Words

In passing last night my mother asked me the damndest thing. She asked me if the American people would willingly subject ourselves to be ruled by a black man. The question surprised me.

Does her question expose her own biases? Or does it just reflect what she thinks about racial relations in the United States? She didn't bring me up to judge on account of skin color.

Then there is the semantics of the question. Maybe I can't properly translate her words from Mandarin to English, but I just can't see a democratic nation being ruled by anyone. We're subjects to no monarchs or dictators. Democrats are governed, not ruled.

On another subject, for those interested in geeking about politics in East Asia, the Taipei rallies my mother and I talked about was adequately summed up by the View from Taiwan. If the cited sources are accurate, the abridgement of civil rights is quite breathtaking.

Siege in Taipei

I've been so wrapped up about the U.S. election I've been neglecting some of the news from across the big pond. Skyping my mother tonight she reminded me that we Americans were not the only ones struggling for democracy yesterday. The Taiwanese also have a wee donnybrook of their own in Taipei. As I previously blogged, an ongoing visit from a high-level Chinese envoy is attracting a bit of attention from Taiwanese democracy advocates.

Since my mother has been attending demonstrations in the Taiwanese capital, I've been quite worried about the escalated police presence and recent government detentions of opposition lawmakers and party officials. Denied permits to demonstrate against the Chinese diplomat, many Taiwanese have resorted to besieging government buildings hosting Beijing's top negotiator to Taiwan. According to my mother, who was at a Taipei protest yesterday, police efforts to break up demonstrations have resulted in scores of injuries to the civilians. Another rally is scheduled in Taipei today and organizers are expecting 100,000 to march.


I admire my mother for acting on her convictions. Democracy is a fine thing to stand up for. Since my father's passing in September my mother has been very keen to express herself on this issue. However, I also question if Taiwan and China's toxic history with each other is clouding the people's judgement. After all, the Chinese negotiator is only in town to sign accords to expand shipping and flights between the two countries.

Nonetheless, Taiwan has a special place in my heart. It's the land where my grandparents are buried and it is a fellow democracy. Go you good thing!

*Photos - Banner in the top photo declares "Taiwan is a country," referencing China's campaign to deny Taiwan de jure nationhood. Bottom photo - no explanation necessary.

The hangover

The streets were blocked and it became impossible for cars to move through U Street. Washington, DC was a town in celebration last night. Nonetheless, being the negative nelly that I am, I hesitate to think that a simple election will change the course of a country. We've had eight years of wars, partisanship, hurricanes, and economic meltdowns. Mr. Obama has the challenging task of quickly righting the American vessel.

It was an interesting night. Moving quickly after work, I met up with two American and three French friends. Amidst cheers for Obama and partisan hollers supporting McCain, we spent the night hoping for a favorable outcome and explaining to our Gallic friends the intricacies of the American presidential election system. The surprise of the night wasn't the strong Obama victory. But I was rather taken with how hopeful and exuberant people were in their celebration. It is Washington, where we treat politics like sports. But people were high-fiving each other like they just posted the winning score for the World Cup.

I wish words can capture the emotions of election night, but I haven't the skills to adequately express what I saw. Now the world has its expectations of what our new government ought to look like, I hope they won't be surprised when Obama does what Obama needs to do to win a second term at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Facebooking on democracy

So many people are excited about the vote today. Personally I'm quite conflicted. I'll be happy when it's over and the proper result certified without another judicially-assisted banana republic episode. One just cannot imagine what Americans are capable of.

I'm also amazed about the number of non-Americans who are keen on our election. I know they mean well but this is our election. I'm no supporter of the Grand Old Party but I don't need the world to tell me about the wisdom of an Obama presidency.

Some of my friends' facebook status today:

"is an active part of democracy. VOTE!"

"is calling DC for Obama."

"can't believe it's finally election day!"

"is going to vote."

"says go rock the vote! This country needs change!!!!"

"is basking in the warm glow of voting for the Dems!"

"Line to vote in col heights is only 3 blocks long."

"is voting strategically instead of sincerely. Sad."

"is everyone...please go and vote!"

"America, are you ready for some change ???"

"pfffff, you cannot even vote"

Here is to election-themed cocktails.

Picture of the day

Going up on DC Metro's escalator.

Proper toppers

It was a light crowd for the Melbourne Cup. But it was the night before and all the cool kids in DC are out geeking about the election.

I've never been interested much in the ponies. But a buddy who works at the Australian Embassy got a few of us on the guest list. Wagering and bottles of crownie and VB aside, I had a duty to humor all the ladies with large funny hats.

It was a mostly quiet affair. But the crowd got more animated as the Aussies bid up the horses under the "Calcutta" rule. Perhaps last night's gaming process is a down under method, but I was a bit confused.

Inspired by Paddy in Buenos Aires' post about Barrio Chino in BsAs, I had myself a bit of a walk around Washington, DC's Chinatown. Originally a German-speaking neighborhood around the turn of 20th century, Washington's Chinese quarter is Chinatown in name only. Priced out by costly condos and the city's insatiable appetite for more office space for lawyers and lobbyists, the Chinese have long moved on. Except for a few serviceable Asian restaurants, the area is mostly populated by yuppies.


In an effort to retain the neighborhood's history, the city government requires all businesses in Chinatown to display some form of Chinese characteristic. Interpreting the municipal ordinance loosely, area businesses satisfied the government mandate by opting for Chinese signs.


DC Chinatown also has a partisan tinge when it comes to politics - Chinese politics. Many of the family and provincial associations still maintain their loyalty to the Chinese Nationalist Party (AKA Kuomintang). One can still spy Republic of China flags during the lunar new year parade and the many still celebrate October 10th as the Chinese national holiday (rather than October 1st, which is the People's Republic of China's national holiday).

If I can have a wish right now I wish I can either get a few more hours of sleep, or be at Buenos Aires for the annual pillow fight.

Ocean to the west and mountains to the east

Growing up a Southern Californian meant around-the-year sunshine, beaches and tall mountains close by, and wineries. Aside from New York City, no other North American metropolitan area can match the Los Angeles region's culinary offerings. Growing up a Southern Californian meant playing beach volleyball one day and skiing in the mountains the next; it meant having dim sum for brunch and having fish tacos for dinner. While Los Angeles hasn't been my home for quite a number of years, I still fancy, in concept, what the city has to offer.

I've had the luxury of traveling to the Pacific Northwest from time-to-time. I used to have work in Portland, Oregon and still have family there. The region occupies a special place in my heart. For one, the geography of the Northwest is similar to that of Southern California's; the Pacific is to the west, and the mountains are to the east.


I was recently in Seattle, Washington for a few September days. Here are a couple photos I took.

Comings and goings

Unfortunately, because I have to turn in some work in the morning, I am desk-bound at home tonight instead of out chasing Marie Antoinette and Catwoman. But as I am taking a stretch from my work, I can't help but giggle about the collection I've amassed on my desk.

My buddy M. just returned from his around-the-world trek on Thursday. Typical of a DC population, I always have friends coming or going. We're just a nomadic people.

We traded war stories and brandished bottles collected on the road. M. has been working the vines at a Bordelais chateau and I was recently in Oregon and Washington. So we've a few bottles of French, Oregon, and Washington to top off in the next few days!

To keep the beer cold

We call these contraptions beer koozies and they're ubiquitous on California beaches or at Texas BBQs. Although I am partial to a bottle of Mendoza Malbec or a Burgundy or Oregon Pinot Noir, I don't travel without my koozies (at least not well). Useful for keeping the brew tip top under hot weather, koozies double as my camera case while on the road. Seen above pattering about beaches in Taiwan, this beauty is coming with me on my Argie walkabout.

30 October, 2008: morning and dusk in Washington

Looking out my office window with a view of the Navy Memorial. Most dry days one will find either a naval ceremony or kids trying to hop from one continent to another.


I felt like walking after work today so I crossed the grounds on the National Mall to get to the L'Enfant Plaza Metro Station. This is a view west looking at the sun setting behind the Washington Monument.

Small monuments and first class dining service

Washington, DC is a city full of monuments. Designed by a Frenchman in the Republic's early days and constructed mostly during America's years as an aspiring global power, it is an urban landscape fashioned to impress. With the U.S. Capitol, and major memorials in honor of Messrs. Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt, and Jefferson, the District of Columbia is dotted with majestic but predictable neo-classical edifices.

However, I prefer the small pleasures. Although it is far from being a neighborhood park, the National Gallery of Art Sculpture Garden has been one of my favorites in DC. The grounds are populated by art that doesn't take itself too seriously and the summery water fountain transforms itself into an ice-skating rink during the colder months. No matter the weather, one can often find families enjoying the garden's offerings. I snapped this photo a few years ago while tripping over myself.


I've begun the process of packing up my apartment. Among years of possessions, I most prize my books and photos. Although it'll be sad to part with much of my library collection, I am slowly turning my pre-digital camera photos to electronic files. This was a picture I took at Hong Kong's Mid-Levels.

How about that for fine dining!

Latest news from the Swamp on the Potomac

Obama Undertakes Presidential Internship To Ease Concerns About His Lack Of Experience

Good times all the time

Avalancha de éxitos!

It's reported that the Obama campaign bought a 30-minute spot tonight on CBS, NBC, FOX, and Univision.

I know it's a crucial election, but a half-hour infomercial? How good is that! It's like selling kitchen knives on the tube. And I don't even have a television . . .

On top of that, whatever policy differences I may enjoy with the Republican nominee, I believe that he may be an honorable man. But charging Obama with delaying the Baseball World Series with an ad? Mr. McCain jumped into the infomercial fracas by saying “No one will delay the World Series game with an infomercial when I’m president.”

You're darn tootin'!

Delaying baseball for politics; that would be um . . . un-American. Whatever that may mean.

Super Bowl with El Jefe

As I prepare to ditch Washington, DC, things I remember from my 16 years living by the Potomac River.

2000 Super Bowl party at the White House. The former football fan-in-chief was walking around working the room:

PRESIDENT CLINTON: Thank you son for coming to my Super Bowl party.
ME: Thank you sir it's great!
PRESIDENT CLINTON: How do you like it?
ME: [long pause due to brain freeze, stupidity, and confusion] Free suds and pizza, I love it!
PRESIDENT CLINTON: [Awkward silence and walks away]

Scary indeed

One of the benefits and downfall of being an insomniac is that I stay up until the wee hours, listening to BBC World Service and running weird thoughts through my head. It's almost All Saints' Day and the Halloween spirit is coming out to play.

First up - The British Beer and Pub Association reported yesterday that Britons are drinking fewer pints. Outrageous! What is Old Blighty without copious quantity of bitter on draught? What's next, Aussie publicans stand in bars with no beer and Mexico dry out of margaritas?

Since I live in Washington, DC, Halloween has traditionally meant one thing - political campaigns. This is when campaign workers and junkies conjure up their last ounce of energy and make their final push to advocate for their candidates.

Campaign signs are everywhere and even sporting events provide no escape. Tune into the Major League Baseball championship series and one is likely to receive a blast of Barack Obama or John McCain ads, each accusing his opponent of being unpatriotic, bad for the American economy, socialistic, or a George W. Bush clone.

Yesterday Uncle Ted's trial ended. Otherwise known as Senator Ted Stevens, the gentleman from Alaska was found guilty of failing to report US$250,000 of free gifts. Fondly known as the feisty and Incredible Hulk tie-wearing guardian of federal earmarks, Mr. Stevens based his trial defense on the following points:

• He didn't know US$160,000 wouldn't be enough to pay for the transformation of his rustic one-level Alaska cabin into a two-story house with two decks, a new garage and amenities like a whirlpool and a steam room.
  
• He did not ask for the gifts, such as a sled dog, gas BBQ grill, massage chair.
• When he received the unwanted gifts, he did not enjoy them, especially the massage chair he frequently used at his Washington, DC home.
  

The best part is - Mr. Stevens does not lose his job. As a member of the self-styled "most deliberative body in the world," Stevens cannot be expelled from the U.S. Senate without the consent of 2/3 of his colleagues. So, should he stand for election and win his seat on November 4th, it is possible Mr. Stevens can serve both his prison sentence and his 6-year Senate term at the same time.

So much for the ideals of Senatus Populusque Americanus.

Scary indeed.

Confidence man

Bunko, con, flim flam, gaffle, grift, scam, scheme, or swindle. It's all the same.

I haven't been across this man while traveling in South America, but had a similar experience years ago when I ran into a woman who told me a similar sob story in Santa Monica, California and on Capitol Hill in Washington, DC.

Bugger your Chinese Taipei!

Mr. T., one of my dad's friends from prep school days sent me this photo early this morning. Both Mr. T. and my mother are in Taipei participating in demonstrations against Chen Yunlin's (陳雲林) upcoming visit. As the chairman of China’s Association for Relations Across the Taiwan Strait, Mr. Chen is in Taipei to talk about China - Taiwan relations (to many Taiwanese that translates into Chen is in town to force Taiwan to become part of China).

The Taiwanese are passionate about their politics and they use all their democratic rights to express themselves. I suppose I would be a bit upset too if the most populous nation on Earth has a few thousand missiles pointed at my backyard.

If one were to politely translate the sign into English, it'd be something like "I bugger your Chinese Taipei!"

Because China claims Taiwan as part of the People's Republic, Taiwan can only participate in international athletic competitions under Chinese Taipei, not under the island's actual name. Taiwan also participates in other international fora under the Beijing-imposed name, and is not permitted to be involved in international organizations like the United Nations and the World Health Organization, where de jure nationhood is a requirement for membership (however the Palestinian Liberation Organization and the Knights of Malta, both non-state actors, enjoy WHO observer membership). As some may know, although Taipei is Taiwan's capital and its largest municipality, Taipeiers are only 2.6 million out of the nation's 26 million inhabitants.

The view from my office

Unlike yesterday's monsoon-like weather, today is perfect. The temperature is a mild 60F/15C and the sun is shining brilliantly. But it's also the kind of autumn day that makes it challenging to dress. Sit in the sun and it's too warm to have a sweater or a coat on. Walk in the shade and it's too chilly to be in a short sleeve shirt. Ah how I want everything to be just perfect!


This is a view from my office looking out. It's not a very good quality photo because I only have the webcam on my laptop. But since I spent so many years in Washington, I owe it to posterity to capture my experience here. This is one of them.

But how I have learned to dislike my profession (politics and lobbying)! I know democracy is suppose to be messy and it's still the best form of governance humankind can devise. But Buckley v. Valeo or not, must America spend so much money on the process, especially when such givings are directly linked to political and policy decisions? I cannot imaging that James Madison, author of Federalist #10, would be very happy about the divisiveness of today's American government.

Ten years in Washington, DC and I feel like I have lost my way. As my friends from Down Under say to me, time to go on a walkabout.

But it is a lovely view.

The simple pleasures!

Despite my massive hangover this morning, I joined the American University boys for their rugby match. It was driving down rain, the wind was blowing hard, and I was soaked to the bone. But how satisfying it was to watch the boys play creatively and win 53 - 0 under the worst condition.

While far from perfect (they could be more patient and better organized), they played as we coached them - they thought for themselves on the pitch instead of playing like pre-programmed gridiron footballers; and they played for their mates rather than as fifteen individuals. It was basic rugby and the boys did most things right. They took care of the fundamentals - the scrummaging, tackling, rucking, mauling, and passing - and the score spoke for their efforts. The joy of seeing good footy unfold in front of one's eyes ....

Rugby has always been a steadying influence on my life. Although because of it I might have hit the sauce a little too hard or strayed from my studies during my university days, the sport also gives me great pleasure and saw me through both good and bad times. For that reason I go out to support the AU boys.

Vous être ou vous être pas?

"You Taiwanese (in Mandarin)?"

Without giving me a chance to reply, the neighborhood Chinese buffet owner was quick to launch into her thoughts about former Taiwanese President Chen Shui-bien's corruption scandals. For 99.9% of the world who aren't keen on Taiwanese political news, the former head of the island's Democratic Progressive Party has been accused of all sorts of bad behavior while he served in office (like lining his own pockets and money laundering).

I'm getting off message here. What I'm trying to say is I'm confused.

When I'm in the United States and I speak with Chinese speakers, they hear my accent and assume that I'm from Taiwan. But in reality, I only have the accent because my parents speak Taiwanese Mandarin with me at home.

But when I am in Taiwan, I stick out like a sore thumb. I look like an American; I dress like an American; and I wait in line for services like I'm an American. I say my "thank yous" to shopkeepers and even acknowledge street vendors promoting their wares like I'm a polite gringo. Although my accent may disguise my nationality for a little while, locals find me out very quickly. For one I don't parler the newest cool street slangs like the local kids.

Sometimes the Taiwanese also accuse me to be a Singaporean. I guess it makes sense; I speak both English and Mandarin well enough and Singapore is one of the few places on Earth that considers both tongues their official language.

When I'm in Europe people assume I'm American because of my accent. I was once mistaken to be Japanese Peruvian when I was in the Chilean Patagonian town of Puerto Natales.

I don't know what I'm saying anymore. I just remember starting this entry because I'm really confused. Now I'm more confused.

A displaced Californian

I have lived in Washington, DC for 16 years, but it's not home. I was born in Taipei and went to grammar school there, but didn't have a say when the family moved to Los Angeles. I travel the world with my pack, but I have a California Republic flag on it instead of Old Glory. My first language is English, but sometimes my thoughts come out in Chinese or French (or a few words of bad Spanish if I'm really confused). The only place I ever felt like home is when I'm on the move.

Kissy people

I did not come from a family of kissy people. When we greet each other or bid farewell, a simple "hello" or "bye" will do. It is simply not our way (or is it just me?) to passionately express ourselves. I can't even remember the first hug my mother gave me. Maybe it was when I left for college?

Since I moved to the United States in my youth, I've had to climatize myself to a whole host of new embraces. Women squeal with delight when hugging each other; men bump chests, high five each other, or slap each other's gluteus maximus after scoring an especially thrilling touchdown or hitting a home run.

Because I've made a number of French friends in the past few years, I've had to get use to kissing. Don't get me wrong, it is lovely to receive kisses from French girls. We've kept it simple with just a small peck on each cheek. But I'm also told that in France, it could upgrade to three or even four kisses depending on the region. I look forward to sorting out that mystery when I get there.

My most awkward moment - dinner with a group of South Asian Muslims at their home in Portland, Oregon.

It started out as a business meeting because they disagreed with the Israel policy of a certain Congressman I worked for. After being on the receiving end of their anger for over an hour, they rolled out a luxurious dinner and invited me to stay. During the meal they were warm, kind, and wanted to know everything about my interests, my background, and my family's health. However, when they introduced their wives and daughters to me before the meal started, I idiotically extended my hand to greet them.

STUPID! STUPID! STUPID!

At least they invited me to return to join them in the annual Intel vs. Microsoft cricket match - mind you with tea and not pints (there's another questions - how does one sit through a cricket match without a few pints or a flask?).

Argentina is constantly on my mind now. As I struggle to stay awake at the office or do my school work, I remind myself the freedom I have to gain next year.

I wonder what new cultural adventures I'll have next year?

There's no crying in baseball

Saturday night I was at the bar having a few drinks and catching the Red Sox/Tampa Bay ALCS game. Out of no where I teared up thinking about dad. This is the first time in my life I can't ring him to talk baseball.

Dad and I never had much to discuss. But we were always able to talk sports. Dad and I both played rugby and baseball is a close second favorite. Even in our roughest hours we can always talk about how the All Blacks are doing or the bums at Chavez Ravine.

I need to stop feeling so down. I've been blogging a lot about dad's passing and need to start getting on with life.

Willamette Dammit!

McMinnville, Oregon - I ran west for twenty minutes. The problem with running with an iPod is that one cannot hear one's own breathing and footsteps. I like hearing my own rhythms when I run. But I also like time to fly by faster while conducting an activity I consider torturous. Music helps. On my return trip, I was rewarded with a glorious Oregon sunrise.

I'm burying dad this afternoon in Portland. I have been thinking for quite some time, without any success, about what to say at the service. While it's just going to be family, something should be said about pops (or perhaps nothing at all should be said).

The overnight excursion into the Willamette Valley gave me space to think about my past, my relationship with my dad, and about what I face in the immediate future. However, after spending yesterday afternoon amongst the vines and the evening at Hotel Oregon, I still haven't the foggiest the path my heart will take this afternoon.

On a more pleasant subject, I visited a few Yamhill County wineries yesterday and this morning. One shall remain nameless because their pinots tasted like a oafy Newfoundland who went for a swim in an oak barrel full of muddy water. However, Chehalem's just-released 2005 Reserve Pinot Noir was a lovely lass! She is young, cheerful, but mysterious enough to go for a second date. Unfortunately, at $60 per bottle she is also a spendy date. But I did get a very tasty bottle of 2006 Chehalem Corral Creek, who is feistier than my usual preference for pinots. This is a bottle to pop open and enjoy soon rather than sit in the cave (or under my bed).

Arriving in America with an extra large Stetson and cowboy boots

Portland, Oregon - The slurring Englishman and I discussed the virtues of a six-pack of Scrumpy Jack at Bridgeport Brewing Company. It's not everyday that one gets to debate the fine points of a Hereford cider over a piss, but the rant distracted me from the business of dad's burial arrangements and the USC Trojans' loss to Oregon State University tonight. Who loses to a football team called the Beavers?!

I arrived at Seattle - Tacoma International Airport at 18:40 on September 24, 2008. It's only the second time I traveled internationally with my dad; the first time was in 1980, when my family of four last took a vacation together.

It's difficult to imagine that my mother, sister, and I arrived in the United States in Spring of 1983, without ten words of English, and me with a fancy for cowboy get-ups and Wild West movies. I would soon fall under the spell of David Hasselhoff and Knight Rider (little did I know at the time that the program's producer labeled the show a "sci-fi thing, with the soul of a western"). Quelle horreur!

I had friends and poor grades at my elementary school in Taipei. I was happy. Moving to the States was my parents' choice. Since becoming a Californian, I have spent most of my energy fighting my parents' dreams, and have wasted their efforts to provide me with a proper education.

But the last two weeks of reflection with my mother was nice. While it wasn't entirely pleasurable, it is good that I had one of the unusually frank exchanges with one of my parents. I told her that I want to leave the U.S. for graduate schools in Europe, I'm not getting a MBA, and that I am not entirely happy that I didn't have a say in our family's move to North America in the early '80's.

So they won't rent a gringo a motorbike

Hualien, Taiwan (written on paper on 09/22/2008) - I took the 13:15 train out of the Stalinist-styled Taipei Main Station on September 20th, the day after dad's wake. I questioned if it is appropriate or if I'm emotionally ready to strike out on my own so soon after dad's service, but c'est la vie. I need to get away from people.

The train glided smoothly past crowded Taipei suburbs, polluted industrial parks, and emerald green rice paddies. As the conductor announced Ilan, a coastal town with an especially heavy aborigine influence, the scenery suddenly opened up, with the sky and the turquoise sea becoming one.

I don't know how, but I found myself a surfer hostel in Hualien; I wasn't even aware that the Taiwanese are keen on riding the waves! With the past twelve days consumed by death and family, it's great to not have to answer questions. Travelers at the hostel only cared about where I'm from, what I'm planning to do on the coast, and if I'm ready for another tall boy of Taiwan Beer (a brew that rivals a biggin' serving of Miller High Life, the champagne of beer) - and a Swedish couple was happy that a bilingual American was able to help them arrange a rafting tour for the next morning.

Hualien is endowed with an abundance of natural beauty. Sandwiched between 3,700 meters-tall peaks and the Pacific Ocean, the town made me happy. Unlike Taipei, the sky is blue, the air clean, and the beaches are absolutely empty!

I was in the mood to move on my own and explore up and down Highway 9 and Highway 11, two coastal roads hugging the Pacific. While I originally fancied a Sanyang Wild Wolf 125cc, the local rental agencies wouldn't oblige me since I'm without a Taiwanese bike endorsement. So I resorted to dodgey tactics and found a dodgeyer agency to rent me the dodgeyiest of all scooters, a Kymco 125cc without a functional speedometer or fuel gauge. I just had to sign a lengthy Chinese-language consent form waiving the agency of all responsibilities for my well-being (they didn't think I can read Chinese), and promise that in the event of an encounter with local flics, I would plead ignorance in English and do whatever the Taiwanese 5-0 desires.

But the blasted thing got me around the coast for two days.

Am I weird?

Is it strange for me to want some time to reflect, to relax, and to get away from people? I sent dad away today. Is it wrong to want space to sort myself out?

In challenging times I tend to turn inward - to internalize my feelings to try to make sense of all that's happening around me. Mother understands, I think. She vocalizes no judgement on my trip south tomorrow.

But all my relatives seem to think I'm strange for traveling to Hualien on my own. I mean - it's just a three hour train ride in a country where I speak the local language. Are people really that uncomfortable with solitude or just not adventurous enough to strike out on their own?

Bones, trains, and ghouls

Taipei, Taiwan - I visited grandma this morning. Although I didn't think much of it before, it was important for me to pay my respects to my maternal grandmother; she did raised me in my youth while my parents were frequently away.

Grandma's remains were cremated upon her passing last year and now reside in a Buddhist temple in Xindian, a Taipei suburb. I said bones because unlike the American cremation system, the Taiwanese cremation service incinerates the flesh but leaves the bones intact. Since the location isn't serviced by the Taipei Metro, mother and I bumbled about the Taipei city bus system until we found the correct service that got us to the temple.

After dad's wake and cremation on September 19th, I plan to leave the next day for Hualien, a seaside city on Taiwan's east coast. The city is famed for its scenic coastal highways (I plan to hire a motorcycle when I get to Hualien), big wave surfing, and Taroko Gorge, a park that has been compared to Zion Canyon. I desperately need to get away from people. I know my family and my parents' friends mean well, but I just want to get through this process alone. Is that so wrong?

It is nice to visit a country with a proper rail system. Unfortunately, since Hualien is on the east instead of the west of the island, it's not serviced by the Taiwan High Speed Rail (台灣高速鐵路). The east coast, which faces the Pacific, is rocky, mountainous, and highly unsuitable for trains to travel at a high speed. But I've got the regular service, provided by the Taiwan Railway Administration. Trains leave Taipei Main Station every 30-40 minutes and the ride will take three hours. The roundtrip ticket is US$26 - not bad! I just bought the tickets this afternoon.

I am doing all these blogging from the Taipei Brewery, a former producer of Taiwanese suds during the early part of the 20th Century. It is now a non-profit modern/performing art complex that is host to art exhibits, black box theaters, and fashion shows. For some reason there is a Hong Kong group here this afternoon and they are throwing a Halloween in September party; so I seem to be the only person who isn't dressed like Mardi Gras in this café.

Two things

I'm still not sure about the differences between an hurricane and a typhoon; they're both windy, rainy, and angry.

While on the subject of things I'm still confused about, L. and I scribbled down questions during our drive through the Jordanian desert. While visiting Wadi Rum, we both wondered about the meaning of "rum." We know "wadi" means valley. What is rum? Maybe reason enough to make a return visit to Jordan.

It has been raining for three days

Taipei, Taiwan - Sinlaku is making its way ashore on Taiwan's east coast today (this entry was started and marked 9/11/2008 but I actually wrote and published it 9/13/2008 Taipei time). The "super typhoon" packs a punch of over 110 miles per hour wind speed and is forecast to bring approximately 1,000 mm of rain over the course of its brief sojourn on the island.

Although the typhoon brings a moody quality to Taipei's concrete jungle, I've been finding it refreshing to have once-crowded streets all to myself. So I've been just walking. I'm not sure if it's part of the healing process or if I am seeking escape from the reality of dad's death. But I walked ....

On September 11th I turned in dad's passport to the American Institute in Taiwan (AIT). For those who are not familiar with the absurdities of the Sino-Taiwan-American relations, the United States government doesn't recognize the government of Taiwan as the island's legitimate authority. But realizing the importance of trade, commerce, and perhaps common decency, Congress passed the Taiwan Relations Act of 1979 and established AIT as a non-profit organization to provide American representation and consular services in Taiwan. There is no Old Glory hanging over the front door of our unofficial embassy in Taipei and no Marine guards. Just a low key institution on No.7, Lane 134, Sec. 3, HsinYi Rd., Da-an District, Taipei City (106-59 台北市大安區信義路三段134巷7號) that focuses on "people-to-people relationship" between the United States and Taiwan.

Alors - I turned in dad's very official passport to a non-official organization to obtain an official U.S. Department of State Report of Death of an American Citizen Abroad, a document that is necessary to apply for and transfer all of dad's social security benefits to mother.

I still have the wake and the cremation ceremony to organize for September 19th. The way it is conducted in Taiwan, I'm not sure if the services are for dad, or for the elders who rule over the clan. As my father's only son, I have been mindful to personally hand-deliver the invitations to the right family members, and to appropriately confirm their status as my senior.

I will be very happy to finish the Taiwanese chapter of dad's life and look forward to finally putting him to rest amongst the Cascades.

Dad's passing

09:25 on September 10, 2008 at Mackay Memorial Hospital in Dansui, Taiwan

Beer flavor green tea in Taiwan - weird!

A few moments of clarity

My dad told me he's afraid this afternoon; he opened his eyes, looked at me, and expressed himself to me in a way he's never done in my life. My dad never admits his feelings to anyone.

I wish I have my journal. In my haste to leave for Taipei I left it back in Washington. Damn it!

To the subtropics via the arctic

This is much harder than I ever imagine it to be. For a son to see a dying father . . .

As of last weekend, it seemed as if my trip to Québec would never end. The drive through the Poconos, across the Catskills and up the Adirondacks was lovely and relaxing. Aside from sneaking into the Boy Scouts’ Ten Mile Run campground to bunk down on Thursday night, I didn’t have a care in the world outside of taking in whatever comes my way. I was happy.

I felt like I was alive again! I simply let my curiosity navigate my course and enjoyed the journey. Originally planning to gun straight up the New York Thruway to get to Montréal as quickly as I can, I ended up finding the fife and drum band at Fort Ticonderoga (but missing Fort William Henry, a place I’ve always wanted to visit since I read the Last of the Mohicans years ago), taking a ferry boat across the Champlain, and striking north through the upper half of Vermont to get to Québec. It was a fantastic detour!

Pacing around Anchorage International Airport at 03:30 yesterday was torturous. Since I got mother’s call on Wednesday morning, I caught the first flight I could get a seat on that night and flew out to Taipei for perhaps the last time in my life. I’m not sure how long I have to be here; I suppose as long as it takes to see dad through. While I hope that the stay will be a while, I’m not sure if that is the best thing for my father.

Here’s to hoping.

La Fête du Travail: Labor Day Weekend in Québec

Originally started in July for an AT trek but redrafted during and for travels made during Labor Day Weekend 2008 - I think I am a relatively stable and calm person. But recently I find myself to be short-tempered and have been generally grumpy to anyone I come in contact with. I've been trying to figure out the source of my anger and can't really pin my frustrating behavior on anything specific. I think I really need some time off.

It has been refreshing to be on the road again. I left Washington early yesterday evening for Labor Day Weekend and progressed northward in the dark. I found my mood lighter the farther I got away from people - co-workers, friends - anybody. I've been so charged up lately I would even blow up at people I care for.

I drove through a rainy Pennsylvania and arrived in the Catskills at half past midnight. It was extremely late to make camp, but I managed to put up my tent and crawled in to rest my body. But tried as I did, I could not fall asleep. I don't know if it's my life, my dying father, or the hard rocks I neglected to clear under my tent, but I laid wide-awake until a little past 03:00.

No words necessary

Wow!

14 July

On Bastille Day I found myself a delightful voyeur at the French Embassy in Washington, DC. Although I was with a large group of friends, I was rather detached and busied myself with absorbing all the colors; there were so much to take in, the history of 14 July, La Marseillaise, and all the cheese, pâté, wine, champagne, music, and dancing!

On events like this I often find myself conflicted; do I let go, have fun, and be with friends or focus on taking photos? Not that I take great pictures, but to document my experiences, I often find myself stepping back and removing myself from the event and location. It is as if I am looking at what is happening through a frame or a television rather than experiencing it myself. I didn't have a camera on Bastille Day, but I wanted to record everything in my head.

Changes in my South America plan: maybe/probably

Dad's condition is getting worse and he is now in the hospital to receive further treatment. I can't imagine how much physical and mental stress mother is going through taking care of a man who haven't quite cared for her during the past 10-15 years.

I feel very selfish about thinking about revising my plans for South American travels while my parents are going through the toughest challenge of their lives. But the reality of the matter is forcing me to delay my departure and probably changed the entire nature of my planned stay in Argentina. Rather than basing myself in Buenos Aires, enrolling in a Spanish language school, and traveling a week or two out of each month, I will have a much shorter time in South America and will have to decide how to reformat my travels. Perhaps I will content myself with two, maybe three months and simply travel by bus to see the continent. Also - an invitation from my new-found friend Eduardo from Medellín is tempting me to visit Colombia.

On another note, I heard this poem on the Writer's Almanac podcast and couldn't help but giggle the whole way home while stumbling from the bar the other night.

H2O

What is the difference between club soda and seltzer water?

A small victory and the white elephant

I was elated when I emerged from a nearby bookstore last night. I picked up a copy of Writing New York for half price!

On the other hand, I had the most difficult conversation of my life with dad. Knowing that I would eventually have to discuss with him his pending departure, I made my way home in fear the oncoming conversation. It took a great deal of strength just for me to power up the PC and dial dad on Skype. While he was happy to see me on video conference, I sensed that dad hadn't the stomach to discuss his final options. My attempts to engage him on the matter resulted in failure.

The conversation everybody knows we must have remains unsaid.

Dancing with a butterfly

It was a weekend of fear management.

As I woke up on a warm Sunday morning on the Appalachian Trail (AT), I faced 14 miles of walking in 98F heat, and blisters the size of small grapes on both my feet. I was not looking forward to hiking my way out of the mountains. But the weekend in the Blue Ridge Mountains was difficult in more ways than my physical challenges.

Although I have expected the eventual end to dad’s predicament, my Friday night call with mother filled me with fear. More than my fear of dad’s expected passing, I fear for his comfort during his last days. But most of all (perhaps selfishly), I fear for my ability to make the right decisions. As he nears his end, we are faced with a most difficult final question; should we shorten the process and let dad go peacefully, or prolong the inevitable and spend limited resources for medical procedures that will briefly extend his life without addressing the core issue? What is a son to do when faced with these questions? These thoughts stayed on my mind all weekend.

We started our walk at VA-605 Saturday morning and planned on arriving at Harpers Ferry Sunday afternoon. By all measures, it was an ambitious goal. The portion of the AT we targeted is known as the “rollercoaster.” During our first 11 miles, the pace was slow as we fought the heat, the hills, our 50 lbs rucksacks, and ourselves. The landscape was a constant 1,000 ft up, and 1,000 ft down. Each step forward and upward was about conquering the fear of pain. It wasn’t so much the hurt that bothered me, but the anticipation of it. It was quite intimidating to descend 1,000 ft knowing that another 1,000 ft steep ascend was already staring me right in the face. It was a long day’s work and I enjoyed and hated every second of it.

However, rather than driving the demon out of my mind, the more I tried to focus on the trail, the more I thought about mother and dad. As I struggled to find the strength to fight that mountain, I could not but think about what the right decision is for dad.

The 2.5 miles downhill hike on the Ridge to River Trail was the longest walk in my memory. Looking at the topo map, we assumed that it would be well-worth the effort to get off the AT and camp by the Shenandoah River. Images of jumping into the water to cool off drove us forward. However, the mountain and the heat took a great deal of our energy and left our legs and hearts weak. While the S. River site was already taken when we got there, I could not have been happier to make camp by Sand Spring, dunk myself in the ice cold water, and enjoy the simple pleasures of food and relaxation before quickly falling asleep.

Day two was tougher than day one. With my blistering feet, I could no longer move quickly. Advising my hiking partner to move ahead to meet our ride without me, I was left to walk at my own pace. Having gained my solitude, I also earned the pleasure of monopolizing my own pains. Somewhere along the way at approximately 3 miles from our predetermined meeting spot, a butterfly with black and teal wings playfully danced around me, willing me forward for the next few miles home.

The AT always does wonders for me. It is a beautiful and challenging place that always gives me space to reflect and come away a different and hopefully better person. While I still question myself about my decision, I have my answer.

Thoughts about home: if there is one

Reading Ahmad Fadam's blog entry on leaving Baghdad in the New York Times made me pause in the middle of the work day. While I will never know (I hope) the feeling of being forced out of my homeland, I read Fadam's words carefully and contemplated what it means to leave the land where your father and mother are buried. Recently, as my father's condition worsens and I face the reality that he will soon be gone, I am awashed with feelings for this man I never really knew. What would it be like to share those moments of joy with a father who was a father? Dad tried. But the most he did was he showered me with gifts. I suppose that was the only way he knew how to be a father.

But to get back to Fadam's blog, the reason it made me think is because I've been considering how best to take care of dad after his passing. Dad would probably want to remain in Taiwan and rest with grandpa and grandma. But how can I leave dad in a land I will probably never go back to? Thus, the answer is to bring him back to the States even though I am considering leaving the U.S. not to return to live again.

As I prepare to leave for Argentina next January, I know I will return to the States to visit family and friends. But I ask myself repeatedly if I really want to return to live in the U.S. again.? Aside from friends I would trust my life with, joys of lazy summer days watching baseball, being an insomniac in New York City, I don't feel very American. Although I am happy I'm here rather than Taiwan, part of me regret my forced migration to Los Angeles during my youth. Whoever asked me if I wanted to come? Certainly not my parents.

In America, I have so many demons I prefer not to face. Who knows? Maybe being a stranger in a foreign land will change my mind.

Bad news

I just got words from mom last night. Dad's brain tumor is growing again. It happened quite suddenly. In the course of last two weeks, the growth is large enough that it is affecting his neurological functions again. I'm in pain but find myself resigned to the eventual outcome.

Reconnecting with my sister, road work, and disappointment

My sister and I have never been close. For that matter, for most of my life, I've rather wished that I've no family at all. JYL and I have gone through a couple fairly rocky years. To say that we haven't talked much would be an understatement. However, since I reached out to her after her separation from her boyfriend, she has been calling me to ask for advice and just to talk. I'm not the best listener. But I hope I've been helpful to her through her painful ordeal.

She called me last night from a Feist concert in NYC. She loved the music but expressed to me that she felt very old in a crowd of 20-somethings. Goodness - I feel that way most of the time. I'm a thirty-something who hangs out with my 20-something friends all the time! I'm even keen on one of them. But if I enjoy it, why not go with it.

In preparation for Aconcagua, I've been trying to get into a fitness routine. Since my crossfit workout on Tuesday, I ran for 43 minutes last night.

In researching more about Aconcagua, I've discovered that the expedition may be beyond my financial means. Instead of my initial assumption about the trek's $1,500 - 2,000 price tag, I've learned that it will be closer to $4,000. I'm not sure I can spend that much money on a mountain.

While I'm not abandoning my idea that easily, I've been thinking about an alternative. Perhaps I can bus from Buenos Aires to Cuzco and hike the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu? Maybe stop along the way to sample wine in Salta and revisit San Pedro de Atacama?

Preparations for Aconcagua

Since my last post, I have identified two major issues I need to address before departing for Argentina. I need to sort out the visa situation, and I need to get to know what I'm getting myself into in Aconcagua. I haven't looked into the visa part yet, but I've done some looking into Aconcagua from books and also the American Alpine Club's web site.

Items I need to address include:

• Fitness - I need to get my cardiovascular training in. The recommendation is exercise at least 3-6 times per week. This can include regularized running or cycling, with the occasional circuit training or change from running to other exercises (like cycling, rowing, hiking). It's better if it can be done at altitude. But that is not an option for me while I am still in Washington, DC.
• Gears - I'll need more and newer gears. I am not sure if my pack will be serviceable for a 20+ day expedition that is above 5000 m. I know I will need a new sleeping bag graded for at least - 29 c. I will also need new boots, gators, new flashlight for my head, crampons, and perhaps an ice pick. I'll have to look into if I need a new tent and light weight cooking gears.
• Insurance - I need a global rescue insurance policy. I'm not sure how much this will cost. But it's likely to be expensive.
• Guide - I have no death wish. I am an amateur and will need a guide and possibly porters beyond the base camp that is situated around 4000 m. I've found out the mules don't go above Plaza Francia, the base camp. Base Camp Hostel in Mendoza runs tours and expeditions up the Acon. I'm going to give them a ring or email and see how they are. I'll probably end up staying there for my month in Mendoza anyway. I've found a couple other expedition guide service companies in Mendoza and the prices for Acon is usually around USD$1,500.00 - 2000.00.

This trip is looking more and more challenging (physically and financially). I'm assuming that I'll discover more requirements as I move forward with this project, but I've found a helpful Aconcagua expedition guide that spells out some of the training and equipment requirements for a successful ascend. I've a lot of work to do. I'm sure there will be more unforeseen expenses and other areas I need to address before having a go at Acon.

What do I want to get out of My Stay in Argentina?

Since I started reading up on Argentina in preparation for my trip there next January, I’ve been so consumed with researching points of interests, logistical questions like hostels, public transit systems, apartment rental, SIM card pricing, etc, I feel like I’m running around without a clearly defined goal for my trip.

So – I feel like I must take a step back first, reflect, and chart my course.

What do I want to get out of my stay in Argentina?
There are a lot of things I would like to experience in Argentina. However, rather than a laundry list, I am going to instead list the two broad categories I’m keen on. In some way, my experience in Argentina will revolve around these two items.

• I want to honor my father in some way. With his illness, I don’t know if he will last until my Argentine trip. While he’s not been a big part of my life thus far, he is still my father. As I was reading up on Argentina and various places I would like to visit during my stay there, it occurred to me that perhaps I can ascend Aconcagua (6962 m/22841 ft). This is a big goal. I’ll need to get fit and get organized. I’ve got a great deal of work ahead of me.
• I want to learn Spanish. Coming away with Porteño is fine. But I would like to be fluent in Castellano by the time I leave Argentina. I know that is a tall order in eight months. But I think it’s not out of my reach to leave South America with at least conversant Castellano.

Logistics
In planning for an eight month trip, logistics are important. I have several areas I still need to sort through. Some will just fall into place while others will require more effort.

• Immigration: Although I know I can enter Argentina and stay 90-days at a time as a tourist, being a gringo is expensive there. A gringo without a proper resident or student visa cannot get a DNI number (Argentine social security). Without a DNI number, one cannot open bank accounts, turn on utilities, etc. I believe I can bypass expensive ($500-700 per month) furnished apartments by renting my own apartment in Buenos Aires. But without a DNI number to turn on the power, gas, and Internet, that apartment is not very useful to me. So I am keen on finding out if I qualify for a student or 1-year residence visa in Argentina.
• Apartment: I know I will not be in BA the whole eight months. But if it is affordable enough, I would like to keep an apartment there the whole time. Aside from having a secured home base to store my belongings, I hope and expect friends to visit me in BA. Having my own apartment would make visitors more comfortable. As the whole immigration bullet point above mentioned, I can pay the gringo furnished apartment or I can rent apartments like the Argentines (reportedly $200-300 per month in one of the nicer BA neighborhoods). Guess which one I prefer.
• Mobile phone: Easy enough. I take out my T-Mobile SIM card when I get down to BA and insert a pre-paid Movistar or Vodafone SIM card. My contract with T-Mobile is up January 2009 anyway.
• Spanish language lessons: I can go about this a number of ways. The cheapest so far seem to be the courses at Universidad de Buenos Aires. It’s a fantastic public university and it’s very affordable. But I’m not sure I want to be tied down in BA eight weeks at a time. I can attend private Castellano language schools but the going rates for that seem to be $100-150 a week. That price is quite steep. Finally, I can sort out a private tutor when I land in BA. The hourly rates seem to be around AR$20-25 (USD$7-8) and would provide more flexibility. I think the language lesson issue is something I’ll have to figure out once I get to BA.
• Trekking gears: If I’m going to attempt Aconcagua, I’ll need good gears. It’ll be a 20-days trek from Mendoza and I’m not going to be cold and wet on that long of a trip.
• Fitness: I’ll need to be fit to scale the world’s second tallest peak. I’m not fit right now. I can put myself on a cardio/weight program for the next eight months, but altitude will still be an issue once I get to Mendoza. Altitude is something I have to train for. But I can’t very well deal with it while I’m living at sea level in Washington, DC.
• Plane ticket to BA: Already got it. Leaving DC on January 5, 2009.
• Plane tickets in South America: I’m considering a Mercosur air pass. But if I sort out the immigration issue and can get a DNI, I can buy flights in pesos. That means I get the local rate rather than the North American rate!
• Health Care: I can go to emergency rooms for free in Argentina. Or I can buy travelers insurance to get some proper care. I suppose an extra USD$50 per month isn't a lot. But that still comes to a few hundred dollars for my entire trip.
  
• Bus: Busing is easy in Argentina and Chile. Show up at the bus stations and buy tickets 1hr to 3 days before departure. These buses are Brazilian models designed for long hauls and they’re comfortable (relatively speaking). Some even serve meals! I was on quite a few of these buses during my 2001 Chilean trip. I imaging I’ll be on a couple 24-hour long bus rides when I’m in Argentina

I can keep going with a laundry list. But I think I’ll stop here and process the information a bit. I know nobody reads this blog and updating it is more for my personal pleasure, but if anyone come across this entry and can further suggest other questions I should be asking in preparation for my travels, please open up.

Stateside

I'm back in DC. Had a wonderful night at the Doha Ritz and flew back on Qatar Air. 15 hours airborne and sitting at Solly's right now for a couple PBRs and some Chinese takeout food. Back to home and still struggling to return myself to the right state of mind for work tomorrow morn.

My Good Name

When I returned my rental car at Doha International Airport this morning, the gentleman at the car rental agency asked me for my good name. It took me a good five seconds to realize that I am talking to a south Asian and that by requesting my "good name," he is simply asking for my first name.

I got in to Doha International Airport at 19:20hr last night. Processing through immigration was a snap. I paid my QR 100 (roughly USD $27) and quickly proceeded to the city with a rental car. People I encountered were kind and helpful. My occasional use of "salaam alaykum" got me plenty of good will and lots of smiles from the locals. I checked into the Doha Ritz Carlton (gratis with points from my credit card. Woohoo!) and had an uneventful walkabout at the City Centre Shopping Mall. I checked my email when I got back to my room and watched Good Will Hunting on the tube until I passed out at 01:00hr Doha time.

One may ask why would an American in Qatar spend his only night at a mall? First, I wanted to get a carry-on luggage with wheels. So I went in search of dinner and my bag. I found a rather likable luggage and also ate a chicken whopper at the City Centre Carrefour. It was a bad meal, but mission accomplished. Further, unless I have the time to visit the desert, it seems that shopping is what the locals do for fun here. So when in Rome . . .

But back to my impression of Doha. I feel like I am in an Arabian version of Las Vegas (sans alcohol to facilitate business and fun). Doha is lined with newly-paved and broad boulevards; the new skyscrapers are fantastic!. As a big fan of modern architecture, I'm highly impressed.

But the city is about more than the buildings. Although I see Qataris with elegant and flowing white robes and keffiyehs walking and driving their SUVs about, I see more Asian service workers and North American and European business travelers.

I'm not sure what the future holds for these migrant workers. While they volunteered to be here for work, it seems regretful that they are not a part of the Gulf region's identity. Their status reminds me of the Turks in Germany; they're there but there's no there there. But who knows, maybe they don't want to stay and prefer to make a quick buck before returning to India, Pakistan, the Philipines, or China. But it is indeed quite a contrast. While Doha depends on these imported workers to function properly, it was striking to see the legions of migrant workers herded onto buses like cattle - their faces hardened by days of hard labor under the hot Gulf sun.

I don't mean to sound so down. I just typically get reflective and melancholic as I approach the end of a good trip. A good friend once commented that I get melancholic when I am drunk. So perhaps I'm intoxicated from the pleasures of traveling.

Tomorrow is back to Washington, work, and studies. But I remind myself to be upbeat. After all, I just booked my air travels for my plan to move to Buenos Aires in January. I am very excited about the Argentine plan L. and I hatched in Aqaba!

The seven-pillared worthy house

As my the post in my serious blog stated, I've been traveling in Jordan visiting L. We had a amazing time at our short stay at Wadi Rum. While it was great fun climbing and scrambling up rocks, and rolling down sand dunes with L., the highlight must be our time with the Bedouins. It was an incredible cultural experience to be invited for tea at their home. Our time at the Rum was that much more special because our guide M.'s nephew married an American girl from the Seattle area. Listening to tales of their lives in the desert and N.'s ordeal in marrying a Bedouin was amazing. M. and his nephew showered us with tea and N. showed us a DVD of her wedding. I cannot say that I agree with all their customs. But our Bedouin friends broke into the biggest smiles at the drop of the hat and were the best host one can ask for. I was overjoyed that they invited me and L. into their home and permitted us to enjoy their land if it were my own. I will treasure this experience and hope to come back in the near future.

I'm also happy that M. gave me a nickname. He called me something like "avrit." He said it's something like a jeanie (you know, out of the bottle) because he saw me scrambling up rocks on all fours. I'll have to earn my reputation next time I return.


I love you, so I drew these tides of men into my hands
and wrote my will across the sky in stars
To gain you Freedom, the seven-pillared worthy house,
that your eyes might be shining for me
When I came.

T.E. Lawrence on Wadi Rum

Thoughts about Missouri

She's been a lot of things over the last ten years. Missouri has been, most of all, a sweet little girl - a joy in my life. She's loyal, goofy, clean, hates poop and going to the bathroom, dependable, greedy , best beggar, funny little face, pillow hog, whiny girl, chick magnet, puppy who loves to cuddle, always kicks or headbutts you in the face if you try to hug or kiss her, fishy breath, happy little girl, rocket dog, bright sunshine at the end of the day, smiley girl, mousy dog, little prairie dog standing on her hind legs to beg for food, anti-big dogs, anti-any dogs, scaredy cat, loud mouth, growl and wag her tail at other dogs at the same time, kissy girl, and so much more. I miss her so much.

Missouri passed away this morning. Much in her usual fashion, she did not trouble anyone. She was happy and bounding down the hallway one second, and quietly expired the next. Missouri was a cheerful, considerate, and loyal little girl. She went without suffering and she is in a better place right now. I'm so numb at this moment I'm at a loss for words.

I haven't been very good about updating this blog lately. With the makeup exams and work, I just haven't cared about writing anything down.

This was a difficult morning. A little too many drinks last night at ML's Superbowl party and an early morning doctor's appointment is not a good mix.

It is terrible reporting daily for a job I don't care for. I only take comfort in that the job is only the means which is helping me finish school and apply to B school. I gotta focus.

But I walked out of the apartment and saw this rainbow this morn. It did wonders to lighten the mood. The picture is the intersection of 14th and Park Rd NW, right down the street from chez moi.

Mullets in Taipei?

I'm upset about my current visit to Taipei - and it's not just about the mullets I see all over Taipei's young hipsters. I'm unhappy about this visit because I'm here to probably see my father for the last time. He's got brain cancer and his chances aren't good.

Since I arrived three days ago, I've spent virtually all my time with my dad. It's amazing that even in his current state, he can still manage to infuriate me. He just has that special skill to be disagreeable. But never mind my conflicted relationship with dad. I must see him through and make sure his remaining days are as comfortable as can be.

Our days involve daily visits to the hospital for radiation treatment. Mother and I try to take him on daily walks in the park with his dog Patjiang, and special trips to Danshui, a seaside town within an easy commute on the Taipei Metro. Our Friday trip was especially meaningful for my parents since Dansui was where they went to boarding school and got married. I wish time could have stopped for my parents while we were at their alma mater.

During this Taipei trip I'm witnessing an interesting donnybrook between the pro-Taiwan independence political parties (greens) versus the Nationalists (blue). The greens, who control the government, unilaterally renamed the Chiang Kai Shek Memorial the Taiwan Democracy Memorial Hall (TDMH). The blues, naturally against everything green, have been protesting the move. Further, since the blues control the Taiwanese Legislature and the Taipei City Hall, refuse to harmonize the name of the metro station that services the TDMH. IMHO, since Chiang was a fairly despicable dictator and didn't even like living in Taiwan, I'm all for the renaming of the memorial and the metro station. But what do I know, I'm just an American in Taipei . . . .