Apprentice Contrarian

The Paper

2005-12-07T00:33:00.000-05:00

Life being eaten up by the Paper. Even my dad has pitched in on doing research for the Paper. He's been sending me links to original sources from across the Pacific. At least it distracts him from building the house he says he's going to build on our family land--a mid-life crisis, no doubt. (My friend Daniel quipped: "Under the Taiwanese Sun.")

2005-12-03T01:45:00.000-05:00

I was going to fill the page with some funny stories from summer, some random attempts at translation, but then I dropped by Jaquandor's place.

Having drifted away of from blog-reading during Thanksgiving break, I didn't read of the sorrowful news until last night. It was a shock to learn that his son had died. Little Quinn's slow journey had been an inspiration--and because it was easy to take it as such, you subconsciously expected that happy ending for all uplifting stories. It was not to be. Yet, even now, Jaquandor's words teach us what is sorrow and what is love:

The viewing itself was a pretty surreal affair. One of our concerns was that Little Quinn wouldn't look "right", not because he's dead but because when he was sleeping, his cerebral palsy resulted in him sleeping in fairly specific positions: his big tendency was to turn his head slightly to the right, and his mouth would take on this "crooked" little frown-thing. But somehow, the funeral people got that exactly right, and for quite a while last night I expected him to just suddenly stretch, like he often did while napping. Alas.

And

He was fifteen months old, and he had only just started to find his voice, to reach for things that caught his eye, to lift his head and to hold my gaze. He was only starting to know our touch. He was only starting to know us...and then he was gone. And after forty-one days in the hospital when he was born, and nine more this summer when he had bronchitis, after being intubated so many times and after having two surgeries...for him to leave us as he did, in the shortest of moments and so quietly, has made me wonder if he was ever here at all. I sometimes wonder if we ever had a son, if Haley ever had a brother, or if it was all some dream that lasted too long and yet ended too soon.But he was here. He was here, and he taught us more about what matters in life than we could have learned if we could somehow read all of the words of wisdom written in all the books in all the world. He taught us strength; he taught us which battles to fight; he taught us that, having chosen our battles, we should never yield in fighting them; he taught us true fear and true hope, true despair and true light, true anger and the truest love we have ever known.And he did all that in fifteen months.How strange it is that I, having spent all of my life in the company of teachers, would learn the most from this little baby who spent both too long and too short a time trapped in a body he could never quite bend to his will.

Not Dead Yet

2005-12-01T22:55:00.000-05:00

Reviving this blog. Will be posting random things from the private journal to take up space. :)

Conversations in Biology...

2005-07-25T00:33:00.000-04:00

Me: (picking a french fry off the ground and eating it) Five-second rule.

Robin: Scientists have actually shown that it doesn't exist.

Me: Er...I have faith that the ecosystem in my mouth is resilient enough to resist invasive species from the floor.

Batman Begins

2005-06-15T10:43:00.000-04:00

Thanks to the timezone difference, my brother and I got to see Batman Begins right after it premiered in Taiwan (at...er...noon.) It helped that HBO was rerunning Batman Forever--I grew up with that movie and never realized how bad it was. Our family also watched Equilibrium on cable last Sunday for Christian Bale in full badass mode. We went into the theater feeling like we'd done our homework.

Short review: Batman's psycho. But he's our psycho.

Longer review:

*SPOILERS*

Christian Bale is such a better Batman than Michael Keaton, Val Kilmer, and George Clooney that I wish Warner Bros. would either CGI him into the old movies (bring in George Lucas) or erase them from our collective memory. I especially liked how he switched back and forth from protector-of-Gotham mode to billionaire playboy. The Bat voice, which sounded strange in the trailers, worked. Bale is always great in badass mode, and it even comes through when he's in costume. To be more accurate, he's Batman with and without the suit. As most of the movie implies (and love interest Rachel has to obviously state) Bruce Wayne is the mask.

I'm not all that familiar with Batman lore, but the origins of the suit, car, cowl (Made in China!! Even Batman outsources!), cave, and signal all seemed logical and rather clever. If the fights were well-choreographed, I couldn't tell. All those quick cuts did a good job making the audience feel as disoriented as Batman's prey. It's strange, but the chase scene actually seemed a bit slow to me. The Batmobile was a powerful car, but it didn't feel like a fast one.

Alfred (Caine) and Lucius Fox (Freeman) are great mentors for young Wayne. In fact, the humor in their scenes with the young superhero worked better than the action sequences. (Favorite throwaway line: "Spelunking.") Detective Gordon (Oldman) has that weary family man air and gets his turn behind the wheel. Wayne's childhood friend Rachel was actually a likeable character. I thought I'd be annoyed by Katie Holmes, but I wasn't.

Yes, there is a twist two-thirds of the way through. No, I didn't see it coming. In retrospect, it was pretty inevitable, but quite clever. However, bringing ninjas into it just smacked too much of Eastern fetishism. Come on, the League of Shadows were supposed to have helped sack Rome. Japan was far from a developed civilization back then. Even had this League existed, it'd be far more concerned with the fates of the Chinese Empire in capitals Changan and Loyang than Rome and Constantinople. This Western focus under an Oriental veneer is quite disappointing.

In the end...well, let's say that Batman still has a future with Catwoman. The rule of the chaste superhero as established by Spiderman still holds. It makes sense, since Rachel is in love with Bruce Wayne, not Batman. In other words, there's an opening for a new love interest in the sequel.

In fact, this is one of the few movies for which I walked out of the theater wanting a sequel. (Star Wars doesn't count. I want to die smiling after the midnight showing of Episode MCXXXVIII.) Not because it's perfect--more because Batman is just finding his groove at the end of the movie, and we want MOOOOORRE! /Anakin

Random stuff:

Halfway through the first full fight with Bale in the suit, I turned to my brother: "My god, he really is a psycho."

When Batman pulled of the cowl in a moment of dramatic silence, my brother started doing the Vader breathing.

The music was serviceable, but no John Williams.

Nice to see the "I'm noctournal" excuse doesn't work with Alfred either. Even Bruce Wayne is automatically kicked out of bed at 3 pm.

John Williams Heaven

2005-05-25T23:21:00.000-04:00

The Boston Pops is featuring a tribute to John Williams this week under its "Hurray for Hollywood" series. Traditionally, John Williams himself conducts the music. This year, alas, he is too busy writing the score to War of the Worlds. (*shakes fist at Spielberg, Cruise*)

Tonight was "opening night." I arrived twenty minutes late to a packed symphony hall. The usher groaned when he saw my ticket--my seat was at the left-most corner on the second balcony. It was a struggle to get past everyone without causing a commotion, but oh was it worth it. I was right over the orchestra--if I leaned forward too much, my glasses would knock out the harpist. Fortunately, the Williams tribute was the second half--I considered the remaining 'Chaplin' piece a bonus track.

I'm not really an acoustics gal (not a musician. Just a tone deaf fan) so being at the sidelines didn't bother me. What I love watching is the interplay between musicians, trying to guess exactly which of the French horns is going next, the overwhelming beauty when the entire string section melts like pure chocolate.

The conductor would turn around, give a short intro, then play us a clip from an interview with John Williams on that piece:

In the beginning, there was Star Wars. I probably have the Empire Strikes Back soundtrack memorized, but have never seen the music played live. It is the piece I want played at my wedding. (And the Force theme at my funeral.) I will always be in love with that music.

A Harry Potter sequence.

Jaws. The interview clip shows two fingers playing that ominous theme, followed by maniacal laughter. And the camera pulls back to show us Williams hunched over the piano, a wild look in his eye. Oh, Lord. But I do have an appreciation now for what Williams called that feeling "in the gut." It really is that sound of the bow on the string that completes the sound of that theme.

Schindler's List. The violin solo had me tearing up. That movie was just devastating.

Close Encounters of the Third Kind. And then the closing scene for E.T. Williams can do grandeur, pathos, tragedy...but what he also excels at is wonder. And the final piece for E.T. is just one long bike ride down the mottled path, wind and laughter raking through your hair.

We gave the orchestra a standing ovation, of course. And the conductor returned for the encore and said, "We have connections to the top"--so here is the score for Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, and we'll perform "Battle of the Heroes. The movie opened last weekend, and we are probably the first orchestra in the country to perform this live.'

We younglings on the balcony (and a lot of us were kids still in high school) gasped and went wild.

I'll leave a review of the piece to Jaquandor. My heart pounded with the beat. My only regret is that the record stores are already closed, so I can't go home and buy the soundtrack NOW.

Another round of applause, and half standing ovation. So the conductor returns, flushed, and launches in the Cantina Theme. You could feel the energy in the audience shoot to new heights. I was just geeked out to see the percussionist doing all those cool sounds in the back.

A final standing ovation from the first row persuades the conductor to give us the theme from Indiana Jones. We marched out the symphony hall into the cold rain, but our grins were warm.

2005-05-21T12:21:00.000-04:00

Been back at TheForce.Net. It's odd when forumites growl at the " '05 " and post things like, "You're an '01. Honestly, have people ever been respectful of each others' opinions here?" I never realized what a nerd I've been until I checked and discovered I was a '99. Yikes.

Second Viewing

2005-05-21T12:15:00.000-04:00

Yes, I went to watch Episode III twice in less than 24 hours. (Because my papers were kicking my ass, and I needed Star Wars to keep me sane.) Please don't tell my parents.When we left the theater the first time, I literally started shaking. It was a bit crisp at 3 a.m., but I was mostly shaking from all that adrenaline. This time, I felt pretty calm through most of the movie and even wondered if the magic was diluted.But then the Duel began. And some time during it, my heart started pounding in time with the music. I could only sit back and enjoy the best heart attack of my life.:D

It was another sold-out showing, with applause at the end. I enjoyed the second time even more, because the scenes no longer moved too fast and I was able to spot all the little things as Lucas brought us back to the atmosphere of ANH. I sat next to a couple--before the theater darkened, the girl was expressing her disappointment with the prequels. But she gasped when Anakin killed Dooku and clutched her boyfriend once Anakin began to turn. Nothing can replicate the feeling of the midnight showing, but watching her become so involved in the movie was a good substitute.

Revenge of the Sith

2005-05-21T12:09:00.000-04:00

[I watched it midnight Wednesday and rushed back to gush all over the livejournal. My original idea was to produce something more coherent for the blog--but decided to let it stand. Reposted from there:]

*SPOILERS* (And if you haven't seen the movie yet, I will hit you.)

It was an embarassment of riches. From the first moment Anakin and Obi-Wan's fighters slipped over the side of a cruiser...and we saw the entire freakin' battle. The first time R2D2 zaps one of those wasp-like robots...the lightsaber fight with Dooku...Anakin and Obi-Wan being friends, BROTHERS, often voicing their trust and faith in each other. Anakin knowing what he's doing is wrong--but still hearing Palpatine's voice. Anakin is so much like MacBeth: commits an unforgivable crime in one moment of weakness, then trapped into it. Yet, even as Darth Vader, he sheds tears.

So packed. I got there almost two hours early, and walked into a three-fourths full theater. Managed, somehow, to get an aisle seat with NO ONE in front of me. Must be the good karma kicking in. And apparently, I'd missed out on the line that stretched two blocks up the street. By the time the trailers started, every seat was taken.

So much happening. Every important scene had its ten minutes. And what full ten minutes. But I justed watched Return of the Jedi last night, and did you know they took half an hour to rescue Han from Jabba? My god, in half an hour....Episode III took twice the story of Return of the King, and compressed into half that time. Good god.I went in mostly unspoiled. And was overwhelmed.

Before I forget. Applause points:

--The one worthy trailer: Batman Begins. Applause began with the first sight of the bats. That will be the other hit of the summer. Some catcalls for Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Nothing really for Cruise in War of the Worlds.

Then:

--The silent hush (even though the theatre lights still weren't off >_< ) as the words "a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away."

--And then the yellow words appeared on the screen. And we went wild.

--The first time R2D2 zaps those robot thingys.

--Obi-Wan and Anakin's crash landing into the docking bay: And even before the hatch fully opens Obi-Wan is out and swinging the good old lightsaber.

--Laughter as R2D2 has to deal with an inopportune call from Obi-Wan.-

-Applause when R2D2 figures out an creative way to extricate himself (hint: the squid tactic)

--Laughter (esp. from some sheepish male members in the audience) when Anakin sort of has to refocus on what Padme is actually saying (instead of staring at her) with the general "I love you more."

--Obi-Wan vs. Grievous.

--When Yoda figured out Order 66, and busted out the lightsaber.

--Laughter and "Awwww" when Chewbacca offered Yoda his arm and Yoda clambered on to his shoulder.

--Yoda dropping two Imperial Guards, just like that. (Okay, it was pretty obvious that Yoda was the favorite of the evening.)

--And then there was little to applaud. Because we were all dead silent (even the two eight year-old boys who'd talked excitedly through the 2+ hr. wait. They never said a word during the entire movie), entranced. And the Duel. Obi-Wan's "I loved you." The Birth of Vader. Padme's last words. Tantiv IV. Laughter at "And wipe the protocol droid's memory". The final sunset. God, so much happened, I'm having a hard time keeping track of it.

Other moments I loved:--How Anakin won't leave Obi-Wan behind. Not while they fly their way through the battle. Not while Obi-Wan is passed out from Dooku's throw.

--Obi-Wan's "Wait a minute, we are smarter than this..."God, the humor's so corny and REAL in this one. Many groan-worthy lines, but the spirit is there.

Okay, okay, enough gushing.Was it a perfect movie? Dunno about the critics. But it was the one I wanted to see. And even at the end, I was in shock, in denial. It can't end like this! I knew I wanted Vader to be born, but not at the expense of Anakin!

Yes, Anakin's fall IS a tragedy.And Episode III is marvelous.

Thank you, George Lucas.

2005-05-16T21:51:00.000-04:00

Amen.

I'm pretty right-of-center, but is it really necessary for disgruntled conservative columnists to bash George Lucas and Episode III? Even Glenn Reynolds is laying on the negatives.

For me, conservatism is a relatively recent thing, born out of--but not sustained by--teenage rebellion. The first time I watched Star Wars was when Dad bought us the VHS box set in '93, back when Han still shot first and the Sarlacc didn't have those cool tentacles. My brother Isaac and I went nuts. We would watch A New Hope one weekend, Empire Strikes Back the next, then Return of the Jedi, only to start all over again. I loved ROTJ best because it had Ewoks. Even today, my bro and I can do the Ewok battle cry at the exact moment in John Williams' ROTJ soundtrack. Isaac always preferred ESB, especially when the "cave" is collapsing. Though I grew to appreciate ESB, I spent most of my youth fastforwarding through the "gross" scenes, a.k.a. most of the duel with Vader. My goal was to become Princess Leia, meet Han Solo, and kick Grand Moff Tarkin's ass.

In 4th grade, my wise-cracking best friend and next-door neighbor Bryan founded "SOP"--Society of Popcorn. Our main task was to watch the Original Trilogy until we knew all the lines. Sometimes we'd take a break and play Trivial Pursuit, during which the sore loser is entitled to whack everyone else with a stuffed raccoon. Bryan was the crazy conservative kid in our grade--heck, his hero was Pete Wilson. Mine was FDR. We had long complicated political arguments, or complicated for fourth graders. Bryan and I drifted apart--I still feel guilty about that--but the conservatism sank in. What I miss most, though, are still the times we watched ANH and tried to spout the dialogue a second before the characters. (Very hard with C3PO.)

Those golden days passed. My brother and I bought the Special Edition VHS set in '97 and literally wore it out. (He tried to play ESB again last winter and the tape tore.) We dragged Mom all the way to Taipei and its newest theater to watch The Phantom Menace--she slept through even the Duel of the Fates. For Attack of the Clones, our entire Tae Kwon Do team went, and we spent the rest of the day debating minutiae. Mom put her foot down at our naming the dog "Yoda." So she's officially "Yoko Yoda."

I was a Star Wars fan before I was a conservative. Heck, I'll be a Star Wars fan long after I swing from conservatism to hippy-dippy environmentalism. I can't imagine not loving Episode III when I watch it midnight Wednesday. Yoda can sprout hairy (hairier?) feet and fight to "save the Shire" this Wednesday, and I will love it. Grumpy conservatives can go throw themselves down the Death Star reactor shaft.

Update: Dang, Jaquandor beat me to it.

2005-05-14T23:37:00.000-04:00

Saw Jenny off to the airport, then wandered the darkening streets of Cambridge in search of senior gifts and travel guides. Ultimately bought a copy of Walden and started reading it for the first time. By the time I paused, it'd stolen three hours from my life--or rather, I gave them freely.

The way I see it is: if I were the type to drink, I'd lose my evening AND incur a morning hangover. Instead, I've volunteered my evening and now want to spend my life hoeing beans at Walden pond--or studying marine life along the coasts of Japan.

How tragic it is that Biology is developing its greatest tools just when biology itself is being lost--as if we have finally built a flashlight, only to shine it into the abyss. To be a biologist at the dawn of the 21st century is to be a librarian in the last days of Alexandria.

2005-05-05T23:26:00.000-04:00

Jaquandor thanks TheForce.Net for all the good it's done, especially as a news source and connection to other fans. I'd join him with my thanks, but first I want to wring TF.N's collective neck, for tempting me with spoilers ALL DAY LONG. Come on, I don't even have the self-discipline to write papers for classes I love--how do you expect me to just avoid learning everything I can about Episode III?

Right now, I cheat a bit and skim online and magazine articles very quickly, telling my mind to blank out anything that looks remotely spoilerish. But it's not working. And to exacerbate it all, I just bought a ticket to see the Boston Pops Orchestra honor John Williams as part of its Hurray Hollywood night. *sigh*

So, I'm doing this thing called Walk for Hunger....

2005-04-24T13:07:00.000-04:00

...And will be forgoing the pleasures of the Anime Boston conference to walk 20 miles in either rainy/cold or humid and hot weather. This will be for Project Bread. To quote their blurb:

Did you know that in the poorest neighborhoods in Massachusetts, as many as one child in three lives in a home that struggles to put food on the table?....Did you know that $100 provides 200 people at a homeless shelter with a bowl of hot soup and a sandwich? Pledges from The Walk for Hunger will help fund 400 emergency food programs in 132 communities. Online pledging makes it easy to help, and Project Bread needs our support now more than ever.

I'll be walking with a group of other girls, and our goal is to raise $100 each. If you donate just 50 cents/mile, for those 20 miles, I'll be very happy. :) Though I only have one reader (hi, Jaquandor!), I'm hoping someone will google "Moleskine porn" and come to this page. Hey, it's a long shot, but please consider it.

Donation link here

My Brother's Future Married Life

2005-04-24T00:03:00.000-04:00

I can see it already...:

Her husband: a smart, gentle gijutsu-kei sarariman (corporate computer engineer) in his mid-30s, is an avid collector of figya (figures) of various animation and action heroes with a special penchant for Star Wars and Gundam. He knew seven of the great classic ani-son (animation theme songs) by heart, and liked to sing them out loud, at the top of his lungs while driving. He never failed to get up at 7:30 on Sunday mornings to watch a cult '70s anime rerun on TV and seriously considered dressing up as Kamen Raidaa (The Masked Rider) for his wedding until his mother wept and begged him not to.

Suffice to say, the whole of his private life was dedicated to the perusal of otaku pleasures and typical of the true otaku, he innocently and sincerely believed that his bride would share the same joys. For Yoshika, this meant certain drastic modifications in what she had envisioned her shinkon seikatsu (newly married life) to be like.

Having lived at her jikka (parent's house) all her life, she had many plans about decorating her own home -- and armed with copies of Elle Deco, she had aspired to a tasteful, artistic ribingu (living room) in which the red sofa from Idee (the young, professional Tokyoite's favored vendor of designer household products and furnishings) would quietly but masterfully dominate the ambience. But the sofa was obscured by the rows and rows of figya lined up on the shelves -- Luke Skywalker and Gocha-man and Ultra-man, standing like sentries, glowered at the coffee table.

Since Yoshika's mother had spent most her life in the kitchen, Yoshika had grown up swearing she would not make the same mistake and laid down a rule that as a married couple they must dine out together twice a week. She hadn't expected that in the restaurant, her husband's conversations will consist mainly of references to obscure anime directors from the '60s; a topic of interest only to other hardcore otaku.

In addition her husband adheres to a strict otaku diet of cappu nudoru (cup noodles), kan-inryou (canned soft drinks), bananas, hamburgers and convenience store onigiri (rice balls). And being an enthusiastic fan of shoku-gan (the small toy prizes that come attached to snack boxes), he has taken to consuming three or four junk snacks daily, and has cleared a whole shelf to display the prizes. Says Yoshika: "Ota-yome no michi wa ibarano michi (the path of the otaku wife is strewn with thorns)."

Elsewhere in the world such men are bypassed as totally non-eligible for relationships or marriage (and the first definition of an otaku is that he cannot, or prefers not to communicate with other human beings) and indeed, in Japan the otaku was long shunned as social outcasts. Not that the otaku cared very much. Who needed to date when Rei Ayanami (heroine of "Evangelion") beckoned from the DVD?

But as the years went by the otaku, once a minor and underground species, increased their numbers to become very-nearly-mainstream. Yoshika says her decision to marry had much to do with the fact that in modern Japan, it's hard to find a man who's NOT an otaku in one way or another. "Otakuga iyada nante yuttara kekkon dekinai shi, otaku wa uwaki shinai kara ne (if one refused to marry an otaku, one can't get married and besides, otaku will never have affairs with other women)."

Hm...if only I can find a guy similarly dedicated to Star Wars...

Moleskine porn

2005-04-19T23:36:00.001-04:00

Arrghhh!!

2005-04-19T23:36:00.000-04:00

Why is the MRT in Taipei blessed with this, while Boston is stuck with our ugly T?

Just to let people know, Episode III is killing me with the extra stress. Every day, I ponder if I should buy midnight tickets at the Fenway AMC, (but who wants to be stuck near Fenway at 3 a.m?) or hold out for the digital screen at Loews Boston Commons. I was there to watch Sin City, and ended up harassing the lady at the ticket booth, the guy at the customer service counter, and then that guy's manager, about tickets. They told me to go to Fandango.com, and but Fandango doesn't offer any tix for Boston yet. I've been "camped out" in front of the computer, hitting the refresh button compulsively. >_<

2005-04-14T23:35:00.000-04:00

I've joined a cult:

Moleskine

I've always jokingly sneered at the type of person who buys an iPod now, when they are 'cool' for the mainstream herd, and now I go and fall for the stationery equivalent. *sigh*

But they ARE such beautiful books: Gallery
Though I hate following the early adopters, these pocket-sized books really are hard to beat. The European hype isn't impressive--but the simple functionality is. I'm in love with it, carry it everywhere in my hoodie pocket with (since the truly hardcore also reveal their pens) a black 0.38 mm Mitsubishi Uni-ball Signo DX. Since getting one, I've scribbled more things these last few days than I have in a year.

Random things I have written in mine:
Angry ranting
Rooming combinations in Leverett House
My attempt at a Japanese tanka
The registration number of a Qualysis installer Cd
Positions of reflective markers on a goat

Maybe I should write a novel instead. :p

You Know You're A Republican When...

2005-04-11T00:08:00.000-04:00

You play five straight games of Mafia--or "Democrat," with ten people pointing fingers at each other, yelling, "You're the Democrat!"

:p

2005-04-06T01:40:00.000-04:00

For me, "tortured writing" has always been a literal phrase. Every sentence requires countless mental tinkerings before being committed to paper--for academic papers, my average is an hour a paragraph. (And this is why I'm such a bad blogger.) Fortunately, there are times when I can produce words at great speed. The first is under SEVERE time pressure--I once typed up an internship application while eyeing the Fedex truck outside to make sure it hadn't left--and the second is in the wee hours of the morning. Unfortunately, unleashing my wit is often more like unleashing the sarcasm.

Here's a role-playing speech I had to produce last night for a class on biodiversity/ environmental law and policy. At least my classmates thought it was a hoot:

As your city attorney, I have to declare that this case makes me wish I hadn't watched all those Law and Order episodes in yesteryears. Had I gotten hooked on ER, I'd be massaging some man's heart with my latex-clad hands right now--while George Clooney makes my own organs throb and quicken just by running a hand through that salt-and-pepper hair....

*straightens skirt*

What I mean to say...is that I can't believe I'm saying this...but some "enigmatic maggot" is going to prevent the building of a desperately needed hospital, disrupt job growth, and set our fair city back by $661 million. (My crystal ball also tells me to buy oil futures NOW.)

Let me give it to you straight: the Supreme Court has judged that the Endangered Species Act requires the government to prevent a wide range of harm, including "significant habitat modification or degradation." And even had the Fish and Wildlife Service dragged its foot on Balmer's request, the entire fiasco with the northern spotted owl has set a precedent requiring the FWS to explain itself if it doesn't name some fowl or worm endangered or threatened. Alas, the gnatcatcher's case in Natl. Resources Defense Council v. Dept. of Interior fairly demands that the Service designate "critical habitat" for a species. And the way things are looking now, this critical habitat includes every bit of developable land within city limits.

All this, coupled with the fact that our Governor loves sitting on the fence so much that he has permanent splinters up his a___, bodes ill for our city's future.

There is a way out of this mess. According to eminent sources, this creature is actually a sub-species of Rhaphiomidas terminatus. Moreover, scientists are in increasing debate about the actual existence of distinct "species." Last time I checked, the root of all this evil was the Endangered "Species" Act--even the Supreme Court can't deny that. If we can make a good case that our Delhi Sands Flower-Loving Fly is actually an almost indistinguishable cousin of the Islamabad Sands Flower-Loving Fly, which flitters around Some Other City, then we're in luck.

Su Shih's Red Cliffs, cont'd.

2005-04-05T23:00:00.000-04:00

Note: Su Shih is my favorite Sung Dynasty writer. He's my favorite Chinese writer. That's not saying much, since my reading list back in high school was limited to a few early favorites and trash romance novels. Still, things have been stressful lately, and trying to translate him is very much like assuming his serenity, if only briefly.

Also: stress relief's the goal, not accuracy. :)

Original here.

....

And so we drank our pleasure. Beating the tempo on the skiff's prow, I sang:

The cassia oar and the orchid wood paddle
Strike the empty brightness, traced by light.
Distant is the object of my thoughts--
Gazing at a beautiful woman on the other side of the heavens.

My guest played the long flute, wrapping my song in harmony--the hooting of an owl: like resentment, like admiration...like sobbing, like confession. The winding of its long notes were endless like a bolt of silk: the hidden dragon that dances in gloomy grottoes, the abandoned wife weeping in her lone boat.

2005-04-04T19:05:00.000-04:00

Jaquandor's Byzantium Shores is one of those blogs for which I would drift into the habit of not visiting and then devour an entire month's worth of posts in one afternoon. Maybe it's because I like being able to read nothing but posts on Star Wars, classical and film music, and random news from Buffalo for hours. It's like saving up Peeps so you can eat until you're sick before Easter. (Sorry Jaquandor. I needed a simile and couldn't think of anything else.)

Here's a recent post on finally getting a die-cast Millennium Falcon. To which I say:

1) I have Darth Vader's helmet sitting on my desk, and he's all I need.

and

2) Death Star Trench Run!!

Su Shih, "The Red Cliffs". Translation-on-the-fly, part 1

2005-04-04T18:27:00.000-04:00

Original here.

It is autumn of the year Ren Syu, the seventh month full upon us. My guest and I sailed our skiff down the Yangtze to below the Red Cliffs. A light breeze wafted over us, but excited no ripples in the clear water. I raised my cup of ale towards my guest, and we recited poems of the bright moon and sang songs of youth. Soon, the moon rose over the eastern mountains, lingering between the Shepherd and the North Star. White mists spanned the river, its diffuse lights joining those in the sky. Our lone skiff drifted at its own will, soaring over an uncomprehending deep--Great as though at the reins of the wind, steering it against the nothingness, never knowing when it will end. Floating as though forsaking the world to stand alone, joining the Immortals...

Late to the Party

2005-04-02T18:55:00.000-05:00

I have been spending spring break with my roommate Yi-An in Baltimore. We had a full day at UMCP yesterday, and Arash rather selflessly (Ayn Rand would have issues with how selfless Arash is) drove us back through the pouring rain. Since I slept all the way back to Baltimore, I ended up wide awake at 12:30 a.m. in a half-empty house with strange creaking sounds. (See Grudge, the).

Fortunately, David McCullough's John Adams had staring at me from James's bookshelf for the last week. I started from the end--there's a fascinating story behind Adams and Jefferson's reconciliation that never made it into the high school textbooks--then continued with the beginning. It was heartening to learn that Adams was often assailed by feelings of self-doubt and a sense of futility, that he had trouble concentrating, that he daydreamed often and thought far too much about women. Alas, these human failings were before he somehow straightened himself out, delved into the study of the law, and emerged as the most prominent lawyer in Boston. McCullough's writing for citizen-scholars, not ambivalent college students, so he never quite explains how Adams did it.

On the other hand, McCullough did cover the issue of declaring independence. Contrary to the picturebook view of the American Revolution, independence was scarcely a majority position. It's interesting to learn that the greatest outcry for independence was in occupied New England, not in the wealthy Southern colonies. Also, that Adams et al. had to ensure that they did not push for independence too fast yet manage to grasp the opportunity when it presented itself. The same numbers show up again and again: a third of the delegates too conciliatory, a third too timid, but a third of them "true blue." Sometimes, the passionate 30% truly can change history.

Just Saw the Grudge...

2005-03-28T01:33:00.000-05:00

I can't believe I spent an entire month living in one of those freakishly old tatami-mat, creaking-doors, cramped Japanese traditional rooms. In Kyoto, where people like to walk around in wooden clogs with a lantern in the middle of the night. (True story. They'd go past our window and freak us out every night.) And I'll be spending this summer in some remote fishing village, with enough flashbacks to the Ring (Japanese version.)

o_O

2005-03-27T21:40:00.000-05:00

Standing up for peace:

According to the Associated Press, about 1 million people took part in the march, while organizers said about 3,500 tour buses carrying participants coming from around the country poured into the capital city. Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) Chairman Su Tseng-chang (蘇貞昌), one of the organizers, said that more than 1 million people took part in the march yesterday.

Before Chen's appearance on stage, the atmosphere climaxed when the leaders of civic groups and political leaders led the participants in singing songs in chorus in various languages to highlight the people of Taiwan's hope for peace and democracy.
As the melodious notes of She's our baby, sung in Hoklo, Friends and We are family, sung in Mandarin, Hakka's true colors, sung in Hakka, and We shall overcome sung in English, wafted through the warm air of the spring afternoon, many of the people singing had tears in their eyes.
Although the participants in the march were of many different ages, ethnic groups and nationalities, they all said that they did not approve of China's threatening Taiwan with the Anti-Secession Law.
"The purpose of the march is for us to come out and say aloud that we are firmly opposed to China's Anti-Secession Law, and that we want peace and we don't want war," said a pharmacist surnamed Yeh (葉), who works in the Chang Gung Memorial Hospital "Today's march also symbolizes a non-violent movement and shows our love of the land."

2005-03-23T23:06:00.000-05:00

At a small table in Eliot Square's Cafe Paradiso Sunday afternoon, sixth-year doctoral student Lauren J. Willig is sipping a latte and marking up a thick sheaf of papers with red ink. But she's not poring over the rushed contentions of a new batch of undergraduate midterms, or a draft of her dissertation on British history of the Tudor-Stuart period, or even a judicial opinion for her second year at Harvard Law School....The racing, racy historical narrative is driven by plucky characters with dual lives like 20-year-old Amy Balcourt, a.k.a. The Pink Carnation, who abandons a peaceful life in the British countryside to avenge her guillotined aristocrat father. Witty, rapier-wielding Lord Richard Selwick, a foppish Egyptologist at home in England, ventures into Bonaparte's sanctum and dons the dashing mask of The Purple Gentian to save fair Brittania—and win Balcourt's quivering Regency-era heart.

"This wonderful marketing person [at Dutton] came up to me and said, 'So, for Richard, Orlando Bloom?'" Willig remembers. "We toyed with the idea of Anne Hathaway for Amy...We couldn't find a role for Colin Firth, which was distressing."

Forget grad school...this is what I'm going to do after college. :p

Pissed Off

2005-01-13T18:42:00.000-05:00

I usually keep politics out of this blog (okay, I usually don't post on this blog), but today's Weatherhead sponsored-symposium on Iraq seriously ticked me off. I went mainly to hear Professor Rosen's views on how the war is going (as he was rather coy about it during class), but had to first sit through the Distinguished Professor Stanley Hoffman's views on the necessity of withdrawing from Iraq. And why the organizers chose a professor who'd emigrated from France to represent that view is beyond me: half the time, he raised my hackles just by playing the "wise European critic". I'd just watched a production of Hamlet last night, and this was more theatrical.

To be fair, Professor Hoffman's intellect is a sun to my asteroid. Even so, there's something disgusting about a man lauding France for withdrawing from the Indochina war--by handing the problem to the Americans. And then to dismiss the consequences of American withdrawal, to not even have the grace to say, "I regret the hundreds of thousands of South Vietnamese who died or fled after the fall of Saigon, but..." He generously acknowledged that Saddam Hussein had massacred millions of Kurds and Shiites, but noted that those atrocities were in the past; by 2002, Iraq was just a normal dictatorship. Apparently, mass murder has an expiration date: after a decade (or less, if you have an Oil for Food program), a tyrant no longer has to answer for his crimes.

Rosen was very credible in his assessment, especially when he castigated the administration for taking a year to get around to creating a constabulatory force. He ended, though, with a request to proponents of U.S. withdrawal: consider the consequences. If we leave now, we abandon people who have supported us, who have revealed themselves as working for democracy, who will face horrible fates in an Iraq overrun by Iran and Syria.

Hoffman rather facetiously states that he is a scholar: it is not his job to come up with solutions. Well, he should come up with some on them before speaking so irresponsibly.

Happy New Year

2005-01-01T09:19:00.000-05:00

It's 40 degrees in Taiwan, which is worse than Boston because the temperature inside the house is equal to that outside. Somehow, no one ever bothered to install a heating system. Or even insulation.

My dog has been shivering all day. Mom's altered one of my sweaters for Yoko, but we've had to wrap her up and put her under the comforters on Dad's bed. Poor girl.

Still, it's the New Years, so wishes and resolutions:

To the people of Indonesia, Thailand, Sri Lanka, and too many other places: May you find healing and peace in this new year.

To Jaquandor: May you and your family, especially Quinn, enjoy great happiness this year. Good luck on the grand Arthurian endeavor.

Resolution #1: Stop being macho and put on the extra layers. I've had a nasty cold for the last week.

Resolution #2: Talk to parents more often. Also encourage brother to stay away from computer.

Resolution #3: Stay away from computer and actually get work done. But do remember to blog.

Happy New Year.

Back to English (whew!)

2004-12-30T12:18:00.000-05:00

My Japanese is somewhere around a first-grader's level, with even less vocabulary. It's somewhat fun to write the required essays--they make me flash back to the mandatory "what I did on the field trip" "what I did this summer" and "why Mom is the best" in elementary school. I wouldn't post in Japanese at all if it weren't for the fact that class restarts next Tuesday, I've gotta memorize a speech by Friday, and take the final exam the week after. That, and interviews are coming up. *sigh* Practice makes perfect.

In other news, my brother had downloaded some songs from Moriyama Naotaro 森山直太朗。　I liked them and bought the CD. He has a very good voice and hits high notes beautifully. Judging by the fact that the liner notes had no photographs, I thought Naotaro was one of those performers whose talent outstrips their physical attractiveness. I was wrong. Perhaps the man just needs a better publicity team.

Jaquandor's comment cracked me up. (Thanks.) And it got me thinking about the Arthur movie, which has finally arrived at Blockbuster. I'd already seen it on the plane, but might want to watch it again. Gillian Bradshaw's wonderful historical novel Island of Ghosts left me with a soft spot for Sarmatians, and I enjoyed the interactions between Bors, Gawain, Galahad, Lancelot, et al. Arthur himself was rather boring, and Guinevere didn't interest me at all. I'll probably prefer Jaquandor's version.

2004-12-27T03:29:00.000-05:00

十二月は大学の申込書に記入する季節だ。　弟がバカだから　まだ申込書を送らない。　母は毎日心配している、　私に弟を手伝って頼んだ。　全然気持ちがないが　しなければならない。　残念だ。　:(

2004-12-27T03:23:00.000-05:00

今は日本語プログラムの二年生だ。　たくさん単語をわからなくて、よく覚えられなくて、悪い学生だ。　しかし　にほんごが本道に好きだから、　勉強していくつもりだ。　

Blogging in Japanese today:

2004-12-27T01:44:00.000-05:00

最近家に暇だったが　全然勉強しなかった。　今冬休みは九日があるから　時間がなくて　しんぱいしている

ボストンを出たから、　日本語を時々使った。　テレビは日本語チャンネルがあって　よくＪドラマが見えて　聞き方をよく練習している。　しかし　書き方は全然使わない。　それから　今　ブログで　勉強する。

2004-12-26T07:17:00.000-05:00

Finally Finished: With the Lightnings, first book in David Drake's version of Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey/Maturin series. Lt. Daniel Leary loves the Royal Cinnabar Navy, women, and biodiversity; Adele Mundy doesn't believe she can love anyone, but can hack into top-security systems and shoot the head of a flying sparrow (African or European?). WtL is book one; I'd read books 2 and 3 first. Drake and Eric Flint's still unfinished Belisarius series is excellent, and this set is great if you love the O'Brian feel of the books.

Now reading: Keith Laumer's Retief series, based on an InstaRec, via the Baen Free Library. The first few stories are a blast; if they continue in the same vein, I'm going to buy the paperback.

The Million-Dollar Question:

2004-12-26T06:57:00.000-05:00

Q: What do Taiwanese CD stores play for Christmas eve?

A: The William Hung Christmas album.

I'm not joking. My brother and I were checking out the latest Japanese releases when this disembodied voice starts moaning "Little Drummer Boy." William Hung does not sing off-key (I sing off-key). He emits a stream of sound that'd be more suitable coming out of his ass.

One Thing to Be Proud Of

2004-12-19T22:53:00.000-05:00

Like every other kid in the class, I told myself I wouldn't fall to Sophomore Slump. Guess who was right about that one?

One Thing to Be Proud Of:

Sewing a life-size Totoro suit. Then sewing various stuffed animals and stockings as Christmas presents. The last owl, for Professor Rosen, was frantically finished during the last lecture. He made a dramatic exit to continued applause, and I had to chase him down outside Johnston Gate. While handing him the owl, I suddenly noticed that it had ended up looking quite a bit like him. I must be the only student who's handed him a hand-made stuffed animal that shared his eyes. Who else can say that, really?

Home, and some New Year Resolutions

2004-12-19T22:31:00.000-05:00

It was actually the most enjoyable 20+ hour flight I've had. Our room of three girls and the two boyfriends opened presents Wednesday night (I got the Darth Vader helmet I always wanted) ; I spent Thursday morning finishing an essay in Japanese, attempting an orgo problem set, and doing my laundry. The two hours of sleep I got were in the laundry room. The smart thing to do would have been to sleep on the plane, but Terry Pratchett's Monstrous Regiment was in the airport bookstore. And then they had Princess Diaries 2 and King Arthur on the the plane. Oh well.

Winter break is ridiculously short. It technically starts on the 22nd--I left town six days early--and ends January 3. It's a great conversation starter with friends whom you haven't seen in six months: start complaining about the brevity of your break, and they get to boast about the length of theirs.

So, I have about fifteen days left, for sleep, good Taiwanese food, playing with my dog, and organic chemistry. And two New Year Resolutions:

1. Less sanctimonious opinionating from a college kid who doesn't know anything anyway. At this point, the only things I'm good at are sewing unrecognizable stuffed animals (new habit I picked up) and wrapping presents quickly.

2. More posting. Even if it's just dog-blogging. Powerline made TIME's Blog of the Year, and I need to keep this thing going to maintain my politics junkie cred. Never mind trudging through New Hampshire on Election Day.

A Happy Thing Did Happen Today...

2004-12-07T01:20:00.000-05:00

Went to visit Vladimir, Slavic professor into photography who randomly started chatting with when he was standing outside for a smoke. He shows me his photographs (especially the beautiful white nights in St. Petersburg). I bring food and a crude knowledge of Chinese history.

I was starving, so I just started eating while he talked. Then he decides to pull out his camera and capture me wolfing down a banana in unlady-like eagerness. By now, I've sort of resigned myself to the fact that his idea of a good picture is the direct opposite of mine. Then again, he's looking at composition, good lighting, and sense of action. I'm just looking at that double chin.

In the middle of this, a former grad student pops into the office. And--it's the sweetest thing in the world--he has an orange ribbon knotted on the jacket zipper. Though I haven't been following the events in Ukraine that closely, that instant sense of euphoria--just at the sight of an orange ribbon--is beautiful to experience. This is what it must have been like to be at the Berlin Wall in 1989. I was born after or don't remember the crucial DPP protests in the 80s ; when full victory finally came in 2000, it was a beautiful culmination, not this heady revolution. Keep your fingers crossed for December 26. It still might turn into blood and tears--but for now, just savor this flowering of courage.

Back

2004-12-06T23:42:00.000-05:00

This semester has been like...gah, I'm too tired to think of a hackneyed metaphor right now. Basic story: my roommate and I (to prove Prof. Rosen's general theory) learned from our mistakes last year and then overcompensated. She was on the student council and spent most of the day running from meeting to meeting--now she doesn't even go to class, but stays in the room studying. I was anti-social, passing my days in the library or lab; next month, I'll be running for (and probably winning) two time-intensive officer positions, both of which have to do with money.

How I became a money person in the Taiwan club and yearbook is quite beyond me. I'm not actually good with finances--secretarial, worker bee tasks are rather relaxing (you don't use your brain), but the actual process of calculating which bill you can put off paying is not so fun. However, I appear to have a moderate talent for writing grant applications: a useful skill in this school. Well, any school. Lately, the summer internship search has begun; I originally felt quite lost, but a cover letter really is just like a grant proposal. Now, the problem is writing a resume. Skills: Chinese, Word, Excel, more than passing familiarity with the Library of Congress system, ability to sort things alphabetically, gel electrophoresis, Western blot, immunohistochemistry, wax and cryosectioning. Oh, and (sort of) translating poetry and writing grant proposals. Central problem: Jack of two unrelated trades, master of none. Other problem: Don't want to name-drop name of lab I work in, because I love these guys but don't feel like any kind of significant contributor there. Gah.

This summer will either set me on the path of no return for biology or give me the opportunity to try some other field for a change. Volunteering at the lab during term time has been a positive experience, but my time there just taught me that molecular biology does _not_ set me on fire. Biodiversity tutorial is much better, but it involves more discussion and less actual field work. On the other hand, perhaps this is the year to apply for government internships; the politics junkie part comes in handy, and I already spend my day writing proposals for panels discussing "The December Legislative Elections and Their Effects on Constitutional Reform." I suppose it's also a way to find closure: if my current activities and GPA (which peaked last spring and has been going down since--thanks for nothing, organic chemistry) aren't good enough to get me the internship I want, then I'm just not good enough. Rejection will be harsh, but at least the answer to "what if?" will be "no."

The irony is that I'm much more tired precisely because I've tried to be more socially involved and academically responsible. Last fall was spent mostly sleeping on the commute to lab and reading Patrick O'Brian novels. This time, I started studying for orgo on the Greyhound back from New York. (So much for that.) In retrospect, I did better in classes though working less. And sleeping more.

There is this project in Arlington, VA on studying sleep deprivation. The goal, I recall, is to build the supersoldier. A worthy goal--perhaps they'd be willing to take on a student guinea pig. Nah, scratch that: if I am to do biology work this summer, it will either be in Japan or the beginnings of senior thesis research.

I wish I had someone to ask about this. Any time I try to discuss summer plans with friends, it feels a bit like boasting or insinuating a certain level of confidence in being accepted that I just don't have. I KNOW what I what job I want. The many reasons (to find out if something that has always appealed to me is attractive in reality or just more drudgery, to shut up and do something instead of just talking, to live up to the example set by my friend Eddie's brother) still stand. But I turn it into a running joke with my friends, because anything else would allow their indifference to this small wish to hurt me. It'd be nice if my faculty advisor actually knew who I was and give me _advice_. It'd be nice if I could talk to my parents without being criticized. Yes, yes, criticism builds character--but even the strangest characters need a break.

2004-09-29T19:08:00.000-04:00

NOBODY should have to pay medical bills AT ALL. There's simply no reason for it. I'm serious here. Capitalism destroys people's lives, especially when it's applied to health care. And ultimately people are left without dignity.

In reply to Jostein's comment here (I didn't want to bicker in Jaquandor's post about his son):

If nobody pays medical bills, we will all pay for them in the form of taxes. Sure, you can then change the tax code so, to exaggerate, the top 10% of income-earners pay 90% of all taxes. Except rich people have an easier time moving to other countries. Except no proper bureaucrat would ignore such a large, unexploited tax base as 90% of the population. Unless you are really at the bottom of the economic ladder, you will still end up paying for yours or someone else's medical care.

Perhaps Jostein means that health care should be provided free of charge to both patient and taxpayer. I don't know how this would work. A lot, if not most, of my friends are premeds; many of them do feel a need to help people. However, I dare to say that most would not go through the sheer torture of med school if it weren't for the money and prestige.* If medical professions do not command a high salary, you just aren't going to get the cream of the crop as doctors. I might be willing to settle for a physician of middling quality, but would a parent wish that for her child?

Even if top doctors would work for free, the equipment itself costs a lot of money. I'm just a college kid playing researcher on afternoons, but a buffer I use costs $55 for 2 mL. When you're measure things in microliters, 2 mL can go quite a long way--but not if you're running a lab with eight full-time researchers. Unless you're going to make medical equipment and supplies for free (and how can that work?), medical care will cost money.

Health care is not a right, and it is not free. You can make it a "right"--you can impose price controls, wage controls, require insurance, heck, nationalize the entire thing. But you won't be getting the best doctors, the best new medicine, the best treatments, and those who can afford will go to where they can. Those who can't will be screwed.

*I base this opinion on the fact that they don't spend much of their free time volunteering to physically help people. Working at a hospital lab or raising money via grant applications are wonderful activities, but neither demonstrates a burning desire to comfort an actual sick person.

Update: Rereading the post, I fully realize how incoherent and unsubstantiated my arguments are. Well, the "Health Care in America" course is slated for next semester. I'll get back to you then.

WTF moment

2004-09-24T01:24:00.000-04:00

I went to Best Buy to buy the Star Wars OT DVDs, and the widescreens were ALL sold out. A pathetic number of Pan and Scans languished in the display.

How unfair is that? Unlike the ungrateful OT purists who lambast Lucas at every opportunity, I have stood by the prequels through thick and thin. No summer soldier and sunshine patriot crap for me. But when the time comes to get the _widescreen_ DVDs out, these whiny fanatics get their pure paws on a copy, and I don't? Where's the justice?

Just kidding. :p

Not about the "sold out" part. :(

2004-09-11T23:20:00.000-04:00

Dad was channel surfing as we kids prepared for the nightly fight with Mom about bedtime. When he switched to CNN, the screen was dominated by that image of the first tower, its middle shrouded with smoke. A few minutes later, the second plane hit. And, much later after that, CNN told us that they had hit the Pentagon.

It all seemed like something out of a Jerry Bruckheimer movie, some horrible spectacle that just couldn't be happening in real time on the other side of the world. Only much later did I realize that thousands of people had died in front of my eyes. You slow down upon seeing a highway pileup to look at the mangled metal frames, but go too fast to see the blood on the ground. And for that, I will always feel guilty.

Simply Breathtaking:

2004-09-10T13:14:00.000-04:00

From Jeff Harrell:

What followed was an unprecedented collaboration involving hundreds of web sites and potentially thousands of Internet users. Readers from all over the world started sending e-mail to the three Power Line contributors. Information started to stream in. IBM did manufacture a line of typewriters that used proportional spacing, but questions remained about whether the typeface of the IBM Executive line matched the typeface used in the CBS memos. Another possible source of the memos was the IBM Selectric Composer, a very expensive and very slow typesetting system; this possibility was quickly dismissed. And so on and so on at a pace that almost overwhelmed the Power Line editors.

The people who sent e-mail to Power Line came from all walks of life and all levels of expertise. One reader, John Risko, said that he worked as a clerk at the Naval Underwater Research Center in 1971. He said, "These documents are forgeries, and not even good ones." Reader John Burgess differed, saying, "By 1969, I was using an IBM Selectric typewriter with proportional type balls. They were widely available in the public sector and thus readily available to the military."

And so it went throughout the day, a dialogue of the kind we've never quite seen before, at least not on this scale. Web logs use a method of cross-referencing each other called "trackbacks." A very popular Web log post might receive as many as a dozen trackbacks, or citations from other Web sites. By midnight Thursday night, Scott Johnson's Power Line post had received 443 trackbacks, meaning that 443 distinct Web sites had cross-referenced his work during the course of the day. As one blogger put it, "That's got to be some kind of record."

My friend Kevin and I recently got into an argument about blogs. He basically sneered at their low-level partisanship and told me that he got all his news straight from the AP (ha!) and Reuters. I was going to email him Instapundit's stats (better than the circulation of most mid-sized newspapers), but this post is even better.

2004-09-09T01:00:00.000-04:00

When the appointed day came, I packed an overnight bag, turned off my computer and telephone, caught a cab to Grand Central Station, and boarded a Hudson Line train for Cold Spring. It was hot and rainy in Manhattan and warm and noisy on the train, and I squirmed uncomfortably as I watched the river roll by outside my window, feeling more than a little bit nervous at the thought of all that time on my hands. An hour and ten minutes later, the train pulled into the Cold Spring station. I was the only passenger who got off. I couldn’t see the village through the trees and wasn’t sure what to do next, so I called the inn on my cell phone and asked for directions. Three minutes later, I was standing in front of the Hudson House Inn, looking across the street at the broad, tree-lined river and listening to birds chirping away just over my head. On the far shore was Storm King Mountain, shrouded in the light gray mist of a muggy June afternoon. For no reason at all, my eyes filled with tears.

I checked in—I was the only guest—and took a shower and a nap. Then I went out again and planted myself on a rough-hewn park bench a stone’s throw from the water. Behind me was the inn, before me the mountain, beside me a neatly painted hexagonal bandstand whose cornerstone proclaimed it to have been built in 1929, three years after my father was born. A pier lined with old-fashioned streetlights, all but deserted on that quiet Tuesday afternoon, jutted out into the river. I sat for a half-hour and watched the freight trains rumble down the tracks at the foot of the mountain. A white sailboat glided by in the warm orange sunlight. Some wry impulse had led me to tuck a copy of Isaac Bashevis Singer’s Shadows on the Hudson in my shoulder bag, but I didn’t feel like reading, or using my cell phone to check my messages, or doing anything other than sitting on the bench, gazing in silence at the river and the mountain and the summer sun.

--Terry Teachout

The beauty of American colleges (as opposed to Taiwanese ones) is that they give you so much free time. It'll be another ten years before I can afford to spend two nights at Cold Spring on a whim, but I can easily skip a class, walk to the river, and enjoy an afternoon of doing nothing. And, to be honest, no undergraduate class I took in the past year has changed me as deeply as finishing Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey/Maturin series. Twenty books, spread out from November through April, and it felt like a lifetime. Correction: two lifetimes. The proper way to enjoy those books is to finish Blue at the Mizzen and start Master and Commander again. You literally feel the weight of those years lift from your heart, and, like Jack and Stephen, you are young again.

2004-09-08T01:06:00.000-04:00

Jane Austen and Nietzsche:

On C-SPAN yesterday, Harry Evans, the Brit-born publisher, said that when he revived the Modern Library imprint for Random House, the big sellers were Jane Austen and Nietzsche. I mentioned this to a clever friend, who had these thoughts:
Ubermenschfield Park
Pride and Ressentiment
Also Sprach Emma Wodehouse
and, my favorite:
If there were any truth universally acknowledged, it would be that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a transformation of all values.

2004-09-07T11:52:00.000-04:00

I didn't realize how much I loved Kyoto until I left it. Sure, every time my brother and I ventured into Osaka, we found it too crowded, too disorganized, too superficial. Returning to Kyoto was always like taking off the high heels at the end of a long day. Now that I'm in Taiwan, though, I find myself walking on the left side of the road, trying to orient myself around a river that isn't there, hungering for the best eel in the world, listening for the creepy clip-clop of wooden clogs at midnight, and waiting for a glimpse of an ancient culture that doesn't know it's dead.

However, if you'd asked me in late July what thought about Kyoto, I'd say that Japan was getting on my nerves. It was that last miniature garden that pushed me over the edge--I wanted to scream and swim to America. "Purple mountains' majesty" trumps "delicate mound of white sand that symbolizes the insignificance of man". Though I still dream about a nice, hot unagi donburi, there are days when I just want a good chicken quesadilla. However, Kyoto's beautiful bus system beats Boston's ghastly subway any day.

Boston's not a bad city. Sometimes, you can get on the T and climb above ground to cross the Charles at just the right moment, when the sun gilds the waters and that belt of gold trembles before you. But Park Street is the next stop, and you're once again in the darkness.

It's that time of the year again

2004-09-07T11:29:00.000-04:00

My brother's been receiving various brochures from American colleges. Looking at these beautifully printed packets of false advertising, I can't help thinking:

--When do I get to be the token Asian in a picture?

--Brochure pictures of the surrounding wilderness should be labeled "Warning: We're in the middle of nowhere."

-- Can they stop showing pictures of snow and instead show pictures of heated tunnels under the snow?

--My professors never smile like that.

--Instead of charts displaying their racial diversity, schools should print charts showing: 1) The local price of a good-sized meal 2) average transportation costs to the nearest mall and 3) the median grade on any class's curve.

--There are creative essay topics, and then there are creative essay topics. And there are essay topics that make no sense whatsoever.

--Brochure students are always grinning. The question is whether or not they're grinning during finals.

File under "Taiwanese Politics"...

2004-09-07T10:36:00.000-04:00

2004 has already distinguished itself as one of the most eventful years in the history of Taiwanese politics. In the past eight months, we've seen:

--A very divisive, bitterly contested presidential race, in which incumbent Chen Shui-Bian won against challenger Lien Chan by 0.228% of the vote. (Approximately 300,000 votes were considered invalid, mostly because the opposition KMT/PFP coalition passed a measure severely limiting the kind of votes that would count. Previously, the paper ballot just had to show voter intention. Now, it doesn't count unless one--and only one--stamp is in the box under the face of the candidate.)

--An assassination attempt on the president on March 19, a day before election day. Lien Chan et al. claim that Chen Shui-Bian faked the entire thing to gain sympathy votes. That's unlikely, as there doesn't seem to be many Lien supporters who actually changed their mind because of Chen's wounds. Instead, Lien's supporters were so wound up about the possibility of a staged attempt that they: 1) turned out in droves 2) pissed off Chen supporters with their accusations, and they turned out in droves. As the Taiwan presidency is won by a plurality in the popular vote, the 319 event energized the base on both sides.

--Calls for recounts from Lien Chan and the KMT. Lien Chan and Soong Chu-Yi both ran in the 2000 presidential race; they split the 60% "pan-Blue" vote and lost to the 40% "pan-Green" Chen. After four years of waiting, Lien and Soong partnered up, thinking their 60% should send them straight to the Presidential palace. Instead, they lost by a Jessica Parker-thin margin. The "Blues" raged, raged at the dying of their political dreams and surrounded the Presidential Palace in protest.

--The recounts. It pains me to think of how many lawyers were hired to oversee the counting. Alas for Lien, a majority of the contested invalid ballots were actually for the incumbent. Chen's "pan-Green" coalition relies heavily on uneducated seniors, who didn' t know the new rules. (Example: Some old ladies liked to stamp on their candidate's face instead of in the little box.)

--A lawsuit filed by Lien Chan, asking the Supreme Court to declare the election invalid anyway. His reasoning is that the election should not have gone forward after the 319 shootings. According to the law at that time, however, elections only stop when a candidate is dead. Chen, as much as Lien Chan wishes otherwise, is not dead.

The lawsuit is still in the courts, though, and a decision should come out in September.

--The establishment of a "319 Truth Commission" by the opposition coalition (which holds a majority in the legislature). This isn't surprising (Taiwanese politicians love establishing commissions). What is surprising, though, is that the legislature gave itself all sorts of powers. It commands prosecutors to report to the commission, promises to produce a result in three months, and will be able to overturn court rulings that it doesn't like. In other words, bye bye independent judiciary. The premiere vetoed the "319 Truth Commission" measure and asked the Supreme Court to rule it unconsitutional. We'll see.

--Most important, though, is the recent amendment of the constitution to cut the number of legislators in half. Taiwan will be switching to the Japanese system: every voter gets two votes. You vote for your local representative, and then you vote for a party. Thus, half the legislators will be directly elected, the other half seated based on each party's proportion of the second vote.

This amendment will change the electoral landscape of Taiwan. Basically, we'll be transitioning from a multi-party system to a two-party system. The smaller parties might get seats from the "proportion system"; however, the reduction in available seats means that those from smaller parties will never be directly elected. A current problem is that aborigines and the Fujian province islands (with people who feel closer ties to China) are really overrepresented. We'll probably be seeing the gerrymandering opportunity of a lifetime.

New Look

2004-09-07T10:23:00.000-04:00

After neglecting this blog since early spring, I've changed templates to Blogger's "Harbor," then switched background pics. The one in the upper left is from Himeji Castle, one of the best-preserved castles in Japan. The one in the lower right is Taipei 101, currently the tallest building in the world. I spent all of July in Kyoto, a beautiful, cultured city where you live and breathe history. Both June and August were for lounging about in Taiwan. My laptop has 500+ MB of pictures and clips, and I'll try to post the best stuff here. As for pictures of Taiwan...well, I promised a photography enthusiast I know that I'd take some pics for him. *wince* That'll have to wait.

2004-04-12T20:10:00.000-04:00

(Cont'd from below. VERY LATE)

A Tale of Three Panels: I went to the Weatherhead Center panel on March 18, two days before the March 20 election, the Taiwan Workshop panel on April 8, and the Taiwanese Cultural Society panel, today--which I actually helped out in organizing. Each one had a different look and feel--the Weatherhead one was a no-nonsense academic affair, though I didn't feel that their choice of Chinese scholar was adequate for the discussion. (Well, I can read the People's Daily.) The Taiwan Workshop event was quite a posh, lavish affair, from a speech from the Deputy Assistant Secretary of State for East Asian Affairs to the Charles Hotel location. Our little panel today was a much more modest affair, but turnout was good, and the speakers excellent. What I enjoyed even more was the chance to have dinner with Prof. Goldstein afterwards. He's pessimistic about Taiwan--believes she's heading into "The Perfect Storm," having talked to Taiwanese officials who believe that China is bluffing and Chinese officials who are no longer confident that time is on their side. The PRC may feel that it needs to force the issue now.

On a minor note: I was amused by Prof. Goldstein's assessments of the traditionally pro-unification KMT and pro-independence DPP. The KMT were like "deer caught in the headlights," having run a terrible campaign that only reacted to the DPP agenda. Chen Shui-Bian and the DPP, on the other hand, ran a very effective campaign. "The DPP can do everything except govern."

Long time, no update....

2004-04-12T19:32:00.000-04:00

Jaquandor has linked to the Asia Times article on "2006: the Dangerous Year for Taiwan." I left some comments on that thread, which I'm reposting here, before posting some thoughts from the recent Taiwan election panels at Harvard. Here they are:

The 2006 date doesn't really make sense to me. ( *cough* Didn't the Nazis invade Poland after the Olmpics*cough*) The only good reason for picking 2006 would be becaue that's the year President Chen plans to push for a new constitution. The old one is an outdated mess, but a new one that's been ratified by popular referendum MAY be considered a declaration of independence in Beijing. I went to a recent panel on the March 20 election--and Americans seem more worried by this than the Taiwanese. The truth is that this is that President Chen and the DPP, as much as I prefer them, always have idealistic goals and clumsy execution--we've already seen this with their failed attempts to stop construction of the 4th nuclear power plant (that is ridiculously overpriced), legalize gay marriage (though I'm optimistic about that), etc. Chen and the DPP do much better on the cultural front (the rise of the Taiwanese identity) than on the actual political front.

Would a quick invasion work out? Maybe. Taiwan's military is quite flawed, but, then again, so is China's. The PLA, after all, is now a business entity as well as a military institution--I'd expect corruption to be as bad, if not much worse. I think the PRC is kidding itself if it thinks there will be little resistance. No, I don't expect the populace of Taiwan to rise up as one--most people just want to do business and live their lives quietly. But Taiwan, back when it was first conquered by the Ching dynasty, was known for its rebellions: "A small one every three years, a big one every five years." The businessmen and intelligentsia, though less likely to fight, are also more likely to already hold American passports. The ones who can't flee, the farmers and factory workers (esp. in the South), are already more pro-Taiwan, anti-China as it is. The fact that they'll be the ones hardest hit will only polarize them more.

What is seriously flawed with the PRC plan, though, is that they don't realize they'd be invading a democracy. I don't have much faith in the Taiwanese government or military, but the strength of the country was never in such institutions. Taiwan is not Hong Kong--every time the PRC has threatened the island during its elections, the anti-China candidate has won. So I'd predict an apparently quick collapse, followed by a long, perhaps bloody resistance.

The U.S. reaction is harder to predict. Ironically, I think that a President Kerry would be more likely to act on Taiwan's behalf. After all, Kerry would have a Republican Congress looking for any opportunity to howl for his blood. Bush, on the other hand, would get away with pandering to China in the name of cooperation over the War on Terror. And we shouldn't forget that it was Nixon who went to China.

Then again, I don't think we'd ever reach that stage. Prof. Rubenstein (who's edited Taiwan: A New History and has quite a few govt. ties) actually said, in a panel, that he suspects any cross-strait war would go nuclear really quickly. Taiwan had a nuclear program until the 70s, when the U.S. insisted that it end. But the Taiwanese have never been concerned with legalities. If Pakistan can assemble its own bomb, then wealthy Taiwan, which produces most of the world's computer motherboards, should have no problem. I'm not saying this triumphantly--just the idea of it scares the heck out of me. Still, there's consolation in knowing that if the end's coming, it'll be over fast.

A random thought: everyone assumes that the Taiwanese have no stomach for a fight. (Which is probably true of many people--except, once again, many of those people will be in San Francisco once war breaks out.) But no one really asks if the Chinese people have the guts for a war. Sure, they're nationalistic--but nationalism doesn't always translate into fortitude. A lot of the college students who always hold protests in front of the U.S. Embassy, etc., would get out of military service if they could.

2004-03-19T11:32:00.000-05:00

All I can think right now is:

They shot my president. The bastards shot my president.

It chills me to think of how close Taiwan was to losing her first head of state. Everyone in Taiwan's grown up with the possibility of a Chinese invasion. If the missiles started flying, I'd be afraid, but unsurprised. But this...this assassination attempt leave us all in shock. I don't know what else to say.

February 28, 1947

2004-02-28T02:58:00.000-05:00

Never forget.

Death estimates for the 228 Massacre in Taiwan range from 15,000 to 30,000. An entire generation of Taiwanese intellectuals and leaders died in the hands of Nationalist soldiers.

My grandfather used to tell us about the time he and his brother went up north--to the port of Keelung. They had business in town....but as the train pulled into the station, they heard reports of gunfire. Grandfather knew how to recognize danger (he had studied in Japan during World War II). He and his brother stayed on the train, got off at a later stop, and then walked all three days back home.

They were lucky. Later, they learned that Nationalist soldiers had been watching the train stations and hostels for free-roaming young men. If you weren't at your job or with your family, you were a possible rebel. Many of these 'rebels' disappeared.

Though it's been fifty-seven years, though I've never known anyone who has lost someone to the massacre, I still feel anger and sorrow on this day. It forms part of who we are, why we're Taiwanese. 228 showed Taiwan that she was not Chinese--not to the government in Nanjing, not to the Governor in Taipei, and certainly not to the soldiers who delighted in their own brutality.

**For a Western eyewitness account: Formosa Betrayed by George H. Kerr**

Yang family warriors, pt. I (pt. II below)

2004-01-31T15:31:00.000-05:00

At the Chinese bookstore, I picked up the 楊家將演義 (Chronicles of the Yang Family Warriors). It's a relatively short novel, written in the half 白話 (plain language) half 文言文 (literary language) of Three Kingdoms and Dream of the Red Chamber. Chronicles is a FAR lesser work--the characterization is poor, the background description is practically nonexistent, and every plot arc is wrapped up in five pages. As much as I delight in trash fiction, I wouldn't have wasted time on that mediocre novel if it weren't about my ancestors.

Yes, apparently I am related to the famous Yang family warriors of the Sung Dynasty. I have hazy memories of Dad's family burning incense and sacrificing a hog to them when I was in elementary school. Then again, Chinese/Taiwanese people love to claim famous historical figures as their ancestors. For all I know, every Yang family in the continent believes it's descended from the 楊家將.

It's amusing to discover that one's alleged ancestor was quite a Don Juan. In the Chronicles, Yang Wen Guan 楊文廣 is the Orlando Bloom of the Sung Dynasty. As the son of famous generals, he has a reputation for martial prowess. Yet, every character who is introduced to him remarks on how pretty his light skin and red lips are. Aiyah.

In one chapter, Yang Wen Guan is tasked with retrieving three stolen imperial treasures from a pair of female bandit chieftains. They know he is engaged to an imperial princess but still decide that he would make an excellent husband. The less beautiful of the two chieftains first shoots Yang Wen Guan off his horse and pressures him to marry her. When Wen Guan refuses, she ties him up in her bedroom and gets his right-hand man to be the matchmaker. "Why not?" Wen Guan asks himself, and they're quickly married. The NEXT DAY, the other chieftain shows up, throws a violent fit, and Wen Guan marries her, too. Wen Guan soon bids them farewell and promises to return.

On the way back to the capital, he runs into a third bandit family. Wen Guan defeats the father, but the smitten daughter engages him in an extended duel. Riding away from the battleground, she lures Wen Guan to a gorge, where his horse tosses him into the water. Wen Guan is quickly "forced" to marry her, and they tearily part days later. When Wen Guan FINALLY arrives back in the capital, the grateful emperor arranges his wedding with the princess. In the course of two chapters (about ten pages), Wen Guan marries four times, and three of his wives don't know about each other. Hilarity ensues.

Yang family warriors, pt. II

2004-01-31T15:29:00.000-05:00

In reading the Chronicles, you discover the Chinese concept of the strong woman. Though the 楊家將 (Yang family warriors) start out with a patriarch and seven sons, everyone but the sixth son dies or goes missing. (No. 6 dies later, but after producing an heir.) For the rest of the story, Son No. 6 and his boy (Wen Guan) go through various crises and rely on their mothers, wives, and aunts to bail them out. These 楊家女將 ("lady warriors of the Yang family") are mostly widows who still fight for the corrupt dynasty that killed their husbands.

From the Chronicles, it seems that Chinese men don't mind being beaten by beautiful warrior women, as long as the women fall in love with them in return. If two or three (or four or five!) such women fall desperately in love with the same man...why, the more the merrier! This scenario is a staple of lesser historical novels (the irritating 兒女英雄傳) and wushia novels (the Jinyong ones come to mind). Why these spirited, athletic, independent Chinese women would fall for physically weaker, annoyingly orthodox Chinese men is a mystery. Wen Guan's excuse is that he's a 10th century Orlando Bloom, but most of the other "heroes" are not that lucky. The classic example is Liu Bei from Three Kingdoms and Sun Chuan's besotted sister. Liu Bei is not much of a prize, but the Princess abandons her family for him anyway. Gah.

I'm usually not much of a feminist, but Chinese novels always get me worked up.

2004-01-28T02:03:00.000-05:00

I started on Barry Hughart's Bridge of Birds after Jaquandor recommended it (read his review here) and finally found time to finish it yesterday (and started on the second book immediately :p).

Bridge of Birds is what you never knew you wanted: a delightful fantasy/mystery set in medieval China. Exactly when and where in medieval China is a good question--Number Ten Ox lives within running distance of Peking, and it's apparently the Tang dynasty. In fact, Barry Hughart manages the extraordinary feat of getting the history wrong and the setting perfectly right.

As a lapsed Chinese history buff, it was fun to spot all the (intentional?) errors in the background. Hughart takes all the Chinese dynasties and meshes them together. Thus, we have a Sui Dowager (the Ancestress) living during Tang Tai-Tsung's reign, along with a Dukedom of Ch'in that's survived eight hundred years (the dynasty only lasted fifteen.) Tsao Hsuei-Ching is mentioned as a great writer, though he won't be born for another millennium, while the jia gu wen of the Shang dynasty shows up, though it too wasn't discovered until the Ching Dynasty. I don't say this to nitpick. Hughart's a genius--he doesn't let chronology keep him from capturing the essence of Chinese culture.

A minor (but telling) example:
"There really was a minor deity called the Princess of Birds, although not necessarily as described in the story, and she really did wear a crown that was decorated with three feathers from the Kings of Birds. We would have to be as blind as neo-Confucians not to guess what happened."

The "neo-Confucians" jab is technically unnecessary to the plot and historically inaccurate (these guys show up in the Sung Dynasty.) But where else in Chinese history could Hughart find such a large group of reactionary idiots? It's an obscure reference that completes the uniquely Chinese feeling of the novel.

As you may have guessed, the bridge of birds sort of refers to the Shephard (Niou Lang) and Weaver (Jhi Nyu) of the legend. Hughart has his own twist to the myth, which I actually prefer to its rather dull origin. There are many scenes in this novel where the author surpasses his source material: the dancing girl and her captain and Miser Shen's Ah Chen poignant stories in their own right.

I agree with Jaquandor in everything but my reaction to the last arc of the novel. The surprise of the ending is indeed wonderful, but it also sent chills down my spine. Indeed, I haven't had this many goosebumps from a book since reading the first third of Fellowship of the Ring. (Ringwraiths are scary.) Well, the Duke of Ch'in scared the crap out of me, too--call it ancestral memory of the original Qin Shihuangdi, but the Duke is just practically Poe-esque. Indeed, the more you know about Shihuangdi's motivations, the more plausible and terrifying the story becomes.

I wonder if I am unique in this reaction. Right now, I've started Story of the Stone, and the Laughing Prince is also keeping me awake at night. Read it and let me know.

On a less serious note...

2004-01-24T02:25:00.000-05:00

I've been cramming chemistry with the Gladiator soundtrack blasting from the headphones (listened to the Beautiful Mind soundtrack two hours ago), and then I see this on the page:

The Russell Saunders Coupling Scheme

I must be dyslexic, because only two words immediately stood out...My mind really didn't need to go there.

:p

2004-01-23T17:54:00.000-05:00

I may be giving the impression that I do nothing but study and read books of great literary value. Pppphhhtt! It was Chinese New Year's Eve on Wed. (my birthday), and we stayed up late eating cake and watching My Sassy Girl (a Korean romantic comedy) and Hero (Chang Yimou's beautiful propaganda flick.

My Sassy Girl is a charming film that trots out every cliche in the genre:
she can't get over the death of her old boyfriend, he struggles in school to meet his parents' expectations, they search for each other but happen to be on opposite sides of the escalator, she bids him farewell at the train station but then starts chasing it...The fun is all in the delivery. The stars are great comic actors--indeed, it's when the movie becomes blatantly sentimental that it bogs down.

I find that Korean movies in general is rather melodramatic. As a friend pointed out, it's always boy meets girl, boy gets girl, girl dies of leukemia or boy meets girl, girl is actually his sister, boy and girl agonize for two hours, boy and girl are actually unrelated because boy's mom was having an affair. The Japanese already went through that phase a decade ago and are much more sophisticated--or perhaps I'm just being biased. :)

Still, while My Sassy Girl could have been a Japanese or Chinese film, Hero is an unmistakably Chinese film. When you get a bunch of Chinese people together, the regional differences always stand out (i.e. everyone dislikes the Shanghai-ese). But tied to it is always the identity of the "Empire"--all peoples (barbarians don't count) united "Under Heaven."

I watched Hero with a group of heavily Americanized high school classmates. Yet, every one of us walked out talking about the political message of the movie. The subtext is strong enough that it sometimes ruins my enjoyment of the visuals. More on this later.

2004-01-23T17:31:00.000-05:00

On Wednesday morning, I shuffled groggily away from studying for the anthropology final to go brush my teeth--and looked up to see the door plastered with "Happy Birthday, Michelle!!!" It was all my roommate's doing. And today I finally have time to read Byzantium Shores, only to see that Jaquandor's noticed my non-blogging. I'm rather flattered by both.

This would give the false impression that I've been studying all week. What I've actually done is cram desperately the night before each exam (two more next Monday), while finishing Thirteen Gun Salute, Nutmeg of Consolation, and The Truelove of the Patrick O'Brian novels, continuing Bridge of Birds, and starting on Auerbach's Mimesis. The last book was a random recommendation from Jessa at Bookslut. In Mimesis, Auerbach addresses the "representation of reality in Western Literature." I'm only a few pages into the book, and already I feel like pleading for forgiveness because I skipped through those long, descriptive passages in The Odyssey. (Hey, I just wanted to know what happens in the story!)

And so to bed.

(Not really. I've been following Samuel Pepys's diary at www.pepysdiary.com and couldn't resist.)

2004-01-03T20:26:00.000-05:00

Having gushed about Patrick O'Brian the novelist, it would only be fair to consider Patrick O'Brian the man. Unfortunately, it now appears that he spent most of his life constructing a facade. It doesn't decrease my enjoyment of his books; indeed, I'm impressed that such a prickly, ornery old man can create such wonderful, human characters. Orwell is a contrary bastard, and you sense that in his writing. O'Brian, on the other hand, never gives the game away. Still, I'm now persuaded that I wouldn't want O'Brian as a neighbor. What a pity.

2004-01-03T20:09:00.000-05:00

Finished Reverse of the Medal (Book 11) three days ago, and had underestimated the number of books I should have borrowed from the library. After a day of abstinence, my hands actually started twitching...I settled for finishing Master and Commander, finally. (The copy back home has the bookmark somewhere in the middle.) I'm now done, and America is so ill-designed that you need a car to find a decent bookstore. My temporary solution is to hang around O'Brian discussion forums until it's time to get back to Boston. The concentration of erudition on those mailing lists is daunting. In twenty years, I might feel confident enough to join the conversation.

I've read the claim that Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin don't grow as characters (Jack grows VERY fat, but you know what I mean.) Bullshit. It's such a shock to go from RotM, with it's older, more sombre characters, back to the beginning, when Jack believes making post will guarantee smooth sailing till he hoists his flag, and when Stephen's still unentangled in espionage and Diana. There's an exuberance in the two that diminishes as the series progresses. No doubt Patrick O'Brian was feeling the ravages of time, but this man began writing the series when he was FIFTY! Surely there isn't that much of decline between fifty and seventy.

While we're on the subject of O'Brian's age at M&C, let me admit how encouraged I am by it. We live in an age of prodigies, flashes in the pan, burned out geniuses--the implication is that if you're not published in Nature by 30 and tenured by 45, you're an utter failure. Well, I'll go down that path and do my best, but something tells me that I'm not cut out for early success. Perhaps it's my utterly unpractical interests, fluctuating amount of ambition, distaste for socializing...if life were a multiple choice test, I'd have a better shot at fame and fortune. As it is, I will give it all my best shot before settling down to some remote cottage in the mountains of Taidung and writing the Great Taiwanese Novel. (Less competition than the Great American Novel.) Or I'll muddle my way into the Chinese Democracy movement and watch it all come to grief. There's a fat Dickensian novel somewhere in that.

Can you tell that I've been reading George Orwell all day? My English Lit teacher was right to warn me of Orwell courses in the winter. I, counting on the resilience of youth, dismissed his advice the moment he gave it. Aiyah.

Anyway, I've now been deprived of Patrick O'Brian for a day, and my hands are starting to twitch again. This morning, I picked up Treason's Harbor, started reading from a random point till the scene where Jack discovers that his promised command has been given away. There is now a high chance that he will be cut off on shore with half pay:

He was eating his dinner, not in the dining-cabin but right aft, sitting with his face to the great stern-window, so that on the far side of the glass, and a biscuit-toss below, the frigate's wake streamed away and away from him, dead white in the troubled green; so white that the gulls, poising and swooping over it, looked quite dingy. This was a sight that never failed to move him: the noble curve of shining panes, wholly unlike any land borne window, and then the sea in some one of its infinity of aspects; and the whole in silence, entirely to himself. If he spent the rest of his life on half-pay in a debtors' prison he would still have had this, he reflected...and it was something over and above any reward he could possibly have contracted for.

Tears are nasty business when a library book is concerned, but in this case I hope they will forgive me.

"This fellow has created characters and stories that are part of my life." --David Mamet

Duel of the Fates

2003-12-16T03:21:00.000-05:00

(Meant to post this two weeks ago.)

There's nothing so irritating as a faceless adversary:

For the past month, I been immersed in Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey/Maturin series. I skipped Master and Commander (half-read during the summer) and went straight into Post Captain--"Jane Austen on steroids" is an apt description.

These novels are as addictive as crack. Though I still can't tell one jib from another, I've always had a soft spot for nineteenth century prose, and the Aubrey/Maturin friendship is one of the most heart-warming relationships I've ever read. Fortunately for this impoverished college student, the library has most of the twenty-book series. I took care to borrow Books 3 (H.M.S. Surprise) through 7 (The Surgeon's Mate before Thanksgiving and headed to the library today for the rest.

Some insidious fiend had pillaged the shelves and carried off books 8 through 10. To make matters worse, he/she/it brazenly requested the books I'd hoarded (presumably because he'd skipped the first few volumes.) For one petty moment, I considered keeping them with me till the mandated deadline, if only to deprive that Sith Lord of his O'Brian fix. But the Light Side triumphed, and I handed them over with only the briefest whimper.

Now on O'Brian withdrawal, I considered just ordering the series on Amazon.com. Still, bankruptcy, though a charming trait in dashing Royal Navy captains and erudite spies, loses much of its romance as a MasterCard bill. Fortunately, I remembered that the used bookstore across the street had most of the books at half-price. "Lose not a minute," cried I in the best naval tradition, and off I went.

The bookstore was swept clean, lost to either the fiend or his second cousin.

I'm tempted now to leave notes the volumes 11 through 20 in the library to demand satisfaction. Pistols at dawn should do the job.

2003-12-16T03:20:00.000-05:00

(From last night's journal entry):

Just came back from an exhilarating performance of Mozart's Requiem in D Minor. Coming from the events of this morning, the emotional impact was even more impressive:

Confutatis maledictis
Flammis acribus afflictis
Voca me cum benedictis

Ora supplex et acclinis
Cor contritum quasi cinis
Gere curam mei finis

When the accursed are confounded,
consigned to the flames of woe:
call me to be with the blessed.

I pray suppliant and kneeling,
my heart contrite as if it were ashes:
protect me in my final hour.

Porn for biological anthropologists

2003-11-23T15:16:00.000-05:00

He pressed a kiss two centimeters anterior to her temporo-mandibular joint and fluttered more down the ascending ramus. Resting his head against her pectoral girdle, he lavished attention to her sternum, easing from the manubrium to the xiphoid process. While one hand traced the lordosis of her vertebral column, the other caressed her sartorius from its insertion at the medial surface of the tibia to its origin at the iliac spine.

Once again, he marveled at the generous carrying angle of her femurs, at the elegant tilt of her pelvic bone, at the beautiful orientation of her iliac crests. It took thousands—nay, millions of years of evolution to produce this wonder, this glorious bipedalism. That thought alone made him mad to examine her linea aspera.

Culture clash

2003-11-22T00:28:00.000-05:00

It was something straight out of a Lonely Planet book:

My postdoc boss and I were in the darkroom in a different part of the med school when we heard a distant buzzing. When we returned to the lab through the connecting corridor, it was obviously our building's fire alarm. So we dutifully hurried downstairs--straight into a circle of irate policemen.

In between yelling at us for coming out of the building thirty minutes late (the alarm had been on for that long) and yelling at us for not acting terrified, they informed us that such loitering could be punishable by jailtime. My postdoc was obviously upset and reacted in the typically Chinese fashion: she smiled politely at the policemen.

They, of course, thought she was amused and yelled louder. Her smile widened painfully. They yelled even louder.

In the end, we explained that we were in another building entirely and never heard the alarm. It took much longer for the policemen to calm down. The entire affair could have been avoided if someone'd bothered to read any travel guide.

2003-11-16T00:39:00.000-05:00

I love my roommate. I really do. But did she HAVE to play this when I'm cramming for my chemistry midterm:

I tried so hard
And got so far,
In the end, it doesn't even matter...

Is she trying to tell me something?

Master and Commander

2003-11-15T01:51:00.000-05:00

I just got back from a packed showing of Peter Weir's Master and Commander. Let me just say it now:

I can't believe they spent $130 million to make this movie.

This is a beautifully crafted, beautifully acted film. It's an epic in the Doctor Zhivago sense, with sweeping landscapes, a long, occasionally episodic story arc, and a perfect cast. It's not a Russell Crowe movie--because the star of Master and Commander is the 19th century British navy. Unlike The Last Samurai, there were no places where you wanted to roll your eyes and say "Oh come on." It's not entertainment--it's an experience.

And that said, I'm prepared to bet that half the audience members were bored out of their minds.

Like many of them, I went in the theater expecting Gladiator on the great sailing ships. After all, the trailers promised non-stop action. The first sign that I was wrong was the movie score: it doesn't exist. We don't get Hans Zimmer's standard "combat scene music" to rouse our excitement--instead, director Weir lets the creaking of a wood, the groaning of the rigging speak for themselves. Throughout the film, Weir makes similar choices-- Master and Commander doesn't feel like a movie.

For one thing: what movie would cut away from the suspenseful pursuit of an elusive enemy to show us 19th century British humor, the swimming iguanas of the Galapagos, and two best friends playing music into the night?

I want to ask: which Hollywood executive lost his mind and greenlighted this film? I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. "What in the world makes you think that this movie will make money?" And then I want to shake his hand and thank him being gloriously unpractical.

2003-11-14T21:18:00.000-05:00

One of the best things high school ever taught me was how to fall asleep with my eyes open. With a bit of practice, I could even manage while automatically responding someone's conversation. ("Ah....interesting....how did that happen...was it fun?" *zzzzz*)

Recently I've discovered a new skill: doing grammar drills with a partner in Japanese class while my brain is still asleep.

I'm taking basic Japanese--and it's the first language for which I've had to consciously conjugate verbs and adjectives. The more I learn other languages, the more I appreciate Chinese: no verb tenses, no plural nouns, no adjective forms....

Better yet, when I was in high school, it was the fashion to write run-on sentences that utterly disregarded traditonal parts of speech. Luckily for me, I already wrote in that manner and got high marks in class. It was the only time my ignorance of grammar earned me much praise.

Why the blog?

2003-11-10T17:13:00.000-05:00

I originally had a long, unremittingly earnest post on intellectual curiosity and continual self-education....Fortunately, Blogger took one look at it and ate the whole thing. Never let it be said that blogging software doesn't have good taste.

I've been reading a blog for close to two years and writing my own "little girl's high-tech diary" for six months. Jaquandor's Byzantium Shores is as close to the ideal as it gets: politics, literature, music, and culture, and just the right amount of Women Who Leave Britney in the Dust. He has excellent tastes in authors (Guy Gavriel Kay!) and music (John Williams!), but an ill-fated love for the Buffalo Bills. He encourages his readers to begin blogs, and so the idea's been rattling in my brain vault for a long time.

It's only recently, however, that I've felt a need to blog. Our generation has bought into the idea that college expands your horizons, helps you discover your true self, and seduces you into the Democrat party. Alas, you still spend most of your time sleeping through class, grubbing for grades, and shuffling about with a herd of friends. We fear loneliness, so we dislike spending time with just ourselves.

I feel like I've fallen in a mental rut. My politics have largely petrified, and I've developed six prepared responses to any political question. (No. 3: "Liberal media bias!") Of the last two books I read for pleasure, one was a trash romance with lots of ripped bodices. As for the last time I wrote creatively....never mind. My brain's bloated with trivia like a pregnant woman, but when I look in a mental mirror, I only see that I'm fat.

I don't begin this blog with any purpose except to train myself as a contrarian. No, I'm not developing a social conscience at last--my only targets are my own preconceptions and prejudices. It's a last-ditch attempt at self-education. And I write knowing that some day, while checking on stocks in the comfort of my middle-class condo, I will accidentally click on these archives and wonder what all that fuss was about.

Last Samurai, cont'd...

2003-11-10T00:13:00.000-05:00

Did a bit more thinking about The Last Samurai...

It was rumored to be a Dances With Wolves in Meiji Japan, and I can see the similarities. Indeed, the film is at its weakest when Tom Cruise's character plays the morose Westerner who just fits in so well. >_<

But while I'm always annoyed by the patronizing Hollywood stereotype of noble savages, I didn't feel the same way about the samurai. Sure, there's a geek fanboy ("Look! Ama Kakeru Ryuu no Hirameki!") kind of admiration which I happen to share, but the samurai have always inspired this reaction.

It's also fascinating to compare an American reaction to this movie to a Japanese reaction and a Taiwanese reaction. The American one will have that large fanboy element. As for the Japanese--I have no idea. Is it fashionable over there to act cynical about the imperial past? Or are they proud of their ancestors' achievements? Also, the movie develops quite a negative slant on the Meiji modernization. Which side will Japanese viewers take?

As for a Taiwanese reaction:

As I watched both the samurai and imperial soldiers train and fight, I couldn't help thinking: we were next. They killed each other for a few years and then started conquering the rest of Asia. Of all the former colonies, Taiwan still retains the most positive impression of the Japanese. But you still feel a frisson of fear when you survey all that stoic discipline and fanatical loyalty. It's dread, admiration, pain, and pleasure all rolled in one.

Historical memory can be such a double-edged blade.

The Last Samurai

2003-11-09T23:18:00.000-05:00

Just attended an advance screening of The Last Samurai, starring Tom Cruise; it was free because the director was an alumni.

Let me begin with a perhaps outrageous prediction: You will like this movie better than Return of the King. Not because The Last Samurai is a perfect movie--Tom Cruise in samurai armor looks ridiculous, no matter how good he looks with a beard. And the dialogue is not bad, just utterly predictable. Though the director makes some brave decisions, it all seems so inevitable in retrospect.

BUT: This is a very Japanese movie, just like how Hero was a very Chinese movie. You see how Cruise's character (and the director himself) are seduced by this exotic vision of Japanese honor. The way the Westerners fawn over bushido is quite irritating. Yet--this IS Japan's national myth. As such, it's not as good as the Rurouni Kenshin (not to say the RK OVA), but this will be the closest to it we'll ever see in a Western film.

Aside from some parts of the dialogue (and Samurai Tom), it is a fine film. The cinematography is beautiful--more importantly, the katanas in this movie are ABSO-F#$%ING-LUTELY gorgeous. If your heart swells at the click of the blade as it leaves the scabbard, at the sight of galloping horsemen, at the music of Buddhist gongs, then this is your movie.

Though I found the worship of 武士道 a bit heavy-handed, it was a refreshing change from the sophomoric American obsession with sex and teenage woes. I'm also glad to see the Japanese characters as the true emotional centers of the story. Tom Cruise is the outsider through whom we're introduced to the story, but it's Katsumoto, Nakao, Taka, and Ujio who carry it. They are the true stars.

And that makes all the difference. Return of the King will undoubtedly be a memorable movie, but it's still about Hobbits and Elves and Kings of Men. The Last Samurai takes us back to a place we've only known through anime and gives it flesh and blood--lots of blood.

Ack...

2003-11-09T05:57:00.000-05:00

The upside of beginning projects on a whim, obsessively tweaking them, and abandoning them after near mental breakdown: you quickly develop a steep learning curve in any subject. Jane Austen taught me Regency manners, Gladiator got me into reading Gibbon, and Star Wars Galaxies led me to learn all about vertex and pixel shaders.

So three hours ago, at around three a.m., I decided I wanted a blog. Alas, I only knew basic HTML tags from Livejournal posting. And now, at 6 a.m., I'm exhausted and can't keep my eyes open, but at least I have a decent sidebar. Now I'm off to bed. Always quit when you're ahead.

2003-11-09T04:19:00.000-05:00

The high ambition, therefore, seems to me to be this: That one should strive to combine the maximum of impatience with the maximum of skepticism, the maximum of hatred of injustice and irrationality with the maximum of ironic self-criticism.

--Christopher Hitchens, Letters to a Young Contrarian