjusted.

Friend: I dated of course, I just never introduced my parents to anyone.
Me: Weird. Yeah, I don't really know what the norm here is now.

Friend: The next time someone asks you what you weigh you should ask them when they lost their virginity.

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Probably the most entertaining piece of advice I've received on living in Taiwan. I'm saving it for a boring day...