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August 28th, 2005
12:00 am - taiwan on2
taiwan on2 seems to deal with politics, specifically Taiwanese politics. One Friday night in March, I caught a comment to one of ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) woquinoncoin's posts. This sent me into a fury and by the following daybreak, I was stumbling down to 7-11 for more whiskey and beer to fuel the drunken rant I was laying down on this poor girl. Afterwards, I followed Taiwanese politics for about a month.
Following Taiwanese politics, while in Taiwan, is one dirty trip. You feel dizzy, nauseous, and brittle most of the time. history in the unmaking is pretty much all of the writings of this sort collected.
taiwan on1
taiwan on3
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August 27th, 2005
05:23 pm - It's Educational. . .
 But this is probably how I like it best.
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02:31 am - I Need Someone To Help Me Turn It Om
A couple of weeks ago, I met someone from a certain international Buddhist organization. I met her at someone's birthday party. I would advise anyone interested in Buddhism to keep their stupid yaps shut about being interested in Buddhism when talking to anyone affiliated with a Buddhist organization.
Imagine a Baptist hearing from someone at a party that he or she was "interested" in Evangelical Christianity and you've pretty much got the picture.
( Except the Buddhist doesn't whisper, 'Hey, Jesus hated bald pussy.' )
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August 25th, 2005
August 23rd, 2005
12:16 am - And He's Finally Asleep Now
 There were a few times when I wanted to leash the little bastard up and drag him all the way down to the twenty-four hour Veterinary Clinic near Rao He at the three in the morning.
I've lost count of how many articles of clothing I've had ripped during one of his little hyperaggressive episodes.
( This afternoon, we took our little dog in to see the Good Doctor. He left forever changed. )
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August 17th, 2005
12:48 am - Poor, Stupid Bastard
 See, he doesn't have any thumbs and he knows he can't get me to light it for him. So he chews the organic end for his buzz. Since Cindy left, his testicles have descended. We were lied to. They just dropped the week she split. For the interested, the left one hangs just a little lower to the ground. Sorry, no photos.
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August 16th, 2005
12:54 am - Those Damn Moviemaking Bastards and Their Damn Light
They were finally driven away by the rain, only to set up shop again three minutes ago.
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12:20 am - The Reincarnation Of Paul Revere's Horse
 This is a picture of my sorry, drunk ass. I usually don't act up in front of the camera. I was asked to stand on the bar with my other co-workers very politely by a new coworker, Friday night, at this shithole dive of a pick up joint called Carnegie's. The most offensive part of it is that the high ceilings are decorated with absolutely beautiful guitars that belong to nobody. Nobody ever plays them. So nobody's got that going on, I guess.
( This was either the weekend's highest or lowest point. )
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August 15th, 2005
07:02 pm - We're waiting for electric mana
 Dusk in Taipei, three songs ago.
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August 13th, 2005
02:46 pm - King Kong Kitchee Kitchee Ki-Mi-Oh
The Chinese manager gave me K3 for the second week of summer camp. Two to three year olds. She thought it would be a good experience. She thinks I'd make an excellent father. I've let her sit on my knee a few times. Usually at work-related social functions. Never on the clock. Always in public. She just walks up with a drink in each hand and plants it on my right side. She usually just dumps about six shots of mint schnapps in paper cups. Anyway, we pound that shit until she calls me "Daddy" and falls to her back, spilling her drink over her "Xing4 Gan3 Ma1 Ma5" halter top.
She's an outstanding woman.
And letting me teach K3 was an outstanding idea.
 We had a big jar of play money. One game was called Crooked Vegetable Dealer. Another game was called Black Market Animal Trader. We had a lot of water fights on the roof. We went to the mall a couple of times. Got to rough house in the jungle gym. Read a bunch of stories. Went on a few walks through the park and to the pig farm.
No one was wetting any pants. No puking. No fights.
The Beautiful Widow in the back of the classroom, at a desk. Dressed like it's January outside.
The kids were already displaying the characteristics I've spotted in K1. Embryonic avarice. Developing insubordination. Wills growing into action.
And they were sweet. And we had a good time.
And I'm hoping I never, ever teach any kindergarten again.
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August 12th, 2005
01:12 am - Tonight I Saved Ten USD
I don't go out much.
This evening, I did. Here's what happened.
I caught a cab. I told the cabbie where I wanted to go. I was going to meet some friends from work at a Taiwanese restaurant. The Red Ant. We were going to drink beers. We were going to drink beers and then go to some place outside of Taipei City Limits. A titty bar.
Well, I told the cabbie where to go and he was all nods and affirmatives. Swell. We get off Nanjing and hit the ramp to the freeway into Neihu. Looking good. Then he calls his boss on his cell phone. Then they start talking in Taiwanese. Fuckers.
When the meter hit 200 NT (my guess was that it was a buck-fifty cab-ride when I climbed in), he called his boss again. They talked in Taiwanese for a bit. The cabbie handed me the phone. He told me that the guy on the other end could speak English.
So I tell the guy on the other end where I'm going and by what he said I was under the impression that things were all straightened out. Not so. We drove up and down the same stretch of road for a hundred NT's worth of time and gas.
The cabbie, on the third or forth run through, shot past his turnabout and took the car past the commercial district and on to a piece of road decorated with green construction-yard tin to either side. He drove past that, and then he pulled over on the side of the road near some entrance ramp by an industrial complex.
He gets out of the car and is on the phone--presumably talking to his boss--in no time. When I heard him talk before, I noticed that the conversation tended to escalate in volume and the hostility of the tones were raised exponentially.
He's really upset. He's pacing up and down the driver's side of the car. I'm, of courvse, the passenger (la la la la lalala la). He goes around the trunk, and then next thing I know, he's handing me the phone.
"You should get out of the cab now."
I got out of the car and the cabbie gently shut the door. I stood there, he made his way around the grill. I had the money in my front pocket. He drove away, he didn't gun it or anything.
I walked for about fifteen minutes. I came to a place that looked familiar and called my friends. They were there inside of five minutes.
Needless to say, we never made it to the titty bar.
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August 11th, 2005
August 10th, 2005
August 9th, 2005
12:28 am - Weekday Afternoons In August
I've picked up a new student. I've got him for the next two weeks.
Goddamn.
Here's what we've been reading:
"Hello. My name is Billy Chen. Hello. My name is Lisa Chen. We are Billy and Lisa Chen. Hello Miss Lee. Hello, Billy and Lisa. How are you, Miss Lee? I am fine, thank you."
That's what the bottom rung sounds like when your forehead bounces off it. Poor kid's nine years old and he struggles with this. Theresa would've kicked his ass reading. Arthur has better penmanship.
He's the cousin of another former student, affectionately known as Fat Lou. Fat Lou is a bastard. A stick of dynamite clenched between his teeth, two Bowie knives drawn. That's our Fat Lou.
It runs in the family.
His cousin always shows up on time. Early actually. He never bothers to take a shit beforehand. So the little fucker will sit there passing gas. He won't say anything. He'll just sit there stinking, looking up at the shelf, the ceiling, the clock, this, that, anything but me or the book. Smelly little shit. The kid sat there for fifty minutes. Today. It was a new record.
Finally, he asks me "Can I go baffroom?"
"No."
"I go baffroom."
"Read."
"Hello. My name is Billy Chen. Hello. My name is Lisa Chen. We are Billy and Lisa Chen. Hello Miss Lee. Hello, Billy and Lisa. How are you, Miss Lee? I am fine, thank you."
Goddamn.
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August 8th, 2005
12:43 am - The Acerbic Wind Of Rushing, Disobedient Dogs
 Last night the dog got loose. Entirely my fault. I was going to take him down this one alley that branches off from the park. He doesn't like it much. Two months of trying to get him used to it haven't done much. And he did the duck and pull routine and I made the mistake of pulling from an angle less than forty-five degrees.
The little bastard slipped out of his harness.
No problem. I lit a cigarette and started on back to the house. In the past, when he's broke loose, he's went straight to the front door. I was just rounding the bend of this big, circular garden when I heard his nails clicking across the tile on the other side of the garden. He was going back to the park.
I listened and heard him tear through some bushes. And then I heard another rustle, followed by Bowdu's nails and then another rustle. I ran to the center of the park, the tiled floor where all the old ladies do their tai chi, and saw an orange cat dash up a tree, with Bowdu dumbstruck in the precious, precious grass.
It sank in quickly that the cat wasn't his, and he looked at me for a second. I was making my way up on to the grass when he bolted again. I decided not to give chase. Calling his name was out.
I was pissed. I wanted to go back inside and watch a movie. I just listened to his nails. The clicking got farther apart as he picked up speed. This must have been the first time he really went all-out. He was just bounding through the park.
I waited. He was circling me. Running around me in a giant circle that spanned half the park. The half facing our apartment. Twice, he flew by. Both times I tried to grab him. Once, he hit my hand full on, fish-tailed a bit (but didn't slow down) and was gone. On the third time around I caught him in mid-leap.
He didn't struggle. He didn't resist. He let himself get harnessed back up as if he wanted to be walked back home.
He didn't stop panting for a while. There were lots of belches between the tonguefuls of water he lapped up.
And then he fell so far into sleep that I thought he was dead when I tried to get him into the bedroom with me later on.
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August 7th, 2005
11:50 pm - The Tools
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August 4th, 2005
11:20 pm - Here I'm Still Now
 At 23:07:21, my time, I got a call from my boss. He said I wouldn't be going into work tomorrow. That would be thanks to Typhoon Matsa. Yup. Another one. Just delighted about it. Of course, since we're doing summer camp, I'm paid by the hour. . . so I don't get any money for tomorrow. That's alright with me. I'm looking forward to sleeping in until two.
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10:32 pm - Return of the Old God
The K3 class got a new kid. Apparently, this three year old has some really ambitious parents. Her English trumps that of some children twice her age. So The Australian's getting to know her. They're parked on the windowsill, and they're bullshitting.
Bullshitting with people three times your age is pretty intense. I can remember it pretty well. I remember talking to my uncle, and Grandpa Hudson when I a wee white-hair. Parts of what they said would jump out, and my brain would get *lifted,* back in those days comprehension was a bit of a shock. After all, you'd hear these big people go on and on and, admit it, you had no idea what they were talking about. . . not really. And then they'd address you, and somehow their meaning came through to you. And you were overjoyed.
So this beaming child is yacking away with her teacher and the subject of a ripped book comes up. The book had a page that was nearly ripped in half. She wanted to know why it was like that.
The Australian told her, all in good fun, that I did it.
All of this is pure conjecture, but what it lead up to is pretty much what when down. I'm walking by the classroom and The Australian says to me, still parked on the windowsill, "Mr. Hudson, Angela wants to know why you ripped this book."
"Why, I ripped that book because I hate children. Especially Taiwanese children."
The Beautiful Widow, who had her hair down (making her The Even-Moreso-Beautiful Widow), laughed.
A few minutes later, I'm back in my classroom, he approaches me from the hallway. Angela is hiding behind him, grasping his leg, occasionally peeping out from behind it. He says to me "Mr. Hudson, Angela wants to know why you hate Taiwanese children."
I knelt down.
"Angela, when I was your age, I saw many Taiwanese children kill my mom and my dad."
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