ojmusings

Kman turns 4!

2011-11-09T20:12:00.000-08:00

All hail Kael
Who is turning 4
All hail Kael
For giving it his all - and then giving more!

He's got a heart of gold
And loves knock-knock jokes
This kid is from a different mold
whose motto is 'go for broke'

He's still as mad as ever about trains
I guess it wasn't a passing fad.
"Slippin' Into Darkness" is the favourite refrain
Of this vibrant young lad.

He could be the next dj superstar
Or maybe a local footy legend
No matter - to me he's a star
That shines bright and never descends.

Every morning, he emerges from bed
Blue blankie & stuffed animals in tow.
His favourite colour is red
And he thinks everyone else is slow.

Always looking out for others,
Kael's the sweetest boy in town.
Coco's lucky to have such a good big brother
(except when he knocks you down)

He epitomizes exuberance with a capital E
What the French call 'joie de vivre'.
Looking for the door to enthusiasm?
Find the Kman cuz he's got the key!

2011-10-15T15:33:00.000-07:00

Coco turns 2!!!

Coco turns 2!
"No way, Jose"
Chloe, you're already 2? - "Yes daddy, okaaaay?"
I know Coco, but it's hard to believe it's true.

The beautiful girl with the eyelashes long
and the machine gun of a giggle.
Who sings all kinds of songs
- especially the ones by the Wiggles.

She loves to get filthy when she plays
Hence the nickname "pig pen"
That part of her hasn't changed since her baby days;
Will it still be the same when she's ten?

Chloe can be very mischievous
Or as sweet as a chocolate chunk cookie
One minute she'll send flying her dishes
And the next be cuddling with blankie.

She can build a "tower of power"
In 2 minutes flat.
She loves to smell the flowers
And learn about animals with the Cat in the Hat.

She's a real superstar
Who talks and already knows her ABCs
She sings along to Twinkle Little Star
And counts to dix with ease.

That which she's not a fan:
Wasps, blankie "taking a bath" and spicy things.
I wonder what the third year will bring
For the girl with hair the colour of sand.

Happy Birthday my sweet Coco
May this year be another great one.
Mommy, Daddy, Kael and Flea love you GROS GROS
Kiddo, just keep having fun!

A little suffering is good for you

2011-03-20T14:41:00.000-07:00

"Guys, relax. Be patient." - The Ref

Last Friday night, we played our final game of the winter season on a shitty turf field in North Van. The field was surrounded by forest, and the sounds of the river could be heard while staring at the Coastal Mountains from the halfway line. A timid, sideways drizzle showered down harmlessly.

Hardly the tense setting for the drama that was about to unfold.

We have to win
Sitting in first place, we need a win against TAK to likely secure a promotion to Division 2 next year. TAK are bottom of the heap in the other division, so we're pretty confident that it should be a cakewalk.

But things don't start off well. The turf field is too big and waaaay too bouncy. Controlling the ball is difficult and the ball never stays on the ground long enough to string a few passes together. These conditions almost inevitably result in a poor game lacking in flow. Tonight is no exception.

But these guys are last place!
With the season on the line, things get tenser and tenser as the game progresses. The other team is less skilled than us, but they're clearly more comfortable on their home field. They also prove to be expert time wasters, subbing at every stop in play and taking their sweet time whenever possible. Frustration mounts.

It doesn't help that the referee, who knows our team well, doesn't seem concerned about their obvious ploys to waste time. He keeps telling us to relax and be patient while chatting and joking around with the opposition. More and more, it feel like one of those nights when things are destined to go wrong.

Confirmation comes just before the half when a shot right at our normally reliable goalkeeper slips through his hands and bulges into the net. It cancels out our first goal and we walk off the field at halftime tied 1-1.

We try to stay positive, but clearly things are not going well. If we lose, we can kiss any chance of promotion goodbye.

From bad to worse
Sure enough, disaster strikes at the onset of the second half. A questionable foul is called at the edge of our area. As soon as their player strikes the ball, Hugh, who is standing beside me in the wall, mutters, "Oh no". We both knew it was in from the moment he hit it. Our backs are now against the wall as we need two goals at the very least.

Though panic starts to set in, to our credit, we don't lose heart and keep pressing. We're almost rewarded for our efforts when Hugh hits the left post, and then just moments later, a second shot is deflected onto the right post. Later, I have a great chance myself, hitting the ball sweetly. It's aimed right for the bottom corner of the net and looks to be a goal, but their octogenarian keeper somehow manages to get his fingertips on the ball and deflects it just wide.

Ok, it's really starting to feel like one of those nights.

Finally a bit of luck
At last, the tide finally turns our way. First, we're awarded a penalty shot, which we score, and then a foul around the edge of their box gives us another dangerous chance. Under pressure, Donny steps up and delivers the perfect shot right off the post and in to give us the lead with about 10 minutes to go. We celebrate wildly, and then get ready to defend for our lives.

Not so fast
But how quickly one can go from hero to zero. When a throw in lands inside our box, Donny, trying to intercept the ball, misreads the bounces and it goes right off his arm for a blatant hand ball. The ref has no choice but to point to the penalty spot. They score. With just a precious few minutes left in the game and the game tied at three, our dreams of playing up a division are evaporating quickly.

During the final few moments, we push with urgency, but without results. There are just a few seconds left and it's looking grim until an innocuous looking tackle with their player near our own 18 yard line results in the miracle: The ball ricochets off a leg and spins perfectly between their two center backs and right into Hugh's path for a breakaway. I couldn't have passed a better through ball with all the time in the world. Their goalie comes out to challenge but Hugh gets there first and makes no mistake slotting home. Our season is saved! We go bananas!

And... breathe
The ref blows the final whistle moments later and we collectively breathe a sigh of relief. We did it. Barely.

Hey guys, I have a confession to make
After the game, the ref comes over to talk to us. "I didn't want to tell you guys until after the game, but they had at least three illegal players.", he says chuckling to himself. What!? You mean, we would have won the game regardless of the result? "Oh come on guys, a little suffering is good for you", he adds.

Of course there was lots of talk about the ref's morals during the post-game beer. "How could he not tell us? No wonder he kept telling us to relax".

In the end, I think he was right not to tell us. If we had known beforehand, we surely would have taken it easy and the game would have been awful. Plus, we wouldn't have experienced all of the drama, or suffering, as the ref called it. Though I wouldn't characterize it as enjoyable, it was far from dull! Why not add a little excitement to your life whenever you can?

It was an odd end to a great season for the Burnaby Wolves. Arooooooooooooo!

I feel good!

2011-01-29T15:13:00.000-08:00

To quote the legend JB himself, "I feel good!". The difference between me and James, aside from being able to do the splits, is that I didn't know that I would.

Like a marathoner entering the stadium for the last few laps before the finish line, I'm on the verge of completing my very first cleanse. And you know what, it was a piece of cake. Ok, poor analogy I know, but I really thought it would much harder than it was.

The decision to cleanse wasn't part of any New Year's resolution, but a combination of Holiday over-indulging and timing. When I learned that my good friend and health junkie Laura was organizing her second community cleanse starting in early January, my guts were like, "It's on!".

I felt like Laura's suited me more than those other health freaky ones because it's simple: Cut out: 1) sugar, 2) dairy, 3) processed or hydrogenized foods, 4) caffeine, 5) alcohol, and 6) white flour. Most of them are cut out of my diet already anyways.

But why?

I didn't do it because I was overweight (yet) or have low energy levels. I'm not a big drinker, either. Aside from the much needed break, I was also curious to see if I could do it. To see if I would feel any differently afterward.

As a rule, I eat pretty well. And because I eat relatively healthy, I tend to justify gorging my one food weakness: my sweet tooth. It's easy to tell myself that I deserve all those treats that seem to be omnipresent around the office thanks to my generally healthy habits. "Hey everyone, left over desserts from that meeting! Oh, a box of donuts to boost team morale is it? Chocolate mousse cake for so-and-so's Birthday! Whose turn for "Chocolate Friday" this week?" And hey, I'm a Frenchie. I'm going to enjoy the finer things in life guilt-free - it's in my blood!

I've never tried to give up sugar. I've cut back since my University days of downing an entire Haagen Daz tub in one sitting, but never given it up altogether. I savour my mid-morning warm, freshly baked banana loaf from Mangez, Mangez every few days, or my Saturday morning croissant au chocolat from the local patisserie. And truthfully, I'll have no problem resuming those relationships now that the cleanse is over; although, I am willing to go less often.

How'd I fair

It's only by stopping a habit and stepping outside your routine that you realize how much you do it. I wanted to see if I had the self-discipline to go without those sweet treats for four weeks. If I couldn't resist, then I'd have to admit that I was addicted.

The results were great. In three weeks, I've had two small cheats in the form of a chocolate loaf and some homemade banana bread. That's pretty good considering there have been chocolate macaroons (chocolate + coconut? I submit that there cannot be a better combination!) and countless other temptations that I've managed to 'just say no' to.

I resisted alcohol until just recently, too. I rarely have a drink in my hand on a weekday anymore, but I drink casually on weekends. I caved in at the end of a particularly stressful day at work last week when a text from a friend simply read: "Pint?". But, and I'm being honest here, it was much more about about getting together with a couple of friends than it was needing the alcohol to cope with the work stress. Did I mention I don't get out much anymore?

And on a positive note where alcohol is concerned, I did manage to go without the reflexive 'beer after footy' several times - even post-pint night! Fortunately, none of 'the boys' noticed I was standing around empty-handed, so I never had to confess I was cleansing. Imagine if these men's men had found out the cleanse was actually my choice, and not something my wife was making me do? I never would have heard the end of it.

The skeptic is silenced

The most shocking part of it all is how difference I feel. I know it probably shouldn't surprise me, but the increased mental clarity, energy boost, and good mood has been noticeable to this skeptic. Crazy as it sounds, I haven't been my grumpy old self this past month. Like the unpolluted water that runs from a fresh spring, my blood is circulating freely and my digestive system is not being overworked or poisoned. The ironic part is that feeling like this should be the norm.

Aside from the odd temptation, the only real challenge I've had with the whole experience is that I felt hungrier more often. I realize that beyond fruit, many of my snacks are sweet in nature and I've struggled a little to find healthy alternatives that actually fill me up.

Michele and I will plan to celebrate then end of the cleanse next week by taking part in the Dine Out Vancouver event - probably a French restaurant guaranteed to serve wine, cheese, and they better have a ridiculously rich chocolate mousse for dessert! I'm willing to punish myself for one just one night.

Thanks to Laura for raising awareness and congrats to all others who participated in this January's Community Cleanse! I double-dog dare you to try the next one...

Happy as can be at three!

2010-11-17T20:16:00.000-08:00

From buffer to bumper
He's the embodiment of joy
When he dances, he's the jolly jumper.
Truly, he's a special boy.

Like Little Critter
He's got wild imagination
I can't think of anything much cuter
Than his train fascination.

Trains, trains, trains -
It's borderline obsessive.
I swear if I hear that Thomas refrain again
I'm gonna get start getting aggressive.

He can play alone for hours
Making up story after story
Maybe it's Dirty Percy at the Wash Tower
Or Gordon basking in his glory.

James got stuck in the shed
Percy delivers mail
10 little monkeys jumped on the bed
And Mater tells tall tales

He lives on pasta, cucumbers and tomatoes
Oh! Don't forget his breakfast waffles
He sings Twinkle Little Star concertoes
And is master of the dawdle

He's good at saying sorry
After bowling over his sister over
I grew up on Atari
And wonder what game will eventually take his world over.

Kael, you're a such of daily joy
Who is sweet as sugar pie.
I'm truly proud you're my boy,
The apple of my eye

One for Chloe

2010-10-17T14:41:00.000-07:00

It's one for Chloe
As Chloe turn one
Hey, here's that blankie?
Oh hey, now where's that thumb?

You crawl at the speed of light
Disappear in flash
Stand all of 1 ft at full height
Just before the inevitable crash

You're a curious girl
Who likes to point out flowers and planes
I love to hold you in my arms and swirl
And you love to suck on Kael's trains

Yes, you adore your big brother
And just want to be like him
Everyday, you have a blast with your mother
Except when she gives your nails a trim

When I fold your cute, miniature clothes
I can't but go, "Awwwwww"
When I give you an Eskimo kiss on the nose
You can't help but go, "Haaaaa"

You're already growing up Schmoop
Before we know it you'll be in school
Next thing we know you'll be leaving the coop
And telling us we're SO not cool

But for now...

It's one for Chloe
As Chloe turns one
Hey, where's that blankie?
Oh hey, now where's your thumb?

Letting go

2010-08-04T21:28:00.000-07:00

Perusing Facebook the other day, I came across a friend's update which struck me hard. Jon recently took his son Rhys, aged 4ish, to school and was shocked when Rhys refused to hold his hand once they had arrived at school. Up until recently, Rhys had wanted to hold Jon's hand all the way to the classroom.

I'm dreading the day when this scenario plays out for me - even though I know I can't postpone the inevitable. Kael has finally accepted my love (trust me, it took a long time)and before I know it, he'll be rejecting it again. One of the toughest parts of parenting must be letting go.

Glancing at my most recent post in May, I just can't believe the difference in Chloe over a three month period. From a helpless little baby to a spunky cruiser who is already on the verge of walking. They grow up ridiculously fast.

Chloe is scooting around, blabbing away and basically trying to mimic everything her big brother does. Kael had been fine with the idea of having a little sister until he realized that she could Diana crawl into his room,snatch one of his trains and shove it in her mouth. Suddenly, having a lil' sis wasn't so cool as it was threatening. "Chloe, Chloe, NO!!!" has been repeated more times than I care to remember these last few weeks.

I'm happy to report that he's starting to come around - sort of. Some things are just non-negotiable I guess (and I can understand that) but at least he's stopped smacking her if she comes near. Baby steps...

I suppose letting go is tough no matter the age. We want to hold on to the things that are dear to us so badly, whether it's our favourite toy or our child's love and attention, because we're scared we'll lose it forever.

I know I'm going to have to let go at some point. Maybe it's good that I'm aware of it, but somehow I doubt it's going to make it any easier. That's why I'm trying to spend as much time with my children as I can, while I can, before I'm being asked to let go of their hands as we approach the school entrance.

Happy Mother's Day

2010-05-08T22:50:00.000-07:00

Dear Mama Michele,

I wrote this poem
To express to you
all of the wonderful things you do:

cook fabulous meal every day
do all the laundry that comes you way

Sing silly songs all day long
Like Iron Man or Bang a Gong

Snap amazing and incredible pics
To be that good, you must have some tricks!

Keep it fresh with your sharp wit
And a sense of humour that never seems to quit

I appreciate you more than I can say,
so I guess the best way is to just say: MERCI!

Je t'aime.

Just to get a reg

2010-05-02T21:48:00.000-07:00

Some folks do outrageous things just to get a rep; as parents, Michele and I found ourselves doing the ridiculous just to get a reg - a registration, that is.

A little while back, I was leafing through the community centre brochure to see if there were any classes to enroll Kael in. Even though we spent so long in Taiwan, we weren't sold on the sign-my-kid-up-for-every-class-under-the-sun approach to parenting. However, a fun class to break the routine and interact with other kids seemed like a good idea.

When I came across a gymnastics class for toddlers, I needed look no further. Kael loves to climb, roll around, stand on his head, and spin around and around until he wobbles and crashes down uncontrollably. Not only are all these things encouraged in gymnastics, but, with any luck, his crashes might at least become somewhat controlled after the eight weeks.

But when we popped by the centre to register, one day before the class was scheduled to start, the worker laughed politely in our faces. "Oh, the "Tumbling Monkeys" is our most popular class. In fact, it fills up within hours of registration opening. Try again when the spring sessions start". From what the worker said, these classes sell out faster than Madonna tickets!

A few weeks ago, the brochure for the spring sessions arrived in the mail. We were on it. Michele dropped by the centre and was told that registration wasn't starting until the following Tuesday morning. And because of some technicality with the online registration process, signing up in person was mandatory. "Oh, and just so you aware, other parents start lining up two hours before it opens at 8:30", said the worker. Then he craned his neck around and whispered, as if he were a spy divulging top-secret information, "And you didn't hear this from me: I've heard that some parents go down to the pool early on the morning of the registration. If they're lucky, they'll get a lifeguard who's not trained on protocol, but knows how to register people in the system to do it. Remember, you didn't hear it from me!"

This sparked a debate between Michele and me. Is it really worth going through all this trouble? First of all, listening to instructions from his own parents is not Kael's forte, so is there any point in paying for a class that he won't be paying attention to anyways? From day one, the kid likes to do what he wants, when he wants. On the other hand, maybe he'd really love it and get into it. Maybe he'd have a blast? We can't not try, right?

So we decided to go for it. I walk Flea early in the mornings before work anyways, so I went by to see if we might catch the teenage lifeguard on duty.

I arrived at the centre at 6:15. I wasn't first. Two other parents were sitting there, eyes glazed over and coffee mugs glued to their lips. I tried the old, "I'm here to sign my son up" routine, but this was no rookie I was dealing with. "Registration opens at 9 AM, sir (is it time I started accepting people are going to call me 'sir'? It still feels weird to me). I suggest you take a number and wait with the other parents.", she said. I started to make up a sob story in my head about being a single dad and having to go to work and please, please... Then it ocurred to me: I was considering lying just to get my kid signed up for a gymnastics class. What's happening to me?

"What if I go home and come back?", I asked. "Some of the other parents that come after you might not like it", she warned, but what she really meant was "Go ahead, make their day, punk". I decided to take my chances and returned home to strategize with Michele.

We came up with a plan of attack: I tell work I have an appointment so that Michele can go back while I watch Kael. She will bring Chloe so that she can blame the baby if anyone kicks up a real stink or gets too hostile. We figured no one could argue with the tried and true, "Oh sorry, I had to go feed the baby" excuse.

It turns out that none of the other parents really cared after all. We celebrated Kael officially being signed up for his first gymnastics class as if he had just graduated with his Masters. "It better be worth it...", we thought to ourselves as we sipped on our champagne.

Coming soon: Tumbling Monkeys mid-way progress report

Spontaneous

2010-03-29T22:36:00.000-07:00

As with most things spontaneous, it all happened rather quickly. Our friend Wendy called us at about 5 PM on a Wednesday, raving about a play called 'The Elephant Wake' she had seen the previous night. She promised that we would laugh and cry etc. I was intrigued, but knew better than to get my hopes up. I mean, lately, the chances of us being able to plan a night out - let alone do it on a whim - are about as good as seeing an exciting curling match.

But tonight, possibility wafted through the apartment. Dinner was already on the go; Chloe is finally going to bed at around 7; and Kael is not freaked out by the thought of our friends coming over to hang out anymore. We looked at each, a little surprised, and declared,"Hey, we just might be able to pull it off".

We hastily hatched a plan. While the stuffed peppers broiled away in the oven, Michele would take Chloe with her to the grocery store while Kael and I would take Flea out to the park. Meanwhile, Wendy contort herself in positions just painful to look at in her yoga class from 6-7:30 and then pop right over. Easy peasy. Did I mention the play started at 8 o'clock sharp? Ok, it was going to be tight. Though we still had our doubts, we decided to go for it anyway.

I'll spare you the never ending parenting details of picking up, putting away, undressing,brushing, calming down, bathing, dressing, and the rest of the tasks that add up to days of our lives that we'll never get back. The important part is that we got er done in time: Chloe was in bed, Kael bathed and in his pjs, and the dishes washed by 7:45.

But after all that effort, we now had a problem beyond our control: Wendy still hadn't arrived and her phone was off. It took about ten re-dials in a row with no ringing before I accepted that truth. Maybe she was having second thoughts. Maybe the thought of watching Thomas the Train repeatedly for two hours suddenly made her feel ill. Or, maybe her yoga instructor is a real yacker and she was sucked in by the dreaded blabber.. those meditative types can be quite chatty, ya know.

I had to laugh. How ironic that we had actually agreed to it and managed to organize ourselves in time, only for our normally reliable friend to ditch us at the last minute. Michele and I looked at each other from across the room and shrugged: all dressed up (well, at least Michele was) and nowhere to go.

By 7:50, I was ready to slump into the chair, resigned to spending another night like the rest of the last six months; in. That's not to say that I haven't enjoyed the last six months, but there hasn't been a whole lot of different. And tonight had promised to be different. I was actually about to call Wendy something very offensive when Flea suddenly beelined for the door, sniffing madly - a sure sign someone or something is on the deck. I opened the door and there was Wendy, with yoga mat in tow. She apologized, explaining that her phone battery had died. Ok, the truth is that Wendy isn't always that reliable.

Webthrew on our coats on while barking an abridged version of instructions and rushed off to the theatre, which is a convenient two minute walk from our apartment. We arrived just in the nick of time. I'm talking,the-emcee-was-just-about-to-enter-the-room-to-address-the-audience kind of nick of time. Arriving ten seconds later would have meant missing the show. But I guess it was meant to be. We bought our tickets, sat down and the lights dimmed.

Afterwords, we toyed with the idea of indulging in a glass of wine. But visions of Chloe screaming her head off filled our minds and we decided to go back and see if Wendy needed rescuing. And you know what? I didn't even care. I felt fantastic - almost drunk on life - because we had done something spontaneous and out of the ordinary. We had made it out.

You single people may think it's sad (and you'd have a very strong case), but all you parents know that it's all about the small victories.

All hail Kael - #2

2009-10-24T14:26:00.000-07:00

All hail Kael
Who today turns two
May your dreams be filled with magical machines
Putting on a show just for you

What a difference a year can make;
From baby to little boy,
From basic to more complicated toys...
Frankly, it's about all the change your parents can take.

Alas, it will only fly by quicker
And there is so much more to come
I really don't want you to get any bigger
Because you already weigh a ton!

You're a big brother now
So you'll have a new playmate in the tub.
The sweet gesture that makes us all go WOW
Is when you decide to give Chloe a hug.

You've also become quite a singer, wouldn't ya know
With a vast repertoire of songs
From Old Mcdonald's e-i-e-i-o
To Frere Jacque's ding-dang-dongs

Machines are the latest passion
From trains, to cars, to dumptrucks
Sprinklers are also in fashion
As is pulling the wagon through the muck

You are such a happy child
That we like to call you "Chucklehead"
And yes, you still tend to be a bit wild
Right before bed.

You do some great animal impersonations:
Dogs, elephants, and owls.
You also do a great pig imitation
That makes all the passerbys howl

A big fan of books
From the lift up the flap kind
To Dr Seuss's catchy hooks,
To whatever is the book du jour at that particular time

You've got two speeds:
Full throttle or full stop.
You're still a pretty easy one to feed
And you love to hop on pop

Kman, you are the axle of our wheel
The shovel to our digger
The love we feel for you is real
And we don't think it could get any bigger!

First Impressions

2009-10-11T16:10:00.000-07:00

Though we only stayed in the hospital for a day and a half - in a room rivaling our cozy apt in size - it sure is nice to be home again. I'm exhausted, of course; yet, I'm also so elated and buzzing that I had to sit down to share the miraculous experience while it remains fresh.

I probably should be sleeping given the road that lies ahead - a newborn, a spirited toddler and a recovering mother to take care of - but I couldn't resist a soothing bowl of mate and stealing a quiet moment to myself after these first few hectic days. Just prior to the epidural, when Michele was at the height of her pain), I can sympathize with that one, too. But in the end, isn't that all the more reason to be there, when it's toughest, and to be able to give that moral support when she needs it most?

Luckily, it was easier for Michele this second time around, given that her body had already been through it. However, as Michele reminded me, there is nothing easy about passing something the size of a watermelon through a hole that is half that size or less. There was a moment after about an hour of pushing that I started to be concerned that all the hard work Michele was doing wasn't paying off. But soon afterwards, that little head of dark hair appeared, with each subsequent push revealing a little bit more. And when at last the head, shoulders and rest of the body finally slipped through, my heart dropped and I just couldn't believe my eyes. Again.

At 3.895 kg, Chloe came out bigger than her brother, who is wearing clothing designed for three year-olds when he has not yet even reached two yet. She has very long and elegant hands, suited perhaps to play the piano, as Grandma noted, or to scratch records, as I preferred to observed. That is, if her brother will let her get on the decks (he still doesn't let me!). Her face reminds me so much of Kael as a newborn.

Thankfully, our worst fear has not materialized and we are happy to report there are no signs of colic. I've held her in my arms while she was awake for over an hour and not a peep or a wriggle from her. It's very odd for us. I keep half-expecting to break out screaming any second, and having to dust off the old hair dryer.

We were a little nervous to see how Kael would react when we brought Chloe home for the first time. We had been preparing him by reading him books about being a big brother (which he often requested on his own will) and explaining to him exactly what would happen. And sure enough, he was very curious about his little sister when we brought her in - for about 2 minutes anyways. You see, his little sister came bearing gifts, more specifically in the form a digger, and so his attention was naturally diverted after opening his gift. Since then, he has shown signs of interest here and there - and even gave her a hug this morning. More importantly, he hasn't shown any resentment towards her as far as we can tell.

I'm still on cloud nine at the moment. I'm doing what I can to keep our place somewhat neat and make sure that everyone is fed etc. But the real hero is Michele. She is such a trooper that it continually amazes me. Through the pain and sleeplessness, she continues to show nothing but selflessness rather than selfishness. She is a constant reminder of what Love is and I am very thankful that I am able to share the joy of parenthood with such a wonderful partner.

As my good friend Dave told me after Kael was born, "Now you know why mother's day is way, WAY more important than father's day."

Surprise!

2009-06-28T12:40:00.000-07:00

“Forty is the old age of youth; fifty is the youth of old age.”

If Craig wasn`t thinking of his upcoming landmark birthday yet, he sure is now. The surprise party, when successfully pulled off, remains a winner; the celebratee is surrounded by loved ones when they least expect it. And given that Craig`s official 40th is not until September, he cannot be faulted for not suspecting it.

The whole episode was particularly amusing because of Craig`s attitude as we drove out to Scott Jonction, a town south of Quebec City about halfway to Maine, where most of the family on Maman`s side were awaiting. He spent a good portion of the ride whining about why on earth Mom would choose a restaurant out in the boonies when there are about 1000 nice restaurants in Quebec City! `Guess Mom is getting a little loopy as she ages`, I replied, giggling to myself whle shooting a knowing glance at Michele.

And sure enough, once we got there, we were overwhelmed with greetings from the amazing Tetu side of the family. I was so excited to see them - and with good reason. Ils sont formidables! It was pandemonium at first, all the adults doing la bise, hugging and talking over one another while the children screamed with joy while running around (``Y en a de la marmonne icitte`` said mononcle Reno). It felt so refreshing to be back in a culture that is so openly affectionate again.

Of course Kael was a major point of interest, as most of my quebecois family were meeting him for the first time, but he was far from the only child. All of my other cousins, except for one, are now unmarried with children. It`s true; there are five couples in total who have children and none of them are married. Michele and I are the odd couple out here!

But the night belonged to Craig, of course. They had balloons, a card signed by all, plus another impromptu violent birthday card created by six year-olds Leo and Youri (who don`t speak the same language!), candles in crepes smothered in maple butter rather than a cake, and some great pictures from trips of the countryside in Montmagny where we used to spend our summer vacations as kids. Those pictures of us riding the tractor or playing sports out in the great expanse of the `front yard` brought back fantastic memories.

It may not have been the raging party many 40th celebrations turn out to be, but I`m sure Craig was happy with the fine company of the Tetu family.Plus, he`ll get his rager come September. Whenever we are all together we are never short on laughter and merriment. Grandmaman Berthe actually said it best when she told me, after telling a surprisingly dirty joke at dinner, `I came into this world laughing and that`s how I`m going to leave it, too. Laughter is the music of the soul`

Amen, grandmaman.

Trip out to middle east - of Canada, that is

2009-06-27T11:38:00.000-07:00

Once you have high speed connection, boy you can never go back. It`s taken me about a half hour to log in here, but I`ve finally made it. It feels like I`ve reached the summit of Mt Patience! I really thought the view would be better...

Nous voici in beautiful Quebec City. We expected nothing less than a hellish flight on Saturday and we were`t disappointed. Kael is not known for his sitting in one place prowess; he`s a mover and a shaker - at all times - therefore the prospect of spending hours on a plane without moving had us plenty worried. At least he had recovered from his feverish bout with tonsilitis the day before leaving.

As with most VAN-YYZ flights, there wasn`t an empty seat in the (sky)house. We managed to keep the little monkey at bay with stories and snacks for the first half of the four flight, but it was at that point that the real struggle began. KAEL NEEDS TO MOVE. I can`t put it any simpler than that.

To make matters worse, the Kman is in a real cling-to-mommy-or-else-she-might-disappear phase,so sitting with Papa only incited screams of torture. So poor Michele, with early third trimester belly roundish and full with Kael`s little sister, has to try to deal with a wriggly, squirmy toddler pushing with full force into the seat in front of him (how the man didn`t turn around once in annoyance is still a wonder to me)directly into her belly. With good reason, mommy was on the verge of losing it, and much to her credit, she didn`t.

And due to the capacity of passengers, there was rarely a moment when the aisles were free to roam. As soon as they did, we didn`t waste any time getting out there in a hurry to take advantage. Upon return after our short foray, there wasn`t far to go before the path was blocked, I wound up donating my seat to Kael and spent the better part of an hour standing, frequently having to contort my body in obscure positions in order to allow passengers and flight attendants passage.

Speaking of which, I must state for the record that there was not one `skyhag`on this Air Canada flight: all of the flight attendants were accomodating and pleasant. There`s hope yet!

But that tolerable situation soon came to a shaky end when we hit turbulence and I was forced to sit down. Kael was now worse than ever, in extreme struggle mode due to fatigue and lack of afternoon nap. There was no escape for Mommy or kid. It ended taking about 40 minutes before he finally struggled himself right to exhausted sleep. As Murphy`s Law dictates, we touched down in Toronto a mere 20 minutes later.

Once boarded on our connector flight to YQC, Michele declared loud enough for everyone on the enire plane to hear, ''I am never traveling with a child again!'' The good news was that the hour-long flight was not full, so the little guy would have his own seat.

This made a world of difference as he sat contently next to Papa for almost the entire ride. Well ok, he didn`t actually sit the whole time, but he was good. He spent most of the time violently opening and closing the shutter, climbing up and down on the seat, and flirting with an older couple sitting opposite. Most importantly, he was given enough space to be independent. As we learn more and more about his temperment, fiercely spirited and independent are his main strengths - and our main challenges.

We touched down into Quebec sain et sauf much to the relief of Grandmaman and Armand, who were anxiously awaiting to pick us up.

Travelling with a toddler is never easy, but I`m quite sure not it is doubly hard with a boy as active as Kael. In fact, I saw another boy who must have about the same age sitting quietly on his Daddy`s lap for pretty much the entire flight. Just luck of the draw I guess. And when they`re too young for Nintendo or movie watching, all you can do is endure as best you can, knowing you won`t have to do it again for another two weeks on the return trip home.

A Huge Fan of Fans

2009-05-03T20:53:00.000-07:00

Ah, to be 18 again - 18 months, that is. I have been living vicariously through the eyes of my not-so-wee toddler lately and I tell ya, it`s one helluva ride. Peaks and valleys. Thankfully, the peaks nowadays are far more common than the valleys at this point.

It remains a constant source of amazement to Michele and I that such a spirited child is a product of our genes. It`s pretty strong evidence that we are all born with a certain nature; old souls reborn into this world to learn the lessons we need in order to be free.

`Chuckles` or `Chuckelhead`, as Kael is often referred to these days, is finding life positively thrilling now that he has mastered a few basic tricks such as eating with utensils and opening and shutting, well, anything that will open and shut. Those initial months of colic sure seem like a lifetime away at this point. He loves to laugh and play, a direct influence of spending his days with his Mom, whose sense of humour has a depth which continually surprises me.

Momma's boy

About a month ago, he also began to enter a cling-to-mommy phase. Only Mommy will do. Not Papa, not grandma or grandmaman - ONLY Mommy. The problem with that is that mommy is 7 months pregnant with Kael`s sister and not really in the mood to constantly lug the weighty little guy around. It seems that his brain has developed to the point where he realizes that he is a separate entity on this planet and the thought of a world without Mama strikes fear in his young mind. It can be frustrating for both Michele and I because on the one hand, she can't handle it physically, and on the other, my sensitive nature doesn't enjoy the constant rejection.

Speaking of weighty, the kid weighs a friggin ton! He is bigger and heavier than the majority of two year-olds we have encountered thus far, and even outweighed and was taller than my cousin's three year-old. Along with the stocky Black male genes, it might have a little to do with his healthy eating habits as well. We`re very lucky that he ingests almost anything we feed him - including olives, brussel sprouts and asparagus. Hell, he eats a more varied diet than my fourty year-old brother!

On his Papa's side, he has inherited my penchant for exploration. Whenever we bring him somewhere new, you can be sure that he will be fearlessly checking every nook and cranny of the place within minutes. His great curiosity is an admirable characteristic - unless you happen to be the one in charge of supervising him. Then, it`s a hell of a lot of work. If it is quiet for more than 20 seconds, we suddenly find ourselves panic-stricken and one of us bounds out of our seats to find him before the wailing begins. I feel like I have grown a spring in my butt because every time I sit down, I`m pretty much back up within a milli-second to tend to the boy. It's safe to say there are no dull moments when the Kman is awake.

Despite his insatiable curiosity and tendency to venture off into unknown territories we`d rather not have him explore, he does listen extremely well. When we say no, he not only understands, he more often than not obeys, too. The exception to the rule is when we are out in a park and he is walking on his own. During these occasions, when he want to go straight, he turns around and goes back. When we say turn left, he goes right. And so on. Perhaps it is a prelude to the upcoming terrible twos we have to look forward to.

One certainty is that the kid knows what he wants (again proof that personality is not necessarily hereditary). I can`t even count the times that I have tried to entice him into a game or play with a certain toy, only for the Kman to turn the other way or walk away completely uninterested, not even acknowledging my effort. It`s as if he is saying, `Are you trying to tell me what I like? Pa-sha!

I dig baby talk`

His only comprehensible words so far are `duck` and `that`. He has said `Flea`, Dada and a few random other words, but not often enough to qualify as part of his vocab yet. `That` is the most often heard because he wants to know what everything is without having to say it. Whenever he picks anything up off his plate, or turns to the next page of the book, he points to various things to ask us what they are - even though he already knows. And he always asks both of hisparents to make sure he is getting the correct answer because he`s meticulous. And thorough. Sometimes I say something different just to see his reaction, and sure enough he`ll pause, then keep asking me until he gets the answer he was seeking all along. He may be a wild monkey-boy, but he`s no dummy. He also enjoys telling stories in the form of babble. To think that one day all that stuff is going to come out in words we can understand is a thought that generally keeps me awake at night.

New Edition

It`s hard to believe that it won`t be all about the Kman soon. I can`t see how he is going to share the spotlight, but, like Flea, he'll have to learn. Let's hope that it doesn't take as long as Flea though, as she remains stubbornly opposed to Kael's presence. The way he clings to Mommy now could be a sign that he subconsciously knows what's coming. Either way, no matter how much warning we give him, the addition of his sister to the mix is sure to be a real shocker.

Seeing another cousin`s tiny six-week old baby the other day was a reminder of what is fast approaching in our household. It was exciting and a bit scary at the same time. Just as Kael is starting to become a self-assured toddler, we will again be starting the process again from scratch with a spaghetti-necked, helpless infant. The tar poops, the swaddling, the sleep-deprived nights etc. It`ll be easier because we are more confident in our ways, but it will very difficult if the Kman decides not to cooperate.

We are not counting on it, but we are definitely praying for a calmer temperament from our second one. Another winter with a colicky baby is unthinkable. I suppose if that is the outcome, then we`ll have to deal with it, but it would be about as unfair as Bill Gates buying a lottery ticket for fun and winning the jackpot. The fact that our situation is less stressful (ie we have job, furnished shelter, and we are re-acclimatized to Canada) is assuring should stress have any influence on causing colic.

Finally, I will try to spare all the cliches associated with the joys of parenthood, as you have undoubtedly heard them all many times over. Suffice it to say that they are all true. What maybe isn`t always repeated is the relentless amount of work it takes to do it right. As someone said to me before Kael was born,'being a parent is both the best - and hardest - thing you will ever do in life.'

The more I experience through Kael, the more that comment rings true.

Remembering Anne

2009-01-28T20:59:00.000-08:00

I just learned that a lovely soul just passed on to the next life.

Anne, anyone that ever met you knows that you were irreplaceably one-of-a-kind.

I sincerely hope you meet all your beloved cat friends again wherever your soul is journeying to right now.

C'etait un plaisir de te faire connaissance.

Sinking in a Winter Wonderland...

2008-12-24T10:11:00.000-08:00

Knee deep in the snow, I stand, immobile, immersing myself into the silence offered by my pristine surroundings. It is tempting to use the phrase “dead silent” as there are few signs of life. Yet despite the blanket of snow which dominates every inch in my vicinity, suffocating life beneath it, I know full well it is only a temporary state of affairs. In the distance, just beyond the conifer sporting a tall, white hat lies a portion of the Georgia Straight, shimmering golden thanks to a few of the partially hidden sun's shafts reflecting onto the waters. The sky above is predominantly overcast, except for a single brilliant strip of blue sky close to the horizon. The contrast is striking and the sheer clarity of the blue reminds me of my baby boy's magnificent eyes.

Gabriola Island is a winter wonderland. Normally a vivid, soggy green due to rain, the cedars, ferns, bushes are all weighed down by several inches of the magical, fluffy white stuff. Why even the giant gunnera which set such a lovely backdrop for our wedding a few months ago are completely buried under the weight of the snow. I, for one, could not be happier about these odd weather patterns, Then again, I am not in the city and I don't have to leave the house except to go out and play. And I'm not stuck in an airport either. Another being that keeps welcoming more and more falling flakes is Flea. Her deer-like bounding through the forest - as natural as if she had done it her whole life - is a sight to behold. Few Taiwanese street dogs are able to boast about the thrill of bounding through snow two-feet deep. Supposing she went back for a visit and was hanging out with some of her old buddy's, how would she even begin to describe the experience to her canine pals back home?

I've been on vacation for less than a week and already I'm fearing a return to a working man's routine. Ah, the luxury of time. Time to write, time to play with Kael, time for long walks in the woods, time to listen to music, time for just sitting around – that's what the holidays are all about. And of course the holidays are about family. It's only natural that I think of my own family firmly entrenched in winter's grasp in Ontario and Quebec. At least with a blanket of white covering everything, not to mention the constant worry over driving conditions hovering in the air, it really “feels” like Christmas in BC this year. I heard on the news that it will the first time since the 1970s that Canada will enjoy a white Christmas coast to coast. That is definitely something to celebrate.

This will be Kael's second Christmas experience. Last year, he – I mean, we – were given the best gift ever in the form of a jiggling chair that shook our colicky little guy into a comatose on Christmas day. It sounds mean, but we were all better off with him a little more “relaxed”. And as the picture shows, the stocking was bigger than he was. This year, he will at least match the stocking in size - if not outsize it. He will also be more aware that something extraordinary is happening, though he is still won't quite get it. Proof came when he was exploring around the tree and tried to use one of his presents as leverage . His hand pierced right through, and with a simple lift of the loose paper he could have had a sneak preview of his gift. Yet instead of stealing a glimpse, he merely ignored it and continued with his original plan: to grab the shiny ornament hanging on the tree and stick it in his mouth.

The fact that he is not yet interested in the gift part of Christmas is a blessing because in our family, as with many of you who do celebrate, it promises to be very low key year in the gifting department. And that's fine with me. Michele calls me a scrooge for having this attitude, but the truth is that I do find it difficult to summon that Christmas spirit. Maybe it's because I'd rather be inspired to give rather than pressured to do it. And the barrage of same old tunes everywhere (none of which is James Brown Funky Christmas) and the same old sentimental movies on Tv don't help one iota. 2008 is teaching us that it takes a recession – a forcing of the hand – for us to realize that it isn't the gifts that makes us happy during the holidays, but the time off. For his part, Kael is oblivious to the point where we could wrap up his existing toys and he wouldn't know the difference. Of course, I'm not so frugal as to not get him anything, but the truth is, the kid is happy to run around house which offers plenty of space and dive bomb down the staircase. Toys at this particular stage in his development, do not interest the lad.

Well, let's see what is on today's to do list:

1)perfect the snow angel
2)gulp excess amounts of hot chocolate with a hint of Bailey's
3)listen to Brazilian music for contrast
4)nap just for the hell of it
5)use the time to send out positive vibes to all friends and family scattered around this planet

Much love to one and all

oj

Philosophical Funk - Vol 1

2008-12-07T10:07:00.000-08:00

There may be no decade that is easier to make fun of than the 1970s: bell bottomed slacks, afros, ludicrously large cars, loud-coloured clothing etc. Yet as ridiculous as some of these styles to emerge from that bygone era were, there was also something fantastically important to come out of the 70s: funky music. And the more one delves deep into the funk music library, the more often one hears the the same shared themes of equality, moral righteousness, togetherness and openness, which only add to the funky beats. The message is in the music.

Every song included in this mix espouses a sound philosophy. Listen hard, my friends, because these are words to live by and to groove to. Just copy and paste the URL link below, look for the "click here to start download", and you're good to go! And if you're looking to get real nerdy about the selected music and its relevant philosophy, the playlist with added comments can be found below.

www.mediafire.com/?m5zydthmygd'

My only wish is that this mix brings joy, positive energy and a little reflection to your life as you bring in the new year, wherever you are.

oj

Funk Philosophy – Vol 1.

1)Kool and the Gang – Heaven at Once

On a side which includes heavyweight tracks such as Jungle Boogie, Hollywood Swinging, Funky Stuff and More Funky Stuff, Kool decided to break things down with this cheesy dialogue. Or is it? And when asked, “What are you doing to make things right?”, Kool answers, “You see, we are scientists of sound/mathematically throwing it down”. Amen to that, Kool.

2)Skowa & Mafia – Deus Me Faca Funky (God Made me Funky)

A cover of the Headhunters classic by Brazilian outfit Skowa & Mafia. God made me funky is simply another way to say, we are born to create.

3)Isaac Hayes – Do Your Thing

We lost a good soul earlier this year when Isaac Hayes passed away at the age of 65. In this classic track, he lets us know that whatever it is we want/need to do in order to be happy – whether screamin' to let off steam or makin' love all night – to just do it.

4)Chocolate Milk – Action Speak Louder Than Words

The first thing you hear is the guiro, then the slow, heavy groove kicks in and, well, it's on. Lots of talk in this world, but as the saying goes talk is cheap.

5)The Meters – People Say (Rejuvenation)

Bar none, one of the top funk bands of all time. Drums, bass, guitar and keys, the no frills basics of The Meters is often mimicked, but never duplicated. It's a sure bet they'll be another Meters track on volume 2, but can you guess which one?

6)The O'Jays – For The Love of Money

As the economy enters its own funk, the O'Jays remind us how money changes us in ways we often aren't even aware of. As we all strive to make that mean green, how many of us stop to think about what is essential to our happiness? If it involves possessing lots of it while accumulating possessions, it may be time to re-evaluate .

7)James Brown – Take Some and Leave Some

“I don't want it all/ I just want a little bit”. James Brown at his funky buddhist best. Nuff said.

8)Kool and the Gang – Life is What you Make it

We often feel swept away by the forces around us, but Kool reminds us that we are the ones who create our lives. Whatever your situation, the choices you've made have got you there, and the choices you make will alter your reality. You can pretend that it's all beyond your control, but the truth is, it's all on you, in every moment of every day.

9)The Universals – New Generation

Some of the finest funk to ever come out of Florida, this 1970 recording never found its way to the distributor and was released in 2006 by Jazzman records. Too bad, that generation could have used it.

10)Mandrill – Positive Thing

Funk-rock heavyweights Mandrill released this gem in 1974. The simple message of love and togetherness is delivered with an ultra-heavy groove and accentuated by punchy, catchy horns.

11) Skull Snaps – It's a New Day

The instantly recognizable beat at the beginning sets the tone for this classic promoting positivity and new beginnings.

12)Charles Watts and 103rd Street Rhythm Band – Express Yourself

Sampled and popularized by NWA in the early 90's, Charles Watts and company urges us all to tap into our creative selves with this soulful groove.

13)Notations – Superpeople -

A Curtis Mayfield sounding joint whose message is perhaps even more relevant than the day it was written. In a world of egos gone wild, it's time to get grounded.

14)Donald Byrd – Change (Makes You Wanna Hustle)

Touching on the topic of impermanence, Donald Byrd reminds that “nothing stays the same/things just rearrange”. With his distinctive horn and use of funky strings, Byrd encourages us to act rather than sit there and be overwhelmed when life changes course.

15)BT Express – Do It (Till You're Satisfied)

Many will recognize the much sampled intro to this danceable track which, like Do Your Thing, encourages us to follow our dream, whatever it is.

16)Brass Construction – Movin'

This song is about getting your shit together and feeling groovy because of it.

17)People's Choice – If You're Gonna Do It (Put Your Mind To It)

This Philadelphia outfit reminds us not to do things half-assed. If you gonna do it, might as well put your mind to it.

18)The Isley Brothers – Fight the Power (part 1)

With “all of the bullshit going down”, the Isleys remind us to not give up the fight against those who insist on keeping the status quo for their own personal benefit rather than for the good of the whole.

19)Gerardo Pino – Shake Hands

Bought this one in a record store in downtown Nairobi (AKA Nairobbery), this is by far the rarest track of the bunch. It's moody, raw African groove about unity.

20)Black Heat – Love the Life You Live

If you don't get sent into orbit by this intense cover of the Kool and Gang original, then you need to get yourself checked out (or checked in!). The brilliant chorus' lyrical reversal of “love the life you life/so you can live the life you love” says it all.

21)Brass Construction – Take It Easy (Kenny Dope Mix) –

In times of stress, Brass Construction offers some sage advice: relax our minds and take it easy. You ain't gonna solve anything by stressing out about it! Brew up a bowl of mate if you need some help relaxin' that busy mind of yours.

22)Frankie Beverley's Raw Soul – Color Blind

Pre-Maze Frankie Beverley confronts racism in this track, wondering why we get so caught up on the colour of skin. Shouldn't we all be colour-blind by now?

23)Roy Ayers – People and the World

A plea for all of us to make the world a better place by living together by the living legend himself, the preacher of love and goo vibes, Bid Daddy Roy.

24)Earth, Wind and Fire – Shining Star

Every single person has the potential the shine and no one says it better than Earth, Wind and Fire in this funk-disco classic from 1975.

25) Tower of Power – Only So Much Oil

This jazz-funk brass powerhouse from Oakland warned us back in 1975 of our limited oil supply. Given the controversy surrounding oil prices and supplies that exist here in 2008, not to mention a war over it, maybe it's time finally time to listen.
Veggie fuel anyone? www.mofilms.org (Freedom Fuels)

26)Cymande – The Message

Among the best funk bands to ever emerge out of England, Cymande's bass-heavy grooves are complemented by soulful voices with rastafarian messages of peace and unity. “Together, we can grow/Forever, like it was before”.

27)Ellen Mcllwaine – Higher Ground

A riveting cover of the Stevie Wonder track featuring Mcllwaine's unique vocal stylings along the lines of Janis Joplin accompanied by some amazing bluesy guitar work. An unforgettable version of a song that encourages us to persist until we reach that next level of consciousness.

28)George Carlin – Values

Another great human soul was lost in 2008 when George Carlin passed on to the great gig in the sky. Think about it: What will you do with $10 and what would you do for $10? The revolution indeed is about values. RIFP (rest in funky piece, George)

All Hail Kael (#1)

2008-11-08T09:18:00.000-08:00

(In the tradition of Cliff)

All hail Kael
Who today turns one
Congrats on being the first Pady male,
The first Chrishele Blady bun.

You emerged from the womb
On a rainy day in November
Into a forgettable hospital room
Gifting us a memory to remember forever.

You cried and cried and cried
All through the first fourteen weeks.
We lied and lied and lied
Saying all was good - even though it was a little bleak.

We tried myriad ways
To calm you down and console you.
But nothing would eliminate the greys
Prompting Dad to exclaim: "The kid is inconsolable!"

And then one miraculous morning,
A grand grin suddenly spread wide across your face.
It came from nowhere, without warning
To light up our tiny, little place.

From that momentous moment on
The "K-man" has been a happy boy.
His mysterious blues are long gone
An empty yoghurt container his favourite toy.

He's got big blue eyes
And wrist and ankle bracelets too.
Everyday he drops off a stinky surprise
In his wearable loo.

He doesn't yet talk, but he likes to babble
Recounting his day's adventure's before sleep.
He doesn't yet walk, but he does like to straddle
Getting studier by the day on those little feet.

Kael puts anything and everything into his kisser
Including mud, rocks and random dangerous things.
And when momma leaves the room, he sure does miss her
Wailing so loud it makes poor Daddy's ears ring.

He's an EXTREMELY active baby
Which sometimes drives mom a bit mad.
He sneakily gets into all the places he shouldn't be,
As if it were the latest fad.

He's headstrong and determined
And knows exactly what he wants.
Sometimes his parents' patience grows so thin
They consider shipping him off to Vermont!

Of course, we would never do that
Because K-man, you bring us too much joy.
Even if you occasionally drive us to the edge of the vat
You will always be our precious boy.

We look forward to seeing you blossom
In your second year on the planet.
May your next year simply be "totally awesome"
And, well, full of joy damn it!

Diaper Changing is the New Gym

2008-10-01T20:50:00.000-07:00

I used to scoff at people who moaned about the difficulty of changing diapers. What's the biggy? Your wee angel just lies there on the changing table, sedate, patiently staring at you with adoring eyes, until the new diaper is secured and clothes are back on. What is so hard about that? It wasn't until Kael was six months old - the age where we first introduced solid foods – that I began to realize what all the stink was about. Along with the most potent smelling of daily poos, our angel turned into a little ball of pent-up energy as he began to explore the art of movement. Apparently, stagnant is boring. He's got a point, but did he have to figure it out so quickly? With every squeal, screech and kick on the changing table, I can't help but wonder if the funky president himself, James Brown, was reincarnated into the Kman.

Whereas changing diapers or clothes used to be cinch, it has turned into a dreaded duel. He wriggles like a fish, twists into pike position with the grace of an Olympic diver, struggles with the ferocity of a caged tiger, and protests as loudly as a howler monkey; in short, he is slowly driving Maman and Papa insane. Recalling Jon's words of wisdom, a proud papa himself, “distraction is key”, I conjure up a toy he can stick into his mouth or attack him with an unexpected zerbert, providing a momentary break for my sobbing, pleading eardrums. And yet, the distractions never lasts long enough to finish the job. Before I know it, he is on his tummy threatening to launch himself over the edge of the changing table like Blondin in a barrel.

I've meditated on ways to sedate him, from tranquilizer shots (what!? they do it to elephants), straightjacket (thereby also eliminating the need to change clothes), to good old fashioned shackles. And don't be fooled by their miniature statures, babies can be very strong. In fact, after a few months more of training, I do believe myself ready to enter the next Stampede. Those calves have nothing that our “determined” boy can't dish out.

Now just over 10 months, the evolution of the K-man is progressing at a fast and furious rate. He learned first to pull himself up into a sitting position. Not a week later, he had hoisted himself up to a standing position using the window sill. The first time he succeeded, he turned around with a wide grin, wildly happy with himself because he was able to look out the window. His current favourite trick is to get himself into standing position, and then slowly dangle one arm out, as if publicly demonstrating his amazing prowess to the world. Check me out! A couple of times, he has thrown caution to the wind (I wonder where he gets that from...) and just lets go completely, wavering in the air for a few nano seconds of hang time, before losing balance and plopping back down to earth landing on his bottom with a thud that would be sure have papa sitting on a rubber donut for several weeks. Of course, you can't learn without falling flat on your face so we will undoubtedly witness many more bonks, close calls, and fortunate landings in the months to come to go along with the scratches that already adorn his chubby cheeks.

Baby proofing our cubicle of a home has been challenging to say the least. Nothing that is beyond grasp will escape from his persistent little hands. More amazingly, I'm beginning to suspect our boy has telepathic powers because he seems to have the uncanny ability to beeline towards whatever object I'm thinking to myself I hope he doesn't go for. “Not the mate, not the mate...shit!” Anything and everything that you don't want him to grab turns into his main target. Supervising Kael is not like being a lifeguard because you actually have to be aware and present of the baby's actions at ALL times. We are forced to constantly shift, rearrange, toss, move and hide things or they end up in his mouth or spilled onto the floor. And even though we went out and bought him some fancy Fisher Price toys that take up more space than our furniture, his favourite toy continues to be Flea's red and black sequenced dog leash. He loves to just sit there and twirl it around like a ribbonist (can you tell the Olympics are still fresh from my similes) before inserting the metal clip on the end in his mouth, After all, who doesn't love a good bite on something metallicky to quench that...what the hell does that quench for him anyways?

And speaking of chewing, he now has six teeth with which to munch his meals with. And he now insists in his determined way to eat by himself, refusing to depend on us parental units for delivery anymore. So we do what all parents must eventually do – give in. And so we plop a mound of mixed up food onto his tray, and watch as he reaches for a handful and then shoves it in the general direction of his mouth. Initially, maybe 10% of the grabbed nourriture made it to his mouth. The leftover after a feeding session would have been enough to feed an ant colony for an entire year. Lately though, I have to admit, he's getting pretty good as his manual dexterity improves. He still winds up with food in his ears, hair and worst of all, up the nose (broccoli up the nose really tickles, you know) but Flea isn't exactly getting a full second meal courtesy of Kael anymore.

Finally, the dreaded period of disciplinary action has begun. I despise discipline. Never wanted to enforce it - even as a teacher. But just as it is crucial to instill in the classroom for there to be any productivity, you must also ingrain it into your children so you don't wind up with spoiled brats. The Kman has definitely reached the age of mischief with intent and therefore instilling discipline early could save us much chagrin in the future.

Flea and Kael's relationship is a one-way affair, but in the opposite direction from what it used to be. In the beginning, Kael would ignore Flea as if she never existed, going on about his business without even acknowledging her presence. My how times have changed. Poor Flea can no longer get a moment's rest without Kael's face lighting up at the prospect of grabbing onto her fur and then beelining as fast and as determined as he can. The maniacal grin that paints his face reminds of Jack Nicholson in the Shining. Flea simply growls, gets up and moves. The scene then repeats itself dozens and dozens of times in the span of a few minutes. The real issue is that there really aren't many options for poor Flea. And now that winter approaches, the outside getaway will no longer be viable either. This has been going on for weeks now with no sign of either one of them ready to change their ways. Again, I don't think Flea will actually ever hurt him, but she does growl pretty deeply whenever he approaches and has come close a couple of times when Kael grabs a hunk of her fur not-so-tenderly- receiving severe reprimand from both mama and papa bear afterwards.

All in all, I'm so in love with my family. Kael's eyes are no less mesmerizing, Flea's no less wonderfully ferral and Michele is no less beautiful and funny in her role as mother. Things may not be perfect in terms of job, house, finances and whatnot, but we've got love and that overrides all else. Now let's hope that we can get rid of this cold virus we've passing back and forth to each other for the past few weeks so we can have our health back to!

I'll leave you with a quote from Alan Watts, which of course made me think of my little guy when he's in the stroller just staring around in amazement at the world going on around him. I just hope I can play a part so that some of that wonder and curiosity never leave him completely.

“Wonder, and its expression in poetry and the arts, are among the most important things which seem to distinguish men from other animals, and intelligent and sensitive people from morons.”

oj

Mr Mom

2008-07-21T12:12:00.000-07:00

Regret, mixed with a hint of humour of the “how could I have been so stupid” nature, is written all over Michele's face as she lays down on the floor, staring upwards at the ceiling. It's the quiet moment after the an action-packed sequence of events.

Kael was in crib, gregarious for well over half an hour: “What is it with these people, George? Can't they tell I don't want to sleep? I'm clearly letting the out the 'I'm not tired screech”. Grrr, my parents are so dumb!” Finally, the dialogue dimmed until it was silent. I had gone into his room stealthily to check out the situation and saw him twitching ever so slightly, eyes three-quarters closed. It is absolutely vital for him not to see you during this delicate phase of the nap process. If he does, it's game over. He's up and he's screeching with more vigour than you can possibly imagine coming from such a tiny little being. I tippy-toed back out of his room unnoticed, intending to close his door in a couple of minutes when there was no chance of a wake-up.

Unbeknowst by me, Michele reappears from our room and also decides to investigate the nap situation. She pokes her head in but cannot get a proper visual. She inches forward but still can't see as he is hidden from view at the front of the crib. She ventures further, risking much at this final stage before sleep. Suddenly, Kael perceives movement or hears something and with the quickness of gopher popping its head out of the hole, his head shoots up over the edge of the crib to see what's up. Michele panics, ducks and then lunges out of the room onto the floor as if she were an extra on A-team episode after Face had just launched a grenade nearby. Kael screams, as if to say, 'I saw you! I saw you!” “Merde”, is all Michele can say in a half-giggle/half-frustrated tone.

Later that afternoon, it's my turn to get caught. Kael has been in there about twenty minutes and there is the baby monitor expresses only the hum of the humidifier (used primarily to drown out other sounds). I sneak up to the doorway and bam! I'm dead in the water just like that. I didn't even get the chance to pretend I was a ninja tis time. It's like getting ambushed 1 minute into a paintball game. Splat! Hmm, that was fun. Kael happened to be positioned at the back of the crib, facing the doorway. In consolation, I never had a chance.

Mr Mom - Day 5

2008-07-18T14:22:00.000-07:00

Groan. Quick glance at the clock. 6:02 .He has just been fed and should be going back to sleep like he does most every other morning. But he isn't. We gambled last night by staying up a little later so we could finally spend a little alone time together, and now we are being burned for it. No one ever said life was fair... Neither one of us is in the mood to officially get up and out of bed just yet so we decide to bend the rules a bit this morning by bringing him into our bed.

Not surprisingly, once sandwiched between us, he doesn't doze off instantly (he only sleeps in his crib now). He is too curious about his new surroundings – especially Daddy's hair, lips and cheeks. Gouging daddy's eyes is a particularly amusing activity, too. There is much staring at one another, like two people staring at the board wondering what their opponent's next move will be. His eyes are beautiful; they are oceans; mesmerizing; whirlpools I drown in over and over again. Yet, they hold no secrets as to what is going through that tiny, ever-growing seed of a brain. Poor Flea is jealous. Back in Taiwan, it used to be her that would be beckoned up on the bed to cuddle with us. Michele motions for her to come to the side of the bed, which Flea, the opportunist, interprets as an invitation to join the party on the bed. Ca y'est! The whole family is in bed. Fun, yes, but it won't satisfy that desire to sleep...

His schedule throughout the enire morning remains out of sync. He is uncharacteristically fussy and out of sorts. His teeth must really be bothering him. Great, only one more year of teething. It takes him 40 minutes of grappling with his bedmate, Curious George, interspersed with a few attempts at escaping, before he finally collapses from sheer exhaustion.

Our baby boy's day winds down after dinner with a daily bath. I think the purpose of the bath is to calm Kael down before sleep. That is not happening anymore. While he used to be content to lounge back, full stretch, sucking on a bath toy (all that was missing was some candles and a glass of wine) while papa held his head and momma wiped in all his nooks and crannies, he now uses bathtime as his aquafit session. Gone is the relaxed personna, having now been replaced by a much more animated K man who would rather march in the tub rather than lie down. Washing his hair, as you can imagine, becomes a challenging task to say the least. And the fact that he is getting stronger doesn't help matters either. There are times when I forcefully try to coax him to sit, but he just won't budge. I foresee trouble in the future...

After the bath, Kael is dried off and has his pj's put on, afterwhich he has a little feed. It is just about 8 pm. We perform the last leg of our nightly ritual - one which I have grown to adore - by forming a circle and singing him a gentle lullaby. Then we set him down in his crib, give him his blanky, tell him we love him and leave him to fall asleep on his own. After some talking and flailing - the duration varying by day – he finally lies peacefully in his world of vivid dreams. It's a sight beautiful enough to make this grown man cry.

Mr Mom - Day 4

2008-07-17T11:04:00.000-07:00

We had our friend Steph come over to baby sit this morning so we could run an important errand for the wedding that we had to do together. Steph came precisely at the time she said she would. The problem with babies – in our adult minds anyways - is that they are inconsistent. To go one further, they are down right unpredictable. It makes it rather challenging in this world of schedules and time tables.

He had woken up in good enough spirits and happily eaten breakfast as usual. Afterwards however, he wasn't so interested in going back to sleep. He didn't look tired so I suggested maybe skipping a nap for once. Michele shook her head. “No way. If he starts making the rules, it's game over for us”. She's right, of course.

Miraculously, he fell asleep just prior to Steph's arrival. Predictably, it didn't last. Just as we were slipping our feet into our flip flops to head out, we heard the dreaded Kael wail come through loud and clear on the baby monitor. Sometimes those devices are just a little too good (ie cover your ears). Michele attempted to wield her most potent of mama magic to try to coax him back to sleep but it was no use. We decided to keep him up for another half hour and tried to put him back down again (as the author of Wiped noted, “put him down” is an awful term – springing to mind an old dog whose on its last legs - but I'm not sure how else to say it either). We warned Steph before we left that there was a definite possibility of a Kaelstorm brewing on the horizon. Sure enough, when we returned an hour later, our little guy was up and wired. Understandably, she could not handle leaving our baby boy screaming bloody murder in his crib. Steph felt bad. The truth is, she never stood a chance.

When his afternoon nap came around, he was out like a light. No wrestling with Curious George and no conversations with Sophie the giraffe. Bam! Out cold in seconds flat. Michele had just left for another appointment at 1 pm. When 2:30 came around, I started to get antsy. It's been an awfully long time, I thought to myself. I didn't really know what to do with myself at this point. I'd finished the important business and was hesitant to begin any new project because he'd be bound to wake up as soon as I begun. Should I just peek in to make sure he's ok? Just one quick glance? Thankfully I resisted all temptation and he finally rejoined the waking world at 3 o'clock much to my relief.

It seems like I just can't win. If he doesn't sleep long enough, I get frustrated by a lack of time to myself. On the other hand, if he sleeps too long, I miss him and want him to get up so bad that I get tempted to wake him up prematurely – something the books say never to do.

One final observation today ( I lied. I just thought of another one) has to do with his head whipping habit. When I'm holding him in my arms, he tends to look away. Everything and anything aside from me is most interesting to him. Or maybe he is hinting that I've got the dragon (listen to Biz Markie's classic song if you need schooling on what its meaning). Without warning, he'll often whip his gargantuan head around with the speed of a shot putter in full momentum just before release. Most of the time, if I'm paying attention, my reflexes are quick enough to move back just in time to hear the whoosh of his noggin fly right by the tip of my nose. But if I'm distracted, I have no chance and our heads collide. He doesn't even bat an eye. Meanwhile, I'm trying to hold back the tears. It friggin' hurts. I'll say it again: babies are tough, man.

Finally, something that'll make you go “awww”. It's something that happens outside. While playing in his playpen this afternoon, a sudden summer breeze swung through our patio that made Kael feel so fine that he stopped in mid-gum to absorb this scintillating natural phenomenon. At first, he couldn't understand what was making his thin hairs on his head dance in the air. But then he did was the majority of us adults don't do. He quit thinking about it and simply enjoyed it for what it was, letting the wind ruffle his hair in its heavenly way. Afterwards, he did not dwell on how amazing it felt either. He just continued playing like nothing even happened. He let it go. I thought that was amazing.

Mr. Mom - Day 3

2008-07-16T13:58:00.000-07:00

Kael is so close to crawling it's scary. After rolling onto his stomach, he gets himself into the scorpion yoga position, craning his neck up as far as he can, and then tries to grunt himself forward. He gets nowhere fast. I'm quite sure he's not into yoga yet, despite the fact that everyone is in to yoga around here, as the severe grunting tells me he is not concentrating on his breathing whatsoever.

The fact that is on the verge of crawling is exciting, yes, but equally petrifying for we are not remotely close to having our little capsule that we call our apartment (think of one of those Japanese rent-a-room capsules filled to the brim with crap) ready for the epic day when he tears around the living room. All that is stopping him at this stage is sheer mass – he's carrying a little heavy at the moment. But make no mistake, it's coming.

They say you should get down on all fours to get the child's perspective when baby-proofing your place. I asked for Flea's input, as she's just about the same height, but she said there was nothing worth chewing on. After crawling around and repeatedly banging my head on the corner of the table, I was able to get a good handle on the possible hazards for out little ball of kinetic energy ready to burst. Tomorrow's mission then, is to start babyfying the pad.

Speaking of hazards, I was reading a book called Wiped! that Michele passed on to me during one of his morning naps (gee, tiring business being carried everywhere, having your food prepared for you, have someone dressing you and then playing). It's about a writer who shares her experience as the Mom of a newborn. It's very O.T.T. (over the top) and hyper dramatic for effect, but all in all I can sympathize with some of it and empathize with Michele for the rest of the more womanly aspects of it all,

At one point, she relates how she accidentally bumped her child's head against a projector on an airplane – hard. Afterwards, she stakes the claim that everyone unintentionally hurts their baby at least once. Well, I'll tell you that I would never... oh wait a second, I already got mine out of the way.

It happened a few weeks back when we were in the bath. I was struggling to hold him as he was standing up in his mini tub because he's not into the whole maxin' an' relaxin' in the bath while his servants scrub him down like he used to be. And if he had just stood there quietly, with relatively little motion, it wouldn't have happened. But the K man likes to wriggle as if someone was secretly sending mini shocks of electricity through his body at all times. Take a wild guess at what goes down next. Kael is leaning forward with all his strength, reaching for a toy, and my hand loses grip on his slick, slimy from soap frame. He tumbles forward, head colliding not so gently with the metal nozzle where the water comes out.

To her credit, Michele did not freak out even though she was sitting right there. Instead, she calmly snatched him, consoling him with soft words. Kael is crying but thankfully there are no piercing screams. I feel awful. Once safe in momma's arms, we hold him up for inspection. Oh yeah, we definitely have indentation. And is it just me, or does our nozzle have a funny shape? So it appears to be true. It's all about our reaction. If we remain calm, then so does he. Although babies may be fragile, they are also tough, man. Meanwhile, I remained mortified by the “slip up” for several minutes, apologizing profusely. “Sorry buddy. Is it really bad?”, I kept asking, “He'll be ok, won't he?” Of course he was and still is. Just glad I got mine over with early..

Mr Mom - Day 2

2008-07-15T11:45:00.000-07:00

The morning passed uneventfully – that's a good thing these days. No Kaelstorms, only sunny skies blessed our apartment as it is did our city.

Our little guy is teething though. Aside from his chubby cheeks which are the colour of poppies, there was also another not so subtle sign when we put him down for a nap. Basically, he would square his jaw in such a way that it made him look like a grumpy old senior with constant arthritis. I couldn't figure out what was going on. “What's he doing?”, I wondered aloud. “His teeth, the ones we can't see yet on top, that are bothering him.” Sure enough, upon closer inspection, he was gnawing rhythmically on his upper gums with his two recent and sharp-edged bottom teeth. I guess it's like having a sore tooth, you keep wanting to touch it, just to make sure it still hurts (Ow!, yep). Babies don't think that way yet, do they? To help him out, Michele initiates what she calls the teething dance, alternating between a wet cloth, his teething ring (not to be confused with his preciouses that he gums when he eats) and a carrot every five minutes or so to soothe them until he tires out enough to doze off.

I was left in charge pretty much the whole afternoon as Michele took advantage of me being home to go to the mall to buy some things in preparation for the wedding. I did not want to go to the mall. In fact, I hate the mall. I don't hate many things, but the mall is one of them. If you ever want to see me grumpy, take me to the mall, on a Saturday, when it's a beautiful sunny day outside.

Lord K and I had lunch date on the patio, rolled around together on the floor, sang French songs, ate books, drooled lots, stared off into space together (he certainly picked up that personality trait from daddy) and did all that other every day normal stuff.

The big outing for the day consisted of a jaunt out to the local park to do something real summery: a trip to the water park. I was real good, remembering to apply baby sunscreen, bring his water bottle, put on his sun hat and even Flea-proof the house (she rummages through the garbage just to spite us when go out without her) before going. When we parked in the shade at the park, I stripped off his pants and beelined towards the screeching kids and spraying water. I anticipated a refreshing splash, but we both received a shock instead. The water felt like it was sourced directly from one of the melting ice caps. And if I found it freezing, I can only imagine that Kael's sensitive skin had his nervous system ringing the alarm bells. So instead of getting right in there, something I tend to be overly fond of doing, we hung out on the periphery, standing in a 2 mm deep puddle, happily watching the other kids play.

I was surprised that Michele still wasn't home when we returned. I felt mildly panic-stricken as I knew he needed another nap, but was also keenly aware that a nap is pretty much out of the question without momma's milk. Since he was already seemingly content in the stroller, I made a quick decision to grab Flea and keep moving. There was a time when he would fall asleep in the stroller, but those days are long gone. There's a whole world of sensory pleasures to explore now.

And then it happened, the one thing I dreaded most. He began to cry. What I thought was just his gangsta lean was more like the result of having squirmed himself into an uncomfortable sideways position that even a contortionist would have found awkward.

Can I tell you that nothing – no thing – stresses me out more than my baby crying? Can you tell I'm a new parent? I try to console him by putting on my happy voice and telling, “Hey little buddy, there's nothing to worry about. It's a beautiful day and all is right in the Universe”. He doesn't buy it. Apparently my Universe and his are in different galaxies. So I quicken the pace to an almost jog to try to get home as fast as possible while cooing “almost there, almost there”. Poor Flea doesn't even have a chance to poop. We make it home without incident, He is fussy but at least there is no storm to blemish this lovely afternoon. Mommy is home and it isn't long before he is suckling. All is well.

You know, it's funny. A several hundred thousand dollar transaction goes awry at work and it doesn't stress in my least, but when my baby boy lets out one single wail and my whole body, from head to toe, starts to panic.

Mr. Mom - Day 1

2008-07-14T13:00:00.000-07:00

It's Monday and I'm at home. Weird. Kael is taking his afternoon nap so I am taking advantage of these precious few moments to write a few words about my first day on parental leave. Before making the decision, we debated about whether or not we could afford it as you only receive 55% of your salary – already meager earnings in the expense trap of Vancouver. But then I thought of it this way: how can I afford not to? Kael will only be a baby once so if I can find a way to spend some extra time with him now, while he is soaking it all in, then I've got to do it. Might as well use the sytem. And hey, if there is ever a time to be off work in Canada, it's in the summer.

When I told people at work that I was going to take time off to be with my son, reactions were mixed. Many of the women thought it was a wonderful idea; most of the guys saw it as an extended vacation.
Tell you what fellas, a vacation it is not. It's work. I never fooled myself for a second by thinking it would be cakewalk. Taking care of an 8 month old mini-me is in fact tireless work that never ceases. You can't take breaks when you want or take an extended lunch. Nope, one thing Michele has made abundantly clear is that it's all about the baby's schedule. He's my new boss.

Following a stormy 6 am wake up where only the boob would do, Kael's morning chatter began at 8 am, which was my cue to wake up. I think it translates to something along the lines of, “Hey, I'm up now. Should we get some breakfast? This plastic giraffe just isn't doing it for me anymore. Hey, I'm up now...”, whereas the 6 am screaming was more like, “I'M STARVING MY ASS OFF OVER HERE. I WANT SOME MILK NOW!” I have to say that I much prefer the 8 am Kman's morning show than my alarm going off at 4 am like it did when I was on the early shift. I sang the good morning song while I changed his diaper - weighing the equivalent of a bowling ball following a night of urination - and then brought him into the kitchen for breakfast.

I put on some baby French music, and then got his breakfast ready while he munched on his plastic rings in his highchair, which we have come to dub the “throne”. That then, makes Kael the Lord of the Rings. This is a duty I am comfortable with, by the way, as I have previously prepared his meals on weekends. So far, paternity leave feels like an extension of the weekend. I added water to his brown rice cereal and poured some prunes from a jar into a bowl et voilà, le petit déjeuner est prêt.

Eating is messy business. Perhaps I should have changed his white shirt beforehand... He is good eater, my little bruiser, ingesting all that we offer him in between breaks from chewing on his beloved rings. I noticed that he enjoys the blunt part of the spoon more than the end where we put the food. When the feeding session is over, he starts to get tired. I can tell because he rubs his eyes , without taking into account that his fingers are sticky and slushy from a mixture of pureed prunes and cereal mash, and he is still holding the rings with their serrated edges. That can't feel too good.

When breakfast is done, it's time to wake Mamma up so he can get a little milk before going straight back to bed. It seems odd behaviour for anyone who is not a teenager to sleep all night, wake up, eat and then go right back to sleep. When I questioned the logic, I was told that this is how it's done and that I should read the book baout sleep patterns (ie Sleeping Baby = Happy Mother ) before making any more comments.

So be it. I take advantage of my free time to take the dog out for a walk and enjoy the summer morning, repeating to myself the entire time, "Jeez, this sure does beat sitting at my computer, staring out the window wishing I was outdoors.”

As I enter through the gate leading to the front door after the stroll, I hear the familiar sound of baby crying. These days, it is the sound emanating from my apartment and not some other poor sucker's place like it used to. We are right in the middle of a Kaelstorm. Our wee man is teething and he is not so enthusiastic about it. It takes him an hour before he stops hiccuping from wailing so intensely in protest and calms down enough to fall asleep.

An hour and half later, Lord Kael awakens happy as a clam, as if the torture before slumber had never occurred. It's playtime. We let him roll around on the floor until his troglodyte grunts get very deep, which is his way of telling us to change up the program. I prop him up on his feet. He sways and staggers, reminding me of myself back in my univeristy days.

"Hey, what are you doing?", Michele suddenly yells from the bathroom, "It's lunchtime! We have baby group at 1 PM." Work, work, work. We all know who the real boss is. I tell Kael he is getting the prix fixe menu consisting of: mashed turkey, with mashed potatoes, mashed green beans and for dessert, you guessed it, mashed blueberries. Oops. Forgot to change that white top again before feeding him blueberries.

I get 15 minutes to myself after lunch to shave, shower and eat my own lunch. I guess that's my break.

At baby group, there a host of Moms sitting on mats watching over their fellow mini humans as they crawl clumsily around. Oh look, little Mary just accidentally gave little Ahmed a swift kick to the temple as she zoomed past. This is the cruiser group, that is, 6-12 months. I am the only man there, yet I am comfortable enough with my metrosexuality not to feel awkward. There are babies of all shapes and sizes enjoying each other's company, playing with toys, as new mother's chat away about the various calamities of caring for their respective cruiser. While the mother's converse, so do the babies, only their conversations consists of loud groans, squeals and squawks, something the mother's have all learned to ignore. I find it all very dizzying.

The guest speaker at baby group is a nutritionist here to enlighten us on finger foods. Similar to life, the key to learning how to eat for babies is by play and experimentation. We also learned that all food does not necessarily have to be mashed up into sludge and that giving Kael a third of a banana is fine, too. He acts as the test baby that all the other mothers observe. The nutritionist offers him the banana. which he accepts rather unenthusiastically. He admires its gushiness as he squishes it with his fingers. Then he hastily decides to shove into his mouth rather barbarically. “See”, the nutrtionist proudly exclaims, “he loves it!” Perhaps instead of his beloved rings, we will now start to give him finger foods to gnaw on instead.

By the end of baby group, Kael is overtired and needing of a nap. The rest of the day goes by smoothly, as dinner and bath time are old hat for me. Where did the time go? It's been constant, rewarding work so far. But I'm not doing it completely alone as my wife-to-be has done this entire time. And, the fact that I do not breastfeed makes my new job ten times easier. Kudos to all women who do it. Day 1 has been great. Let's see if I still feel the same way after Day 30.

amazing feets

2008-07-01T10:45:00.000-07:00

“Oh my God, did you see that!? He actually picked it up. He must be the smartest baby in the world...” Michele

They say that love is blind. Based on my short foray into parenthood, I cannot argue. Why, just the other morning, while propping Kael up on his feet like a marionette, he stooped forwards and picked up his beloved peacock, then had to let go of it immediately upon standing erect again to retain balance. Astounding, non? Non? Well, believe it or not, it is to us. Minor and perfectly natural developments such as picking something up off the floor, become minor miracles highlights of the day to a new parent - especially when they are your child's first.

Another, um, more solid example, is pooing. Most of us, if we are lucky, spend several minutes of each day on the porcelain throne getting rid of food previously ingested. But Kael's digestive system, which is not yet running at full capacity, drops the kids off at the pool on a somewhat alarmingly irregular basis. In fact, he sometimes goes almost 12 days without excreting that excess waste festering in his young colon, which Doctor J assures us is not abnormal behaviour for breastfed babies*. Sure, it makes for less stink and mess to clean up, but on other hand, notre petit trésor is obviously uncomfortable during those periods when he's all bunged up. He gets cranky when he hasn't pooed in a while, as do you and I. So when at last I get that text message from Michele announcing “Poop there it is!” or something along those lines, a mix of elation and pride prompts me to involuntarily emit a boisterous “woohoo”. Afterwards, I must of course explain to my curious co-workers that I haven't won the lottery, but that my son has just defecated. Their blank, confused stares hint that they just aren't as impressed as I am.

I'm quickly finding out that parenthood, such as life, is all about the small victories.

Spring arrived early here in BC and the signs of blossoming and joy were everywhere, including our wee man. He is now fully awake and those big, blue eyes of his that even I can't help get lost in, reflect the tremendous growing curiosity he has for his surroundings. Just as Dr Karp had assured us, it took him a full three months to accept that he can't retreat back into the womb and that this outside world is here to stay. Besides, maybe he's starting to realize that his parental units aren't that evil after all...The hair dryer was officially retired in March, though it still sits in the same spot, gathering dust, reminding us of trying times past. But we haven't forgotten its integral contribution to our keeping us somewhat sane. We are even considering encasing and donating it to the museum of colic as a former war hero.

The latest trend continues to be putting anything and everything within grasp into his mouth. (“Kael, be careful, you don't know where Papa's fingers' have been!” warns Michele. She's right of course). And I'm talking anything within range of those chubby little fingers he clearly had the misfortunes of inheriting from Daddy’s genes. He also enjoys chomping on his own feet. It's really quite impressive. He discovered his feet while lounging on the changing table. The insert-into-mouth reflex immediately sprung into action as he instinctively grabbed onto the heel of his foot and proceeded to shove it into his mouth like a Popsicle. His fans, ogling over him, went mad with excitement, egging him on for more, and finally daring him to stick them both in at the same time - which he eventually succeeded in doing thanks to some great persistence. What talent! What a feat! Ah, definitely another perk to being a new Dad is to finally have licence to get away with the dad jokes...

Even though the colicky period is officially done (big sigh of relief), that doesn't stop us from still having a Scorpio to deal with. He knows what he wants and he finds a, shall we say, very direct way to let us know when he doesn't get it. His vocabulary for expressing disgust is quickly evolving, as screeches are longer lasting and higher pitched while grunts grow angrier and deeper resounding; and yet, at the other end of the gamut of emotions, his grins also spread wider and his eyes sparkle with joy. Indeed, for the vast majority of the time, he is a healthy, happy baby. Who would have thunk after the trials of those first three months? You really do think it’s going to last forever. If you know any expecting parents, do be sure to let them know that even if their little bundle of scream doesn't seem to enjoy the outside world in the beginning, to persevere to show love and patience. The transformation will happen eventually, no matter how improbable it seems when he prefers the drone of the dryer over your own kisses.

At six months, he began to wear his own food. I mean, he started eating solid foods. Let's face it, more of it winds up on his face, bib, seat, floor and dog than in his mouth. Just prior to his first feed, he'd been anxiously watching us at the table while we ate dinner as if to say, “Yo, that looks good, hook me up!” So we did, though not exactly with the same shit as we ate. My favourite part is watching his reaction when introducing a new food. It catches him off guard initially so it begins with a look of bewilderment, which is closely followed by a scrunching of the face similar to the look you get when biting into a lemon. Finally, you get his verdict. If the face stays sour and he cries, it means that he's not crazy about this time around but maybe he'll find it more pleasurable next time. And if his regard remains neutral, it means he adores it. He also likes to suck up the water, too, gulping it down as if he had just spent 40 days and nights crossing the Gobi. He often ends up gasping and panting, or more commonly gagging to the point of his face almost turning blue. It's all or nothing with this kid – or, to use Michele's code, he's very intense - which is what I love about him already.

********************************************************************************

A little while back, I was waiting outside La Grotta del Fromaggio while Michele went in to purchase some mate and cheese – standard achat n'est-ce pas? - rocking a dozing baby and keeping a jittery Flea out of trouble with other canine and miniature humans alike. A couple with a young baby about half the size of Kael were sitting outside on the patio enjoying a coffee in the spring-like warmth. The Dad, noticing my load, struck up a conversation. We agreed on the miraculous nature of parenthood and learned that our respective offspring were born just four days apart.

- “How is he?” I inquired, expecting to hear of a string of long sleepless nights and intense battles to put him to bed.
- “He's an absolute joy”, the jolly man in the Montreal Canadians cap responded as his boy smiled from ear to ear, “he's been like this from the very beginning.
- “Yeah, fine, but what about the lack of sleep?, I probed, beginning to become suspicious of this new dad's relaxed and much too well-rested vibe.
- “11 hours a night, from the day he was born”, he answered proudly, with a touch of nonchalance – as if it were standard behaviour.
- “Pardon? As in1-1 eleven? As in 7-11? Here's a free a piece of advice that could save you from an evil glare, don’t tell Michele what you just told me when she comes out!” I warned.

Kael does not sleep eleven hours a night. Not even close. In fact, he continues to wake up two or three times a night, out of habit rather than necessity at this stage of the game. Michele faithfully stammers out of bed to take care of his mammary needs. He only wants one thing, and daddy is not equipped to supply it. But that will all change, we hope, when I take my parental leave from work in July. Not the booby part, but him not needing the booby... hey, come to think of it, I could get that contraption De Niro was wearing in Meet the Fockers. Anyways, while I'm on leave it will be my turn to wake up every three or fours - something I haven't done since his colicky days - to soothe him back to sleep and, with any luck, out of the night-time feeding habit.

If you're wondering why it took so long for me to write, it's because I've been busier than a colony of ants that just had their mound knocked over by a clumsy child. In an attempt to make up for the half of the salary I will be lacking, I took an extra part-time job as a soccer coach to make up the amount I won't be getting. In order to pull it off however, it also required me to work the 6-2 shift at my main job for the 2 ½ months I coached. That's a 6 am start incidentally. And a dog to walk before work. And the Vancouver Whitecaps to cover on weekends. And a travel writing course to take. And spending as much time as I can with my son. And hey, why not sprinkle a few dj gigs in there to really ensure maximum busy-ness. One day I did all three: work, coaching then djing. I kept thinking of the In Living Colour skit with the hardest working West Indian family. What? Only 3 job!? Oh, and there's Michele, my bride to be, my spiritual partner, waiting in the wings, wondering when I'd make some time for her. A jack of all trades and master of none, it's long been my vice. I want to do it all NOW. Unfortunately, Michele is often the one who gets put on the backburner and I don't thank her enough for being so patient with me and for being the best thing that ever happened on planet earth.

The thing is: the corporate environment is getting to me. Don't get me wrong, as far as financial company's go, my work is decent. The people are very nice, my bosses are supportive and not in the least bit overbearing, and the company's benefits are excellent. For that I am grateful. It's just that, I don't care for what I'm doing. I go through the motions. I accept my situation, but I can’t bring myself to be enthusiastic about it. They (the royal they) will try to spread the word that you can’t be doing what you love and make money, but there are those who ignore them and do it anyway. I believe I can be one of those, too. Why not? What I do need to bear in mind is that it probably won't happen overnight and that I will have to be more patient. As relaxed and tolerant as I am with most things, I'm not a patient person at all when it comes to me not having things go as I deem they should.

Overall, everything is wonderful as we celebrate one year in Vancouver. Summer took its sweet ass time arriving, but now that its here, it has put the whole city in a good mood. The other day I took Flea out to Mt Seymour to do some hiking while Michele and Kael were away visiting grandma and grandpa on the island. From the time we left our apartment to the time we were frolicking among the giant, moss covered cedars was twenty minutes max. Later this afternoon, we'll be bbqing at the beach. You just can't beat this city – when it's nice.

Coming home after work is still the best part of my day. Flea and her oversized ears, having heard the distinct sound of my bicycle from 2 km away, is there to greet me at the gate. Amazingly, she hasn't lost one ounce of enthusiasm in all the years I've known her. And when I walk in the door, Kael, who is as elated to see me as I am him, never fails to break out into that beautiful smile, showing off his single bottom tooth. And then I get a soft kiss from Michele to top it all off. At this point, all is perfect in the universe, even if for just one fleeting moment, every single day. And while we may not live in the biggest apartment, or have a fancy car, I sure am thankful for what we've got.

Viva espana! Viva Torres!

oj

* This was started a few months back, before things got a bit crazy, which is pretty much ancient history as fast as the Kman's developments go. He has now joined the realm of regulars since he began eating solids.

Final word: George Carlin passed away recently. The man was not only funny and witty, he was able to break down social behaviour with the intelligence of of a Phd. Case and point, check this video out: http://www.jibjab.com/view/87283

Blowing Hot Air (Feb 08)

2008-02-02T13:43:00.000-08:00

Blue skies smilin' at me
Nothin' but blue skies do I see
Bluebirds singin' a song
Nothin' but bluebirds all day long

Never saw the sun shinin' so bright
Never saw things goin' so right
Noticing the days hurrying by
When you're in love, my how they fly

Blue days, all of them gone
Nothin' but blue skies from now on
(Blue skies smilin' at me
Nothin' but blue skies do I see)

Never saw the sun shinin' so bright
Never saw things goin' so right
Noticing the days hurrying by
When you're in love, my how they fly
Blue days, all of them gone
Nothin' but blue skies from now on
Nothin' but blue skies from now on

Life just wouldn't be very derned interesting if there wadn't a little irony tossed in every once in a while to throw you off kilt; you know, to spice it up tobaski style.

During Michele's pregnancy - which lasted a challenging ten days beyond the due date - I held secret, future visions of the perfect little angel (strangely sexless at the time) sleeping peacefully in Daddy's arms or looking around quizically and observantly at the world around him/her, patiently eager to learn all about life outside of the womb. Most of us were expecting that Kael would be a relaxed, calm baby, much like both his parents were as babies and continue to be as adults (so long as there are no “Michele Specials” involved of course). I held visions of a perfect little Buddha; mindful; quietly alert, in harmony with his/her surroundings. What I neglected to consider during these moments of ridiculous fantasizing was another character trait shared by both Mama et Papa : highly sensitive.

“Inconceivable!”. One of my all-time favourite lines from the classic, The Princess Bride, quickly turned into “incosolable!”, around the apartment as every time he seemed on the verge of falling asleep or finally quieting down, Mt. Kael would suddenly re-erupt. I have come to call these outbursts “Kael storms” (difficult to forecast) or a “kalestrom” - depending on the intensity of the wail. So you try every trick in the book and still, the kid is acting as if his fingernails are being ripped out. “Inconsolable!”. Mind you, he's been fed, his diapers changed, he's warm enough – so what else could he possibly need? During those first few weeks, you are tortured by that helpless feeling of being at a loss as to what your screaming child desires. When we mentioned our son's condition to the nurse, who came to visit us at home early on, she kindly said that these uber-sensitive babies are common, and moreover, they are the ones that turn out to be world leaders. How flattering! Come to think, of it, I now recall the mentioning of Gandhi's mother almost losing it on her future saint of a son after his 60th straight day of crying for world peace after his birth. Thankfully, she kept her cool, just as we must with our little spirited angel.

So, while very looking forward to Kael being inaugurated as Prime Minister or awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his groundbreaking work with the Dalai Lama, we must somehow learn to deal with our little fussy-gussy of a baby boy. Enter “the formula”. No, I don't mean the evil, overpriced concoction they warned us of in breastfeeding class. No, I'm talking about the “Cuddle Cure”, invented by a hippie doctor in California. We learned of the method from a book called “The Happiest Baby on the Block”, donated to us generously by friends of ours who have graduated on to “Happiest Toddler on the Block” with their son – and Kael's future partner in play crime - Rhys. Now, I admit to being rather skeptical of the gazillion baby books and theories out there (much to Michele's frustration), but I do recommend this one to new parents. It's a wealth of pertinent non-preachy information, well written, witty, and the theories jibe with the evolution of our species. Without going into too much detail, the jist of it is that babies in modern times actually come out three months earlier than they did during our cave-dwelling days; therefore, in the first three months, it is important to mimic the conditions of the womb as closely as possible. Let's not forget that they've got it good in the womb: fed on demand, no germs, no bad breath for parents etc. And then one day boom, they are released from this den of comfort into a bright, overstimulating world. It is said that birth is the most traumatic experience of our lives – though I name a few of the bathroom experiences in China as close runner's up.

The Cuddle Cure, or the 5 Ss, goes something like this: 1) swaddle, 2) side/stomach, 3) ssshhh, 4) swing and 5) soothe. The swaddle, or creation of a baby straightjacket, creates the snugness inside the womb and prevents senseless overstimulation by unpredictable, flailing arms. The stomach or side relates to how he was positioned in the womb. The ssshhh is the most interesting one to us because it is the most important of the Ss when attempting to tame a Kaelstorm. Shhhh, quiet! Don't disturb the baby...Wrong! Apparently, it's loud, very loud, in the womb. We're talking vacuum cleaner at full blast loud in there, what with the blood rushing up and down tubes, swooshing around to and fro. Sshhing in his ear as suggested in the book, however, has not worked once. So, during desperate times, I attempted to use the hair dryer as an alternative. I plugged it in unconvincingly and brought our screeching ball of joy within range of the blasting sound, more expecting it to at least drown out his crying than soothe him. Lo and behold, he zipped right up instantly, staring blankly into space, as if he had never been upset in his life. Ever since that magical moment, the dryer has become our new best friend and we are never more than a few feet away from it at all times. Some friends are predicting he will be strangely drawn to hair salons in the future, but we are willing to take that risk for a few moments of peace.

Kael's next S is the swing, although it isn't so much a swing that he likes as a jiggle. We've gone through a whole host of different dances and jiggles, but the one in favour currently is the Richard Simmons, an aerobic-inspired back and forth step the man? himself would be proud of – though it can be quite demanding on Mom and Dad in the middle of the night. And when the dryer's drone gets a bit tiresome, oj throws on the funk, latin or whatever other booty-shaking grooves he's got and tries to appease him through dance. It rarely works as well as the Richard Simmons, but at least Papa keeps his sanity.

To say the first 6 weeks were not easy is a gross understatement. However, incorrigeably positive, I am happy to report that, on the doorstep of the 3 month mark, the worst of the collicky period is behind us. The situation did become somewhat more tolerable when we finally accepted that we were not doing anything wrong. Cause I tell ya, when your baby's only waking moments, aside from being silenced by the power of the booby, are spent wailing and screaming (I wish I were exaggerating), you start to wonder what the %^^$ you are doing wrong. My tank of patience, usually a rather large tank, was emptied until I was running on fumes almost daily. Coupled with limited sleep, I was actually on the brink as it were. I am prepared to wager that nothing is as uncomfortable as the sound of your child wailing in agony. The experience has also surfaced a side of me I had yet to see, a side that can easily be pinpointed as learned behaviour from my own father: a strong temper. Strangely, a punch in the face or being chopped down in a soccer game has never made me mad, but piercing screeches eminating from my son's impressive chops have. Go figure.

And yes, a kaelstorm is often what I came home to, sometimes after a long day's work. Ahh, poor baby. No, poor Mom actually. Michele is the one who primarily had to deal with the kaelstorms day and night. Jiggling became so constant and intense that she has developed tendinitis, sporting the splints on each hand respectively. Add that to a case of thresh and a general eating disorder that many of you are already fully aware of. Yet, as with the pregnancy, Michele has been a trooper and has admirably kept her sense of humour throughout- mostly anyways. Sleepless nights and non-stop fussiness will take its toll on even the most dedicated parent and we are no exceptions. But, it is Mom who has bared the brunt of it and I wish to pay homage to her at this time. Men just couldn't do what women do.

And now that I've got my typical whinging out of the way, let me say that it has all been worthwhile, beyond shadow of a doubt. All the cliches of being a parent are entirely true. Just looking down at that cute, handsome face sleeping peacefully comes this indescribable sense of joy that arises from deep within my heart. It is a feeling that remains unparaleled. It's Beauty. It's Love. It's Creation. And this time, it is very, very personal. Do you want me to go on? The ladies do, but the men are like, move on there fruitcake.

A few weekends ago, bless it, we got our first taste of baby sans constant fussiness. Kael actually had a few minutes of quiet awareness – something I'd heard babies' do, though was beginning to suspect only a rumour- where he would stare up at me, eyes wide open with pursed lips soundless. It was amazing. We were really able to enjoy him. The notion of even the remote possibility, at some point in the future, of life with Kael without wail, sent shots of positivity rushing through our veins.

Now at virtually 3 months old, Kael is becoming more and more expressive with each passing day. The best part of each day, by leaps and bounds - provided the skies are clear - is coming home from work, and seeing Kael's face light up when he sees me. Priceless. No matter how elated I've ever felt, whether at the best party or winning a championship, nothing compares to the feeling of my beautiful boy smiling up at me with his huge blues eyes. We usually just stare at each other for awhile, unable, unwilling, to steer our gaze elsewhere.

And yet this angel of a boy remains a “spirited” one, challenging Mom and Dad's patience to the max at times, by refusing to go down (ie sleep) without a fight or fuss. His spiritedness confirms our appropriate choice of names for, as Kael is a Gaelic name meaning mighty warrior. His signals, which initially were as indecipherable as the map of the Tokyo subway system, are slowly starting to make sense as we get to know and trust one another. Patterns emerge, though they are still about as reliable as the weather at this point. We aren't completely out of the woods, but we're close.

And when I recall those first few days at home, when, sleep-deprived and exhausted, you suddenly find yourself home with this helpless, screaming little being - completely dependent on you for survival – and you look at one another with that, “Ok, now what?” expression, it does seem like a long time ago already. You spend the better part of a year preparing for that moment, and then when it arrives, you just don't know what to do. We've already witnessed quite a change in our little guy during that period. He's doubled his birth weight and outgrown his first set of clothes faster than Flea gobbling down a piece of meat.

And, of course, even when his “spirited” phase cools down, we know there awaits an equally challenging next step phase on deck to put us to the test. These stages of his development, I suspect, are precisely what makes parenting so rewarding in the end. To gradually witness and be a part of his evolution until , he reaches adulthood, is a journey worth looking forward to. As natural and common a process as it is, it really is the miracle of life when it happens to you. Or, at least, it is as it is happening to me.

Recently, we had a full week of sunshine here in the rainy city and it has given everyone a little extra skip in their step. The stunning backdrop of scintillating golden, snow-capped peaks, seen from any vantage point around Vancouver, has indeed been an amazing sight to behold. And while walking back from my morning walk with Flea today, I happened to pass by the winter's farmers' market only steps away from our building, where some musicians were swinging to a great rendition of the wonderful classic “Blue Skies”. Yep, no matter happens, with Kael and Michele in my life, there'll be nothin' but blue skies – and blue eyes – from now on.

oj

And speaking of music, I've compiled a top five list of Kael inspires tunes. See if you can guess the real song by replacing the word in italics with a real word.

1) “Booby Nights”
2) “Wrapped like an Egyptian”
3) “Peein' (Over You)”
4) “Jiggling Baby”
5) “Burp It Out (Loud and Clear)"

Can you guess the real song?

Also, if anyone wants to see more pics, check out Michele's Facebook site. Just search for Michele Black.For now anyways...

The Final Countdown

2007-10-30T14:27:00.000-07:00

"The idea of fatherhood unleashed a swirl of emotions in me. I found it frightening, invigorating, daunting, and exilerating all at the same time"- Khaled Hosseini from the The Kite Runner

Despite having to trudge through the soggy autumn leaves, drained of their vibrant colours due to the dampness from the rains that characterize Vancouver, I am still overjoyed to once again have the privilege of enjoying autumn. We are experiencing our first fall in many years and despite the dominant wet weather that has unsurprisingly plagued Vancouver, the few fine days were so astoundingly gorgeous that the rain hasn't gotten us down; yet. While living abroad all those years, I was conscious that the seasonal cycle was something I was missing out on; something profound that was missing from my life.

And yet nature's irony has not been lost on me either, for just as Her cycle approaches one of death, a cycle of rebirth - a spring - is about to commence in my own life.

That's right, my friends, the countdown is on. Can you hear the theme music? Anyone remember Europa? My devilish goal in writing this letter is not to update you, at length, about what is going in my life, but to make you suffer through your day by planting the seed of one of the worst and catchiest tunes of all time into your heads. Brwahahaha...

You haven't heard from me for a while and the reason for that is that the madness of parenting has already begun. No, baby isn't born yet but the nesting process and the necessary preparations have. There has been furniture to put together, pre-natal classes to attend, weekly doctor's appointments, a fantastic baby shower to reap the benefits of kind friends and foot rubs to administer. Time, something I never felt I had enough of even before the pregnancy, will no longer be controlled by my selfish wants and needs. I am stubbornly and slowly coming to terms with the fact that it's not about me, me, me! anymore. Family comes first and that requires sacrifice on my part. Both my ego and my artist child are throwing little tantrums but they'll get over it.

Every day, a new person asks me the inevitable: are you ready? An equally poignant and silly question when you think about it. It's similar to being asked , "Are you OK?" , after you've broken up with your girlfriend. In both cases, there is no immediate answer. Only time will tell. Am I ready? I reckon there is a little hell yeah, and, god no in the answer. I mean, this isn't exactly an exam. Sure there is lots to read up on but the more I read, the more I realize that this is is going to be a lifelong instinctual experience that can be summed up by different authors and experts, but only actualized by doing it. There, my answer is about as clear as mud. I do know that the only way I could express it was a mix, a to and fro, between excitement and nervousness. Not very creative or expressive. That's why I was happy to come across the quote from the Kite Runner, as it summarizes it much better than I could.

The due date, or D-day as Michele lovingly refers to it, is October 27. A mere week away. Michele is wonderfully large and round in the belly, glowing and beautiful in the late stages of her pregnancy.(and I'm not just saying that for brownie points -although I could use a few...). For the most part, it's been a happy ride for mamma-to-be, lacking in swollen ankles, carpel tunnel syndrome and other such malaises that many pregnant women experience. The only strange craving to record is the sudden desire for Captain Hiliners fish fingers. I mean, that's odd for anyone, of any sex, over the age of say 14 years old. I'm just glad there hasn't been any three o'clock wakings to my throat being grasped by a pair of hands and a psychotic voice demanding nutella and garlic on toast - NOW! Nor have the hormonal changes affected her attitude from minute to the next, up and down as a boat in a storm at sea. A few tears have been shed, and more than a few obscenities have surprisingly escaped from Michele's angelic mouth, but for the most part she has been wonderfully even-keeled for this seemingly interminable 9+ months.

However, that said, there is no such thing as a perfect pregnancy and she has had her fair share of struggles. Morning sickness (I have submit a formal request to the Pregnancy Board to officially change it to any ol' time o' day sickness), sore back and hips, acid reflux from a stomach that is pushed up near the oesophagus, heartburn, as well as sleepless nights due to a future gymnastic gold medalist practicing parallel bar routines in the belly during the hours of 11 PM to 7AM. And the other day, a trip to the shops that should have taken 20 minutes, took her an hour and half thanks to baby presumably grabbing onto to an innerd and twisting with all his/her might for fun, forcing her to stop every steps to wince in pain. Sure sounds like fun doesn't it ladies? There is also the matter of a compressed bladder suddenly propelling peeing into a major concern for any outing. A forgotten trip to the bathroom before leaving can result in a painful car ride or a jittery wait in a line-up somewhere. Imagine being unable to see your feet, let alone put on socks or tie your shoes. Imagine, and this one was way too unfair n my mind, being told by your doctor that you could lose a few pounds. Were he not delivering our child, I'm pretty sure he would have had a knuckle sandwich delivered to his own mouth for a comment like that. I think you'll agree with me that it's just not what you want to hear when you are about ready to burst. All in all, Michele has taken the role on admirably. She has had ample want to complain and yet she has remained positive and cheerful throughout. She is a trooper and I have to say that I am falling more and more in love with her as our partnership and our new roles as parents begin.

However, our new roles as parents have also forced us into new roles either of us had necessarily wanted or planned on before returning to Canada. For Michele, it has been the classic role of housewife by taking on domestic duties such as cleaning, washing and preparing meals. As for me, it is going in to the office as I assume the role of family breadwinner, or better yet - given my salary and high cost of living in "the world's most livable city" - yeast winner. Sometimes I wonder whether we've reverted back to the fifties and no one has bothered to tell me. While all of it - the new roles and the re-adaptation to Canada - being undeniably strange, we've accepted it for now and are rolling along with the punches. The dude and dudette abide. It's not necessarily how we envisioned life when we originally made the decision to come home (before we found out about baby). And though it hasn't been a cakewalk, I am proud at how we have handled these profound and irreversible life changes so far.

I now find myself waking up at dawn, in the dark, so that I can practice qi gong and do some writing before hopping on my bike for the commute to work. On the odd day where it is clear, the Rockies are quite a magnificent setting to behold. Otherwise, it is chilly and often wet, but I enjoy the fresh air and the exercise regardless. Beats a depressing bus ride along East Hastings I tell ya!

The office environment is a surreal place that I am still adjusting to. It's been over two months now and I am still in training. It's that complicated. I am learning details about financial procedures and transactions that are ridiculously complicated for my abstract mind. Sometimes they even have the gall to make me do a little math.* It's a struggle to keep my apt to daydream mind from drifting while Raman tries to drill into me the information I am required to learn. I try to remain positive, tell myself that through osmosis it's all bound to sink in eventually, but I do go through moments of self-doubt. It's not my dream job, but without the bi-weekly paycheque and the benefits, we'd be screwed. And truth be told, sometimes I arrive home drained and dejected. But then I walk in the door, see the belly and all the promise that accompanies it, get mauled with attention from Flea, get a waff of another delicious meal concocted by Michele, I realize what's really important. My mood swings from self-pity to one of feeling blessed. You know, I got it good after all.

For the record, I haven't given up on writing; just as Michele will eventually pursue photography. But the little miracle insider her belly will put these dreams on hold for the both of us indefinitely. We feel that the baby has chosen us as parents at this particular time, for whatever reason.

So, the next email you will receive within a few weeks will hopefully be a picture of a healthy baby that looks just like me! Or, for the baby's sake, maybe it's best that (s)he looks more like Michele. As you should have deciphered, we have kept the sex of the little one a surprise. I love surprises and I cannot think of a bigger or better surprise than this one. Dreams of it being a girl were reported by several women. Last night, however, I dreamed it was a boy. Michele waivers daily between the two. On verra, quoi. We have a girl's name that we have pretty much decided on but a boy's name remains undecided. Feel free to email me any suggestions. Ideally, it is a name that sounds good in either French or English. I am have half a mind that we need to see the little one before naming it. You know, I'll see it come out and think to myself, â€œAh, it was Pablo all along!â€�

Also, sending a few positive vibrations in terms of a safe and healthy delivery for both momma and baby would be appreciated. And while you're at it, might as well throw in some strength for poppa in his supporting role (i.e for him not to faint), wouldn't hurt either...

papa oj

* Recognizing our hopeless math skills, Michele and I have been playing Mozart to the baby in an effort to not have our child suffer the embarrasing math inabilities of its parents. Apparently, Mozart's compositions were mathematical in nature and studies show that playing Mozart to your baby will magically develop the math part of the brain. Hey, it's worth a shot!

On the Good Foot

2007-09-01T14:44:00.000-07:00

The street names rhymes with tabarncac. That was the first sign. But the real omen that sealed it for us was the row of Tibetan prayer flags hanging from the third floor balcony of the house/apartment complex. What better a symbol for us never mind we have since learned that Tibetan prayer flags are trendy in Van). It was both the first and last place we looked at - which is a somewhat of an impressive stat considering the competitive renter's market here. We'd heard too many horror stories of people not taking the first place they looked at, and subsequently losing it, merely because it was just that - the first place they saw. We needed to settle quickly and we did. I think our new landlord Howie Baby (that's my personal little nickname for him which he knows nothing about) took pity on us because of our situation. That sappy intro letter we wrote really worked a miracle - thanks Marie!

Sitting on the front patio of our new cozy abode ("cozy" of course being the code word for "tiny"), I notice cyclists struggle up and skaters cruise down the steep grade of Adanac St.. Flea lays sprawled out in the sun while Michele soaks it in wearing her Little Miss Sunshine t-shirt. Proof that it does occasionally get nice in the rainy city...

Ok, if you want to get technical about it, this was the second place we saw. However, the first one doesn't really count seeing as how when we strolled up at 1:15 - right on time - the landlord was counting a big bundle of cash and the new tenant, presumably with the 1:00 appointment, was already signing papers. "It happens", offered the landlord when he noticed us, not even bothering to look up from his wad. It all happened so quickly that I stood stunned frozen for a second; then I clued in that we had lost out. Oh, it's like THAT now. Such a humbling experience can be both motivational and educational. but it can also instill fear - especially seeing as how 95% of the places advertized for NO PETS in the classifieds. Funny, I see dogs around everywhere. Our friends Sean and Marie chose to offer 50$/month extra on top of the asking price to secure their place in Kits - and they don't even have any pets. So we were a bit concerned until Howie Baby left us a message saying on the same day - when he had previously said he'd get back to us in a few days - saying that it was ours if we wanted it.

Now we had to decide whether or not to take it without the luxury of comparing it to anything else. And so the Tibetan prayer flags and the fact that it rhymes with tabarnac proved to be too strong omens to ignore and we decided to take it and alleviate the stress of finding a place. And now that we've settled in, there is no regret whatsoever. It's clean, new and in a pretty cool part of East Van called Commercial Dr. It reminds me a bit of College St. in T.O. before it got all trendy and uppity. There are bars where South Americans and Italians are watching footy at all hours of the day. I must say that it is refreshing to be back in a multicultural setting after all these years away.

Things are falling into place rather nicely you'd say. Our biggest allies to getting sorted so rapidly have been Michele's parents. They have exceeded their generosity tenfold by supplying us with everything from deluxe bed, bedding, pillows, to kitchen stuff and large towels. All colour co-ordinated mind you. But the real kicker is the almost new, size-efficient, fuel efficient and no-frills efficient, 4 door Pontiac Wave, complete with go faster stripes on the side. It's basic. It's perfect. And it doesn't stop there. They also paid for our first year of insurance to boot, a sizeable amount for new drivers (apparently our combined previous 15 years Canadian driving experience means nothing to insurance folks as they offered us 0% discount- isn't that lovely).

After closing the deal for our July 1st move, we headed back to the little paradise of Gabriola to visit, and gather the rest of our stuff (that includes Flea) where were treated to Alberta beef steaks the size of our plate (sorry veggie freaks but damn are they tasty), roasts and fresh strawberries on ice cream as the hummingbirds whizzed around getting high off nature's nectar. It was tough tearing Flea away from her new home in the country, and her pal Daisy, but we stuffed our little car to the max and headed for the big city. Leaving the relaxed vibe of Gabriola to come back to the city was a little like paradise lost for the three of us.

Now comes the potentially scary part. We're on our own, jobless, and moving into an unfurnished apartment. You know what that means. You need all the little details you normally take for granted like a can opener, scissors or an elastic for instance. If you want to cook, you suddenly realize you need a wooden spoon or spices - all of them. You room needs a bedside table, the living room needs chairs. You even need tupperware for leftovers! Money evaporates as quickly snow in the winter here. When they say that Vancouver is one of the top 5 best places to live in North America, they are obviously talking about it from the point of view of those who have the bread - loaves of it. No matter how much I had mentally prepared myself for the inevitable expense of starting from scratch, there is still an involuntary twitch everytime I take that plastic card out to swipe more money out of my account. Some of the locals might think I'm autistic. From my numerous past moves, I've learned to not even bother converting amounts back into the old, cheaper currency I was used to. It was ok to calculate paying 10,000 NT for a 4 bedroom place with huge kitchen, 2 bathroom and but then to settle for this much smaller (albeit much newer) 2 bedroom for about 32000 NT... Shit, I wasn't supposed to do that!

However, there are always gives and takes with anywhere you live. In my ever-optimistic outlook, I submit that I cannot put a price on the clean air I am breathing in - and even more importantly that the bump as we affectionately call him/her - is breathing in through her/his mother. And I know that it's all still new and all but I am still wowed by the sight of snow-capped mountains as I strut along the avenue. Even better, we had the chance to hike at the foothills of some of those mountains on Canada Day with some friends. And in the winter, we'll be able to go snowshoeing up there!

I've had some nibbles in terms of job prospects but nothing substantial as of yet. I did reel in a small fish that will give me a bit of cash on the side but I need to land that tuna in order to provide for the family. These are some unfamiliar waters and I'm an un-experienced sailor to begin with, so I'm still feeling my way around out there on the sea of employment. I'm pretty patient as far as it goes so I'll just keep throwing the line out there.

Last Saturday, I did get a pretty cool non-paying gig though. I was at the U-20 World Cup sitting in the press box to cover the Scotland vs Costa Rica game for a local online sports magazine. They gave Gaston an official press pass and everything. Sitting there absorbing the match, impressed by those skilled young punks out there on the pitch, I thought to myself that I could definitely get used to that kind of work. And had it not been for an email that went into the Fifa dude's junk mail, I would have been at every first round match. The good news is that there is one 2nd round match still to be played in Vancouver and the teams as luck would have it are Spain vs Brazil. I'll have a sangria in one hand and a samba drum in the other come Wednesday night.

Well, it's evening which means it's getting chilly outside. Hear that Tainan, chilly! Eat your sweaty little hearts out! Now I will return into my pink-carpeted abode (no, we can't really believe we have pink carpets either) to stare blankly at the pale yellow walls until our other shipment of decorating stuff arrives from Taiwan. If you're ever in town, do look us up. It's real easy to find us, just remember the Commercial: Adanac rhymes with tabarnac! Then just look for the Tibetan prayer flags et voila! Or, if you're not the resourceful type come to 1837 Adanac St or give me a call at 778-318-0462.

This is oj just letting you know that Michele, lil' oj, Flea and me are off on the good foot. And like JB (RIP), it's right about time for the splits. Aiiiiiiiiiiii,,,ow. I shouldn't have tried that. A la prochaine!

oj

King of Hill

2007-02-24T21:08:00.000-08:00

It is never more evident than during the Chinese New Year how densely populated this little island really is. A population of 25 million people with identical vacation time on an island roughly the size of Vancouver Island, bearing in mind that 70% of the island is covered in mountains and that 95% of the population lives on the west coast. Crunch those numers and you will find that mayhem on the roads at this time is simply unavoidable. Once the token family feasts and required visitations to relatives homes' have been fulfilled, it's time for families chu qu wan (go out to play). Without exception, all of the families whose children I teach privately stayed in Tainan because they fear the insane traffic. Even when taking little side streets or out-of-the-way country roads in an attempt to avoid traffic, has cars and scooters suddenly appearing dangerously out of nowhere. And to make matters worse, the impatient factor is bumped up a notch so people tend to drive even nuttier than normal, making ridiculously dangerous passes around blind corners, needlessly putting the lives of themselves, their families and strangers in danger. 95% of the time they are taking these risks only to be held up by a line of cars not far ahead.

Why then, in my right mind, would I choose to go on a road trip this Chinese New Year? Well,I figure it's a small price to pay to be able to spend several days on the beach, hanging out for perhaps the last time with a select crew of Tainan vets and long-time friends. And besides, there are ways to avoid the main roads when on a motorbike. Whereas the cars are hopelessly stuck in a single lane, the motorcycle or scooter can usually squeeze through on the side. And there is very little in this world that feels as sweet as cruising next to a scene of mountains dotted with rows of gangly betel nut trees on a warm sunny day. The "scenic route" may take a bit longer yet time seems to evaporate as the special "road trip" playlist on my Nano and scenery unfold - that is, until the reality of sitting on the bike for so many hours stings your behind and you suddenly feel an uncontrollable urge to wiggle your butt to make sure it's still attached to your body. Once again, I had my most trusted road trip companion Chris "The Full Knighty" along for yet another classic road trip together. True to his embracing nature, he convinced a couple of friends from the bar who had barely left Tainan to join. Our convoy now included Aaron and Emily and their two dogs Marley and Dixie.

I had the bright idea to leave very early from Tainan in order to avoid the traffic. What was I thinking? We aren't exactly accustomed to functioning at that ungodly time of day and we paid the price by jellying* not once but twice. Pretty big jellies too. The first one, due to my assumption that my slight deviation from the main road in an attempt to catch up to my party would have me join up with them on the 182 turned into a big ordeal that had Chris backtracking all the way to Tainan and Aaron and Emily going the completely wrong direction. One hour wasted! The other jelly occurred later on when I realized that I had lost the tent that had been slovenly bungied up against my backpack, which was itself bungied up to my bike. I was trying this new technique, see... I've got to admit that I am a bit notorious for the shoddy bungeing. Where are you when I need you most Bungee Master? I told the crew to keep going while I u-eed in hope of finding my temporary home. I rewound my mental tape, retraced the route we had taken since I had last seen the tent about 20 minutes ago after filling up for gas. I figured all I had to do was go back on the 185, find that squiggly road we somehow ended up on and, if need be, back onto the 27 to the gas station. Eyes set on tent radar, I was full of confidence that I would find it. However, despite skillfully recognizing the squiggly road, I was frowning by the time I made it back to the Smile gas station. My only hope was that it had fallen into a ditch on the opposite side of the road where it lay hidden from view. As I veered back onto the squiggly road, something caught my eye. It wasn't the tent, but three bent heads, incense clasped reverantly in hands, devotedly praying to a sacred bodhi tree. I slowed down instinctively. I had to appreciate this classic Taiwan moment: prayer, beautiful and serene, right next to a noisy and filthy major road. I just love the contrast! As I took in the scene, something else jumped out at me. Thankfully, it wasn't a stray dog but my beloved tent! There it was, propped up casually against a betel nut stand. Can you say divine intervention?

Hwy 1 is the only way into Kenting - the most popular beach destination in Taiwan. To get to where we were going, we could not avoid the 1 forever. Yet being road trip vets, we chose a route that had us on the 1 for only 45 minutes before it cut back into the mountains on the Capricorn Highway and then joining up with the dainty 199. The 199, though noticeably busier, remains one of my favourite little roads: about 1 & 1/2 car lengths wide (not suitable for the staggering amount of SUVs we encountered; yet there they were, insensitively bullying all other vehicles out of space), spiralling down through low level mountains toward the sea. Occasionally, it provides an opening, revealing stunning shots of the Pacific, until it hooks up with the 26 where it hugs the coast for 20 or so memorable kilometres of crashing waves until we reach our destination.

We stay in a small fishing village called Jiou Peng where friends of ours rent houses to support their recent surfing obsession. Tucked away in a relatively quiet area, away from the major route up the east coast to Taidung, it remains relatively remote and quiet despite its close proximity to Kenting. Pitching our tents near the Jiou Pong beach, in a grassy area previously camped at and respected for its shade, dubbed the Hippie Commune, we spent 4 wonderful days in the Pong. I managed to get in two sunset boogie boards, many keep up sessions, some hiking (the baby macaque shyly spying on me from the tree being the highlight), big cookups at night, hanging out and chatting with friends as time slows down to a standstill (reminiscent of cottage-life in Ontario), music jams at night and waking up each morning and jumping off the pier into the sea as first order of the day. Good living.

We left Jiou Peng on a moody morning where wind and drizzle accompanied an ominous dark sky. Still, the drive along the coast, though chilly, was dramatically beautiful as waves crashed extra mightily into the rocks near the shore. Though I was sure we would encounter rain, somehow we managed to steer clear. Rain combined with cold is the cruelest way to ruin a road trip. And sure enough, once we had wound our way back up the 199, onto the Capricorn highway and back onto the 1, the weather cleared so as to provide us with some sunshine.

Now I had to a decision to make. For those who know me well, decision-making isn't my strongest suit. My tentative plan from the start had been to go to up to Wutai to visit my friend Basel on the way home. But given the weather and mood that morning, I had been leaning towards the coziness of home; yet, now, snacking on a giant piece of bbq'd squid, soaking up the warmth of the sun, the idea of mountain air suddenly became appetizing again. How many more opportunities will I have in my lifetime to go from the beach to the mountains in the same day? I decided to wait until we had reached Shui Men, the nearest town to where the road splits towards Tainan and Wutai, to make my final decision.

We stopped for a rest near Water Gate. I gave Basel a call to make sure it was still ok to come and he gave me the green light. That was probably enough but he also mentioned that he was leaving for Korea the next day so this would likely be the last time I'd see him for awhile and my last chance to go up to Wutai for who knows how long. Chris - who has been with me up to Wutai twice in the past - passed up on the opportunity, preferring to get back to his cat and other city affairs. I did not try too hard to convince him, though I initially had reservations about going alone for some reason. Michele and Flea had already gone home the previous day so I really was on a solo mission. Then I realized it had been some time since I had done just that: gone on a solo mission. And though I love my friends, my girlfriend and my dog, I also have a tremendous passion for adventuring on my own. Decision made, I hastened away from my traveling companions and our lovely chill out spot, making a right turn instead of a left so that I now sped in the direction of the high mountains rather than the plains, trying to make it up there before the fading light disappeared altogether.

I first roll past the touristy town of Sandimen, famous for its aboriginal residents and culture. Another 10 minutes later, I reach the checkpoint gate. Wutai is a protected area and theoretically you need a permit or at the very least a reference from one of its residents to get in. The idea is to protect the Rukai peoples which have thrived there for hundreds of years. While I must support this ideal, I also do not want it to stop me from going to appreciate this gorgeous place. As usual, the gate is half closed, allowing only enough space for one regular-sized car to pass through. I've had horrible experiences at this checkpoint in the past. I recall being given a hard time once even though accompanied by Squirrel, a native of Wutai. Never have the gatekeepers been courteous or friendly whatsoever; preferring always to treat us with suspicion rather than courteousness. But this time I planned to execute the "Act Like You Know" routine exactly as I had done when I came up just this past New Year's. As I approached the gate, I slowed down, gave the guards a friendly grin and a wave and proceeded on through as though I belonged. Once again, it worked like a charm as the guard reacted with a perplexed look. It probably wasn't worth the effort to stop me.

Up, up, and further up I went, taking advantage of the last bit of dwindling sunlight. I made decent time, arriving with about 45 minutes or so before darkness would rapidly envelop the entire valley. Already, I deem trip as worth it; just the sight of these steep, young mountains, driving on the incredibly high roads, and breathing in the fresh air soothes the soul in an indescribeble way. I suddenly couldn't believe I had been even considering otherwise. Once past the village of Wutai itself, I was shocked to hear a man and a woman dueting "Angie" by the Rolling Stones amazingly loudly as I approached Banosaru, the name of Basel's property. It overlooks not only the village but also allows for a panoramic view of the many peaks and valleys surrounding Wutai.
I turned first onto the service road then, keeping left, up the gravel driveway and under the sign reading "BANOSARU", carefully navigating the no-room-for-error, rather gaunt driveway, as it bends around and up to level 1. There are a few motorbikes parked as well as the familiar sight of Basel's Volvo. I unhook the bungees to free up my bag and make my way up to level 2, passing the tool shed and adjacent "tea house" where weekend guests can sit, chat and drink green tea - favourite pastime of the Taiwanese. I salute the Generalissimo when next I pass the fountain where permanently resides a statue of Chiang Kaishek, feet firmly planted two inches below the water. And Basel has the audacity to claim not to be political.

The driveway continues to zig zag as I now climb up to level 2 where two seperate guesthouses reside side by side. In front of the guest houses, there is an open space where people can sit and gaze at the view, eat some food or simply hang out. Today there is a group of people that I assume are Brusan's (Basel's wife) relatives. I recognize only his in-laws from previous visits. Presently, they are wrapping and baggin up a staggering amount of meat off of the grill for each member to take home. Looks like I arrived at the tail-end of a big bbq feast. "Rats", curses my stomach, growling over my poor timing. Brusan's father seems to read my face or my thoughts for he brings over a sausage on a stick for me to snack on. Then Brusan appears, asking me if I have contacted Basel yet. She seems oddly distant and in fact, she doesn't even seem to recognize me even though we have met several times. She tells me to set my things down and that she'll take me to see Basel who is at the KTV. Then it clicks in my turtle-like mind: of course it had to Basel singing Angie as I drove up! The guest house remains familiar from my relatively recent trip up here. Basel's psychedelic paintings are always a pleasure to examine. I decide to also have a quick change of clothes as I feel quite grimy from the drive. Murphy's Law still applies for as soon as I have stripped down to my underwear, someone outside begins calling me urgently. I scramble to get some pants on and peek outside to see who it is. A big burly stern-faced aboriginal is peeking impatiently to see what I'm doing.

I hop back on the Yamaha and follow the large, squat Rukai man down the road no more than 150m to the neighbour's house. Apparently, nobody walks around these parts either. My eyes are immediately attracted to the table where 5 or 6 men are sitting around a table filled with beer, booze and remnants of several hours of feasting. Behind them, Basel and a large woman are reaching the song's crecsendo as they are entranced by the words inscribed on the ever-cheesy KTV video. He is then informed of my arrival and turns around to gaze at me. As ever, I am stunned by the larger than life presence of this man. His long, dreadlocked hair hangs down just about to his ankles of his unusually massive frame, while his eyes remain customarily hidden behind thickset, trendy n' funky glass frames. For such an imposing man, he offers me the most delicate of hugs. We are mutually happy to see each other. He is quiet, perhaps searching for the proper words to show his appreciation.

Then Brusan comes to greet me. The real Brusan, that is. I realize that it wasn't Brusan whom I saw at his house but one of her sisters. No wonder she seemed so distant. They pour me a cup of Taiwan Beer and the toasting begins. Everyone is drunk - and has been for some time. Drinking and feasting in celebrate before a departure is the way of these mountain folk. Toasts are personal and done individually rather than the group toasts we are often accustomed to. Each toast demands the toasting ritual be respected: individuals maintain eye contact with one another, place one hand under the cup as the other hand draws the cup to lips, downing the entire contents of the cup and then making sure to re-establish eye contact before setting the cup down. The very fact that you don't sip but gulp down the booze renders intoxication that much more efficient!

Next they provide me with a platic bowl, some chopsticks and a spoon. Let the feasting begin as my tummy rumbles in anticipation. Basel tells me that he has had a goat, a 150 kg boar (Yes, the Rukai hunt boar a laAsterix and Obelix), and several chickens slaughtered for the goodbye feast. He informs me that the men sitting around the table are his closest friends from the village. One is a famous aboriginal singer/musician, another the clan's top hunter, another is a handyman etc. I try to match the face with the specialized skill for now. It is clear that Basel holds them all in high esteem.

Once the formalities are over with, I get down to the business of eating. After a long drive with only a stop for the BBQ'd squid in Fongshan, I am e si le (Mandarin meaning hungry to death). Mountain pork, a rack of grilled goat ribs, ginger goat hot pot and steamed fish relinquishing huge chunks of juicy meat satisfy my palette - and then some. All the while, my cup is constantly being refilled. "Eat, eat", pleads Basel as if not noticing that I have been mowing down consistently for the past hour. Basel and I catch up as the other men hold animated discussions. During breaks in our own conversation, I listen and observe the Rukai interacting with each other. It is clear that, related or not, they are all brothers, giving off the impression of a familiarity only exhibited by friends who have known each other since childhood. Occasionally, Basel or someone else would get up on a whim to sing a song on the KTV. When the macho hunter steps up to belt out a tune, his voice is surprisingly soft and melodic. The aboriginals really take their music seriously. When he is done, I ask him if he will take me out hunting sometime as I think it fascinating to watch first-hand any experts or masters in any discipline. He gives me a once over and simply shakes his head in refusal, stating confidently that I am too tall. For good measure, he also adds that I am also too slow. I knew the request was a longshot but I didn't expect to be shot down so ruthlessly. He's probably right, though. At last, I cannot eat another bite and we return to Basel's.

That night, rather than go down into the village, Basel makes a 5 star fire and we sit and chat in a way only two likened souls can do. If you were to compare the two of us based solely on personality, you would find two very different people; and yet, I feel there is some sort of inexplicable bond between us. The heart to heart talk which spontaneously arises around the fire, in a natural and vivacious setting devoid of the many distractions of an urban environment, guide us from subject to subject, until several hours have passed and many large bottles of beer are splayed on teh ground. It is rare occasion to see me drinking until I'm drunk these days but tonight it just seems appropriate for some reason. Basel finally passes out after his long drinking bout and I am exhausted from a full day of driving. On my way back down to the guesthouse, I run into Brusan and Liang Liang, recently returned from their party. They cajole me into sharing one last beer with them before I finally hit the pillow, instantly plunging into a fathomless mountain slumber.

I'm woken up the next morning by Basel's voice echoing throughout the valley. It feels neither too early, nor too late. I'm feeling a little rough yet as soon as I step outside into the warm day and cast my eyes upon the lush green of the valley, I already feel much better. I just love it here. I inhale deep quantities of fresh mountain air before going up to see what's cooking. I welcome into my oral cavity some noodles and fresh steamed veggies from the garden Liang Liang has prepared for breakfast. To my surprise, they are already drinking beer. They say the best way to cure a hangover... Fortunately, I do not feel that hungover. I prefer a cup of 6 year old red ginseng tea - highly prized in Korea I'm told - to do the revival trick. Basel then asks me if I would be so kind to go into town to fetch some more beer. I happily oblige. When I return, he asked me if I noticed the large tree in the school yard opposite the shop. I replied that I had. "Did you know that tree was the very same one the Rukai used to hang their enemies on before decapitating them?", he continued. "If you go to Maolin, there is a sacred tree that used to hang the captured Rukai". I had forgotten about the head-hunting nature of the peoples who first inhabited this island and suddenly became intrigued by the subject. This began a series of interesting stories about the savage nature of the history of these people.

After hanging out a bit, I decide to take a drive by myself to the end of the road, which ends at a town called Ali. In all previous visits to Wutai, I have never been passed Basel's property. It is only about 10-15 km but it is a magnificent stretch of road due to all the twists and turns as well as the sheer drop of the cliff. I am still just as shocked that they managed to build roads up here. Aside from the philosophical question of our creations being morally right or wrong, humans are without doubt amazing creatures. Five minutes up the road, I stop and take out my new binoculars and gaze at a kettle of hawks (look it up I dare you) riding the air currents. If I had to pick any activity to do for eternity, effortlessly riding the air currents like the hawks might just be the one I'd choose. I could watch them all day. Finally, in the name of effective time management, I tear myself away and hop back on the bike.

But I make it about 20 m before I feel compelled to stop again. This time I am drawn by another creature which is much closer to the road. At first I think it is a hummingbird but upon closer inspection, when it finally rests on the branch of the tree it has been busily discovering and I am able to pin it down in the binocular lense, I realize it is a type of butterfly which I have never seen. It is exquisitely coloured, mixing a deep black with vibrant red, with slender shapely extensions at the bottom of its wings rather than the usual heart-shaped synchronicity of the standard butterfly. After seeking out the name since the trip, I have learned only that it belongs to the swallowtail family of butterflies.

The town of Ali is as small and quaint as you might expect for a town in the middle of mountains. However, I am in the mood to be in nature and decide to follow an old, unpaved road leading to a water tower of some sort rather than explore the town. The road soon turns into a dirt path. Here I catch glimpses of the birds I often see caged up un the parks in Tainan. It is a hobby for some Taiwanese to bring their caged songbirds to the parks and gather. Sure it's lovely, but I'll never support the concept of cageing up a bird. As comedian Brian Regan says when personifying a parrot: "Thanks alot, I've been blessed with the gift of flight. I really appreciate the environment. Oh, and by the way, I've done reading this page".

The path eventually leads to a dried up river bed. The river must be the source of the village's water supply because I accompanied by a gurgling sound emanating from visible pipes running alongside the path and there are signs of previous human visits in the form of litter. Not a bit surprising for Taiwan unfortunately. I climb up the large boulders of the dried up river bed, which is likely active and much differnt during the rainy season. These giant rocks provide the best jungle gym in the world as they are a cinch to climb. I feel as if I could keep going for days and once again must force myself to hold back a little. Beyond lay acres of relatively untouched wilderness, flora and fauna (barking deer, macaques, wild boar, Asiatic bears etc) that I would love to explore. But alas, I must contain myself. Besides, I've got lots on my mind these days and it seems the perfect place to sit and figure stuff out for myself.

I return to pay my final respects to Basel and Brusan before catching the last few hours of light for the return drive home. As good hosts do, they insist that I leave with a full belly. He searches for some sort of parting gift (Wutai - the board game?) and finds a pendant made from metal and beads made by a local artist to give me. I'm touched. Once again, he cannot help but be emotional when it's time to say goodbye. He has nothing but sadness for my imminent departure from Taiwan and has done little else but shower me with confidence and encouragement, assuring me that Michele and I will thrive in Canada. I feel much the same, but to hear someone else say it with such conviction means more to me than he realizes.

I don't know the next time I will be in Wutai, but I have a feeling that I will be back someday. In fact, I would gladly return to Taiwan with the intention of spending a holiday up there. And the next time I come, Basel will have completed the house up on the fourth level which he has recently begun construction on, leaving this house on the third level to serve as yet another magnificent guest house. It is easy to picture Basel, sometime in the future, looking out of the window of his living room out onto the extensive, lush valley, satisfied that his work is done. At last, he will truly and deservedly feel like the King of the Hill.

* jelly: slang we use around here to describe silly mishaps

Don

2006-07-24T21:01:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow may never come
For you or me
Life is not promised
Tomorrow may never show up
For you and me
This life is not promised

- Mos Def from "Umi Says"

A cool breeze races through the open window at breakneck speed, whirling by only to smack against the wall beyond me and the computer. This aggressive gust is welcomed as I tap away to the latin rhythms on the second floor of our apt, which feels like an oven pre-heated to a temperature suitable for cooking a roast. Yet despite the intense summer heat (which one never seems to get used to - much like its cousin in Canada the winter cold), strong winds such as these are usually a sign that typhoon is on its way. At the very least, bad weather is on its way. Typhoons, so long as they aren't too destructive, can be a blessing because the winds clear out the smog and the pollutants in the air. It is only after typhoon powered winds that we can see the mountains and the sea from our gargantuan rooftop.

The forecast for my life also indicates that a major typhoon is sure to hit for the entire month of June. Potentially, there will be lots of: attempts to pin down and make stable, things flying through the air that will come out from out of nowhere, as well as some roots being torn out. And of course, what's a typhoon without a bit of flooding.

But first, the sad news.

Dave's father, Don McMaster, passed away in his sleep a few weeks ago. Like Dave, I have known him since I have had any recollection of memory whatsoever. The McMaster's are fellow Don Millions as well, still residing at 102 Cottonwood Drive long after our move out of the ageing community known to most Canadians as Don Mills.

I used to meet up frequently with Mr. McMaster on the sidewalk which ran parallel to Don Mills road. Either I would be returning home and he would be off into the direction of the Mall or the arena ot the other way around. Always the polite boy, as well as an extremely shy one, I used to stop and make small talk with Mr. McMaster. I usually considered small talk with adults a tedious and frightful business but for some reason, it didn't seem like the chore it was with other adults when I encountered Don. He never pressed me or forced me to say what he wanted to hear by asking the loaded questions adults love to ask. Somehow, he always made me feel relaxed, at ease; to a shy person, that sense of security is crucial in order to appease the social fear.

Only really knowing him during the latter stage of his life, I can only remember him as being quite gaunt. I was surprised when Dave told me he had been quite a bit beefier in his younger days. I now wonder what thoughts ran through his mind during my stages of development (wish I could say evolution), from timid boy into awkward man. If he was ever contemplating why my hair was so long and always so annoyingly in my face during high school, or how I didn't notice him until the very last minute because I was lost on my own planet during my solo walks home from elementary school- he never let on. Rather he was consistently kind in character and demeanor. One thing I've learned in this life is that this consistency of character is no ordinary human trait. So I salute Don McMaster - whom I wasn't really close to yet lived in close proximity to - as his soul moves on through the cycle of its evolution.

I feel for Dave because he never got to say goodbye in person. He had been planning to leave in the fall and yet it is the end of May and we have already said our goodbyes. In fact, an email from North American suburbia told me he was wearing a tuque recently! (Hard to say which is the lesser of two evils: profuse sweating in Tainan or resentful shivering in Don Mills. At least it's supposed to be hot here now!) His father actually surpassed all living expectations by an amazing sum. He had been diagnosed with a few months to live - four years ago! I know doctors prefer to be on the cautious side but come on.... The thing is, to be fair to the men in white, there is just no way of telling how the zillions of factors that alter life will conduct themselves. Furthermore, there is no scientific accounting of the will of the spirit. If one's will is strong enough, the logic of science will be defied. Such examples are countless throughout history.

Anyway, news that "the old man" - as Dave coined him most of the time - was sick and in the hospital came while Dan and I were in Japan on a musical shopping spree/holiday. Upon return a few days later, arrangements were made for Dave to fly out on the Sunday. News of his father's passing came on the Thursday before departure, just minutes prior to Dave's going away dinner. He simply texted me "HE"S GONE". I could only stare at the words blankly, thinking of Dave while picturing his Dad as gone. Thankfully, as you always hope when hearing of a death, he went in his sleep. The lull didn't last long though as I was snapped back to reality when Caspar, the precious three year old I teach French, came barging back in the classroom thirsty for attention and play. Caspar's presence was an instant comfort for it symbolized renewal, rebirth and life at its most vibrant and enthusiastic; it reminded of the natural cycle. It is something that is all too easy to forget in the modern age.

A half hour later, at dinner, a classic Tainan feast complete with sashimi, three cups chicken, fish, veggies loaded with sizeable chunks of garlic and more all being washed down with gnarly but forcefully accepted Taiwan Beer (all for under 10$ mind you), Dave confided that he had some time alone before dinner to digest the emotional news. I think the dinner was a welcome distraction (the attached "Codfather" photo is one of them). The sheer number of friends who turned up was a testament to the impact "Jolly Dave" had on the community here.

The nickname Jolly Dave stuck to Dave as quickly as the humidity when he first arrived. He admitted to me that he wasn't crazy for the moniker. I can't blame him. I mean, think of the pressure? "Hey, what the hell does Jolly Dave have up his ass today?" just doesn't ring quite true now does it? He preffered Matteo's nickname for him: Dangerous Dave (as most geezers would, init?). Still, there is reason that Jolly Dave stuck. He possesses a joie de vivre that is infectious when in his presence. His laugh is hearty. He loves people and he likes to talk to them. Alot. He's a jolly bugger who loves life and can make others love it too when he's around them.

Before Dave came to Tainan, I had spent the most time with him during my childhood. He really was like a second big brother to me, coming outside to hang with the sporty little kid next door. I was the perfect subject for his little game strategies. I involuntarily have to chuckle when I mentally rewind back to those days. He loved to use the palm of his hand to design the patterns I should run while playing American football on our shared front yard witht he Hunters. He'd say things like "run to the baby spruce, circle it twice, then run to the road, turn around, fake the catch, then go for the bomb. I'll hit you at the lamp post!" Poor Mark Hunter, awkward and a bit uncoordinated, never had a chance! I'll always be grateful to Dave for volunteering his time to hang out with a couple of little creeps like us. I've never told him how much it meant to me till now. That's why Dave is like family.

Of course, growing up sent us on different paths until they somehow meandered back together in our adult lives. I saw him sporadically because he's friends with Craig and the Lower East Side crew. After graduation, he got me a job at Templeton, helping me confirm in my mind that the office is as far from my ideal working environment as can be. I did enjoy the social aspect though. I am grateful for the experience though as I wouldn't have enjoyed watching The Office tv series half as much (the British version of course).

Then, on a visit to Toronto my first year in Tainan, we met up. He was already having thoughts of living abroad and teaching English. I merely told him that I was really enjoying myself in Tainan without putting any kind of sell whatsoever and next thing I knew I was doubling his sizeable frame on the back of my motorcycle (that was a test of balance I tell ya). I love the way the non-sell often sells the salespeople. Dave has been a part of our exceptional Tainan social fabric for two and half years, half of which we were roommates. Though I still consider him a big brother figure (I mean that in a positive light), after spending so much time with him I now also consider him a close friend as well.

At last Monday night's belotte* session, we joked that someone would have to step in and act as anecdote teller to replace Dave. However, part and parcel with that role would require telling the same story a few times over! (sorry Dave, you couldn't expect me to resist that one). Though long, and sometimes inapprorpiately timed in terms of flow to the game, I declare that I will miss Dave's stories immensely. Tuesday night footy, Friday night hip hop nights at his and Dan's velevety apt and forever the knowlegable resource when we wanted to know the score of the footy game, Dave "McAlmanacmaster" is already missed by many here in Tainan.

It's the first of several goodbyes to come in the near future. Tainan is a transcient place. People come and go. I've now lived in several countries where I have had to make friends knowing full well a future seperation is unavoidable. It's never easy but it does get easier.
You come to a point where you realize fate brought you together in the first place and if
you are meant to cross paths again, it will happen. If not, you have shared a bond and thereby remain part of one another for the length of your existence. I view my friendships as wealth and as cheesy as this sounds, I consider myself a rich man - despite the scoffs of the materialistic and narrow-minded. We certainly don't live in a world that recognizes this type of wealth. In any case, goodbyes are an opportunity to appreciate and to move on. And the more it hurts by the way, the more evidence of camaderie, of spiritual kinship there is.

I alluded to cycles earlier on and nothing exemplifies the natural cycle more than having a dear friend's father pass on while our friends Launa and Jonathan are on the verge of having a baby. We are so attached to these lives we lead, and yet all of it - family, friends, cherished things materialistic or not - will all be gone one day. What is built will be destroyed. I'm still amazed at how well our mental defenses manage to have us avoid
this very real truth. And things can disappear sooner than we realize or when we least
expect, too. And yet we stubbornly go on leading lives, taking our precious time for granted, in denial of our attachment to living.

It wasn't only the news of Dave's father which has spawned all these thoughts within me. Another bit of shocking news greeted me when I returned home, concerning with, funny enough, my home. It looks like we're being tossed out of it like yesterday's leftovers. And no, Michele isn't leaving me for some younger football hunk, but rather the landlord - whom we have never even met - has decided to sell the apt. Michele and I have now been here together living here for a little over a year. Michele has resided here for 6 years. Significantly, she has never lived in any other place for that long. Not surpisingly then, she was slightly traumatized by the news. Ironically, it comes just after hearing from Dan that he will be moving directly across the street. And just hours prior, while waiting for a flight to Tainan in the Taipei airport, Dan and I had been making musical plans and bragging of the convenience of living across the street. Then, all of a sudden, things were turned upside down again only hours later when I saw Michele. I have no qualms about admitting that I have become attached to this apartmnent. It's a macking pad (see Movin' On Up) that is sought after by a few friends. Over the last half year or so we have gutted it out slowly to the point where it has just about reached our vision of how we want it to be. Even the roof top is almost cleared.

After the initial shock that necessarily comes with news of sudden change, I realize this move could a blessing. As mentioned earlier, the forecast for June predicts typhoon. Searching for a new place, then moving, a heavier teaching schedule, the World Cup (come on!) will combine into a whirlwind of a month. However, a sea of calm awaits us in the month of July in the form a return to Tibet for a month. After seeing a decent place last night, though still more expensive and not as nice as this place, we had a bit of a chat with our stern-faced security guard. After a lengthy talk, he convinced us to let him call our landlord so he can convince her to let us stay. Even if they sell it, the new people will already have tenants. I was kind of hoping to stay here, especially considering we are planning a move back to Montreal next April or so. Either way, things will work out fine and it's a good opportunity to downsize (speaking for Michele here as I ain't got shit!)

First priority as requirement for our provisonal new abode is Flea. I disagree with one friend who coined this requirement as constraint. Flea is a daily joy and I revere as much in one of our daily walks as she does. Therefore, it is simply unthinkable that we don't find a place close to a park. Ideally, we will try to stay in this neighbourhood to be able to continue walking around the Sports Park, which also is home to a picturesque temple and the football pitch I often huff and puff at on Sundays.

We also need a place with reasonable rent as we prepare to enter save mode, given our intention to move back to Montreal sometime next spring. Which reminds me, only a year remains for any of you to visit the unique island of Taiwan. Don't worry, we'll sort out accomodation no matter what. Taiwan will not only touch your heart as their tourist slogan goes, but it will touch many other parts of you too.

Tainan is full little steals when it comes to housing so I'm confident we'll find something to our liking. As a last resort, we have the option of moving out to a mansion directly across from the shore of the South China Sea. Things could be worse as the imminent storm drifts nearer and nearer.

oj

P.S. Also, I am skypified so if anyone uses Skype, my user name is chrispady.

Phoenix Plunging

2006-05-24T21:22:00.000-07:00

"We can gradually drop our ideas of who we think we ought to be, or who we think we want to be, or who we think other people think we want to be or ought to be. We give it up and just look look directly with compassion and humour at who we are."
- Pema Chodron

Heart wrenching.

Once again, I can but stare and watch as the ball - that wondrous, object of desire which also turns grown men into little babies because they get so possessive about it - floats into the back of my team's goal. Euston, our South African keeper, lowers his head. He had no chance. That guy was wide open. Ok, so we're 1-0 and the game only lasts 25 minutes. Still, half of the game remains and we do have the offensive explosiveness to pull it off. We press with deliberate passes and determination. The crosses are poured in relentlessly from the wings but either the finishing just isn't there or their defense is solid. Even later, shots continue to drift wide or their off target or not quite powerful enough. Nothing seems to be going in our favour.

Until, that is, the ball is floated in perfectly to Denton (our Dutch dynamo: ex-gynmnast striker playing in his final tournament for the Phoenix; reputation for powerful and acrobatic headers). He has only to aim it with his head and it's bulgin' the back of the ol' onion bag and celebration time. It couldn't have been scripted more perfectly. We hold our collective breath (team + supporters) as time takes a nap. Mais helas, when time clocks back in, the ball inexplicably bulges into the sidenetting instead. We all know that we unlikely to get another tasty chance like that one with the amount of time left. That was the one. For the Phoenix, it wasn't to be - again.

******************************************

No one likes losing, but losing repeatedly in virtually the the same way is another level of acceptance. It's almost insulting. That's why it teaches us the best lessons. Our team had been preparing semi-seriously for the last 6 months and we had been playing great team football during the build-up games to the tournament. Our new gaffers, Taller-Than-Tall Tom (he is too, if only by a few inches) and Ferg, had put much time and effort into making this team a winner. They, everybody, really wanted to win. Can you smell the danger? That attachment to winning is so dangerous -especially when winning is expected of you. And though I can't deny that I wanted to win it at home, previous experience was my teacher before this competition. My motto: play to win but don't count on it. My personal goal for the tournament was to play as well as I could and provide a good time in between and afterwards with some fine music (DJ MICHELE rocked Saturday's after-party while oj handled Sunday's). And to the gaffers' credit, they did all they possibly could, too (both are Phoenix players currently injured). But it is the uncontrollable factors, the ones beyond our control yet visible that always seem to haunt us, returning only to bite us on the ass when it counts most.

The doom clouds loomed from early on as destiny caught us with an elbow. Within 10 minutes of the first game versus the much hated Taipei Animals (hated of course, because they have the best winning record) when going for the header off of a corner, our captain, Kid Ari, connected not with the ball but with the cranium of their thug defender (actually Ari is probably more of a thug). He went straight to the sideline and disappeared. Throughout the rest of the game, I frequently stole concerned glances over to the sidelines, wondering why Ari hadn't even reappeared to watch the rest of the game. When he didn't, I knew it was hospital time and I feared for arguably the team's strongest weapon: the hip hop central midfield.

Never mind, the French connection it is then. Raf-de-Nantes slides in from the wing to join me in the middle. Jesus, our token, tiny but skillful Bolivian (he, his brother Juan and other latinos are musicans making a living playing their indigenous music around Taiwan) replaces him on the left flank. I am already determined to lead the team and now I know I have to step it up even more with Ari out. We prey on the Animals and win convincingly 2-1 to all but assure a spot in the next round.

On the Sunday, our quarter-final game is against our long-term rivals the Evil Pacers of Mordor (aka Black Lung, really Kaoshiung). As is our Sunday morning habit, after a long Saturday drinking session, we come out as flat as 2-day old half-empty Molson Export and within the first 5 minutes, we are lucky not to be down 1-0 when a powerful strike from their forward rattles off the crossbar. Alarm bells ring like alarm clocks throughout our team's bedheads. We respond emphatically. But it isn't until the dying minutes that I wriggle my way into position in the 18 yard box and spot Hugh the Hammer, having held up on his run, sitting eagerly alone on the penalty spot. I deliver a great cross and he drives a header into the back of the net for a Phoenix birth into the semis. Hey, what's that in my hand? It feels the Pheonix jinx melting away in my hand. Maybe it really is our day at last...

******************************************

It's the downtime between games. I'm in the shade (oh yeah, it's already scorching here)stretching. I'm no spring chick anymore. If I don't stretch properly these days, I am ridiculously sore the following day. However, after a reasonably easy Saturday (one team in our group did not show and so we only played two 35 games as opposed to three 25 minute ones- big difference because the games are short and intense), I still feel remarkably well. I did wake up slightly hungover this morning (above and beyond , these tournaments are excuses to be festive). But I wasn't about to let a slight headache prevent me from leading the team to victory. Other teammates, however, were not quite on the same page. Without boring you with stategical details, we play a 3-4-3 formation (3 defenders, 4 midfielders and 3 forwards). With only 3 at the back to shut down the opponents, it is essential that all 3 are ready to run and see a lot of the ball. Well, two out of three of these integral defenders happened to be out drinking until the wee, wee hours of the morn. They were still slightly drunk and it showed. That crushing goal in the semis described earlier could have likely been prevented if those guys had been even half-sober. Et voila, quelle vie!

So much potential. Wasted.

But wait, isn't there a valuable lesson here to remember?

Just why the hell is it so important to win in this world? To be the best. The Champs.We play some of the best footy on the island. Any other team would back us up on that. But until we win the Cup, we will be known as the perennial bridesmaids. I was disappointed but, oddly, not that disappointed. We didn't play badly. In fact, we outplayed them in that semi-final. We had injuries. We had ill players playing crucial positions. More importantly, I remembered my real, simple goal for the tournament: to play to my ability. And I did that. So my head was up for once during that awkward saunter towards the crowd after a loss. Still, though, losing does really suck. It hits you in such a way that can only be likened with loneliness. When you lose, it feels like you've been rejected, ignored, and abandoned all at once. Nobody loves a loser, right?

Frankly, I'm a bit tired of this world of winners. Competition is a double-edged sword which can bring out amelioration and creativity you never knew you had or, it can transform you into a horrible person that does things he/she would normally never do. It brings out a side of humanity better left to fossilize. I remember scoffing at the classic Nestle (or is it Hershey's) commercial as a kid. You know, the one where the boy comes home dejected after losing his hockey game and his Mom asks, "What's wrong?. "We lost", he mutters glumly. "Well, did you have fun?", she inquires, handing him a cup full of hot chocolate by the roaring fire. "Yeah". "Well, that's all that counts", concludes Mom. The message was simple and admirable. The only problem is that it wasn't the least bit compatible with the philosophy of most of my competitive coaches. Winning was all that mattered, no matter what it took. These are the lessons that many of the kids are growing up with in sports.

So let me now revert back to Pema Chodron's quote at the beginning and place what happened in the context of the Phoenix. The Phoenix must gradually drop the idea that we should win the Cup before it even happens, that we even need to win it in the first place, and stop worrying about the other teams altogether. We are an excellent team that happens to always have players (never the same ones) that seem to show up on the Sunday so hungover they can't kick a ball straight. You have to laugh. People mess up. You have to forgive them in the end. And hey, we still win (and the closest runner-up team isn't even in the same galaxy) the best supporters on the whole island trophy.

Losing is a whole lot easier to handle when you don't expect to win in the first place.

Your loser friend (temporarily)

oj

Soul Control

2005-05-27T16:27:00.000-07:00

“Your soul is not a passive or a theoretical entity that occupies a space in the vicinity of your chest cavity. It is a positive, purposeful force at the core of your being... When the energy of the soul is recognized, acknowledged, and valued, it begins to infuse the life of the personality.” Gary Zukav from The Seat of the Soul.

My latest experience is narrated mostly by my soul, although my personality occasionally takes the reins as well.

Should I stay or should I go?

All of last week, I was obssessed with one Idea for this upcoming weekend: mountains. However, a Friday morning torrential downpour started to flood doubts into my plans. By afternoon, the rains had tapered off but the ominous clouds remained. As is the case every Friday afternoon, hosting Below the Bassline put me in a groovy mood. Feeling so nice after the show, I decide to Go Dutch for a little hit of their creamy cheesecake. I mention to Erik, the owner of the coolest little restaurant in town, that I have been considering hitting the high mountains but have my doubts in terms of weather. “Ah, don't base your decision on the weather in Tainan. It could rain here and be beautifully sunny up there”, he offered in his laid-back Seattle accent.

By the end of the afternoon, the sky clears amazingly to display a stunning orangy-pink sunset. In a rare Tainan moment, the rains team up with the wind to plow away the habitual layer of pollution, leaving the mountains in plain view from Jackie's eastward facing apartment on Dongmen Street. Tempting. I am firmly caught between two minds (what's new? eh, Dan). Alright, who can I coax into joining me? The list of rejections is long. Michele is coming off a week of sickness. Asif is scared off by the weather reports. Dave has to work on Saturday morning. Dan has plans. Siv's out of town...etc. There are special times where I demand to take off by myself; unfortunately, this isn't one of those times. Alas, maybe it just isn't meant to be.

Or is it. More than his words, it was Erik's look of envy when I told him I planned to hit Yakou. “Man, why do I need anyone else anyhow?” I start convincing myself, “you're going, accompanied or not”. My personality interjects. “You shouldn't go alone, it's too dangerous. Remember what Jackie's Mom said about the poor road conditions up there. Besides, won't you get bored all by yourself. What if it's raining and cold all weekend?”. I won't bore you with the listing of my personality's endless fears. I signal for my personality to hush and this is what I say in the kindest and firmest of tones, “Pack away your fears and get your things together. Unless it's pissing down, we leave in the morn”.

Now, as I see it on this here Saturday morning, the sun's already up and inviting me to take off eh. I get ready and say goodbye to my sweet lady. “Looks like it cleared up after all", she says, " wasn't sure it would after last night's rain”. “Good thing I hadn't heard the rains during the night or I would have surely called it off”, mutters my personality. After a light dan ping breakfast, I mount Berthe and press play on my MP3 and let the cool sounds of Joe Bataan's Black Coffee set the tone.

In top flight, as the new day sun already beats down hard on my exposed arms, I'm thankful to be leaving early. The prospect of an adventurous weekend on my own Time (kairologic time if you recall) plus the driving salsa and latin beats get my blood boiling. The reality of the immense, multiple-layered peaks sitting buddha-like in the distance are highly inspiring. I can't wait to just be right up there.

Just before noon, after several hours of motoring and having now just entered the lower mountains, I stop by some stairs by the side of the highway. As I turn the key to Berthe's ignition to the left, the sound of running water trickles into my ears, replacing Berthe's rather noisy gait. A quick scout mission tells me it's the perfect spot to sip tea and have a little sit down in the shade. It turns out that not only is there a stream but there is decent waterfall here as well. I have to hurdle a few rocks to get up close and in my excitement to clamber up as fast as possible, I misjudge a detour around a fallen branch. The unusually sharp branch catches on to my pant leg and creates a tear. “What's the rush, laddie?”, I remind my personality. Sometimes, he is such a child. But then again, that's also part of his charm.

Standing near the falls, I can see its main jet ricocheting off one or two projecting rocks, before it tumbles down about 30 ft. In a flash, I've stripped down to cool down. The loudness of the crash is almost deafening as the powerful jet thumps my head. People pay good money at spas in Taiwan for this very same treatment. And, just like the spa, all I have to do is move slightly to the side to get a less potent yet just as pleasurable jet. Then, a colourful surprise. I am suddenly encircled by rainbows. Small ones which follow me which ever way I turn. I'm no physics genius and I don't know the theory behind wave particles and such so as to be able to explain this phenomenon to you. All I can do is pass on the image and try explain the sheer delight of being massaged by Nature while rainbows dance all around me. And now I am finding that mere words can not do the feeling justice as I now dry off in the sun. Overhead, a group of thugged out rain clouds moves in to block the sun. It doesn't dampen my present mood, though. I brew up some tea and sip in the sweet silence.

I'm starting to feel peckish so I decide to have lunch in the nearby town of Meilan. I order a fried rice and some mountain vegetable from a local restaurant run by aboriginals. There is an older but not elderly couple sitting down enjoying their meal. They are curious about the foreigner and instantly strike up conversation as I walk by. Turns out they are also from Tainan. They are curious as to my meticulously planned schedule for the weekend. I tell what little of them I possess but refrain from getting into the whole no-plan philosophy. In return, they enthusiastically divulge their entire agenda.

Once I exhaust my limited conversational Mandarin, I sit down and wait for my food. Ah, the snail's mountain pace can be felt even though my food comes quickly.Yums. And even before I am done, in true representation of the warm aboriginal hospitality I've encountered time and time again iin Taiwan, one of the owners offers me a local delicacy called xiao mi. It's a kind of dumpling filled with crushed peanuts and something sweet. Who cares what it is, it's delicious! Following that, I watch as the woman from Tainan jumps out of the passenger seat, runs over to me, and hands me a bag of fresh wax apples. Feeling blessed from all these unexpected gifts, I'm all smiles with thanks as I strap my helmet back on and start up Berthe for the next stage of the journey.

Up, Up and Away

From past experience, I remember to stop in at the Meishan visitor centre to pre-order my supper at the Yakou hostel. Being so high up and isolated from any cities (by Taiwanese standards anyway), they must know you're coming in advance or else you starve. I learned that one the hungry way. I run into some communication difficulties with the teenage kid at the reception. He is so embarrassed to be talking to a foreigner that he is unable to concentrate. The best he can come up when we are in a communication stalemate is, “ni hen shuai” (You're handsome). They are the perfect words to diffuse my frustration at my lack of being able to convey a simple desire to eat supper that night. Oh well, I may starve but at least I'm handsome to this guy. Anyway, he finally calls for back-up and it all gets sorted. And with the sun shining strong, I decide to camp that night and refrain from ordering a room. I know it will be cold up there but I am sufficiently prepared for that. As long as it doesn't rain...

Amazingly, not ten minutes after leaving the visitor centre, still on cloud nine, the god Murphy asserts his omnipresence by envoying a convoy of clouds to roll in suddenly like those alien ships from Independence Day (never ever thought I'd make reference to that crap movie) and I start to feel a few innocents drops from the sky. Is it too late to go back and order a room? I decide to suck it up, whatever conditions I'm dealt. After all, I won't die now will I? To dawn or dismiss rain apparel, that is the current question. I decide to put it on. Five minutes later the rain stops. That Murphy character sure does have a sense of humour.

However, by the time I reach my next stop in Tianshih, after an hour or more of steady upwards spiralling, the clouds have completed their hostile takeover of the sky. They are moving hurriedly, like worker ants with a task to finish. The unpredictable mountain weather is demonstrating itself at an accelerated pace. I cover my tent and sleeping bag before climbing the steep steps leading to, - you'll never believe it - in Taiwan of all places, a temple! Before reaching the top however, an audio sensation snags my attention. It is distinctly the sound of monks chanting, and rather loudly at that. I immediately envision monks performing a sacred meditational ritual upon the mountain peak. However, when I reach the shrine, the shaved-headed holy men I had imagined are actually a small tape-palying device and a few speakers. Tricknology! The shrine is a memorial for the souls who lost their lives during the construction of the Southern Cross Highway as it is known. I say a prayer of thanks to them for without their sacrifice I might not be here right now.

Decidedly, the weather in the PM cannot be more different than the AM. The blue skies have been taken over by fleets and fleets of various types of grey clouds, from ghostly thin vaporous ones to fat moonless-night coloured ones. The likelyhood of rain doesn't stop me from exploring the area behind the temple.

The lake I had read about is no more than a pond in reality. There is a trail behind it which eventually leads into the forest. Had I suddenly slipped, banged my head and contracted amnesia, I would have sworn I was in BC judging by the size of the trees. Indeed these multi-limbed giants are from an era long past. Within seconds, the wind makes me stop in my tracks and commands my attention. I listen carefully and respectfully. Once it has spoken its piece, the quiet that follows the monologue makes up for months of constant Tainan city noise. I can't get over how lush everything is. Songbirds brag to one another about how many little critters they've gobbled up. A few swoop down into my path just millimetres ahead of my stride in a display of precise stealth flight. Velvety moss and lichen drape the trees' ankles. A slight rain begins but there are so many trees to use as cover that I fail to get wet. That is, until it starts to pour down. I decide to seek cover under a particularly massive umbrella-like pine. It is here that I encounter another human moving in the opposite direction. I never did catch his name but he is a real character from Taipei. You don't encounter too many unpleasant people when walking in the forest I've noticed. My guess is that their souls have also taken over their personalities in Nature's splendour.

I return to the temple around in the late afternoon. I quench my thirst by eating some of the juicy wax apples I had been given earlier that day. I decide to sit on the steps facing the valley and watch the clouds for a bit. Mesmerizing. Surreal, too. Giant masses of vapourous spirits colliding invisibly, often travelling in completely opposite directions; the beauty of chaos. And what is my place is all this? Humble observer. When out of the blue, a patch of perfect azur sky magically opens up, high above the dizzying clouds, I gasp in amazement while applauding the spectacle. However, with the hunch that the day's end nears, I decide to leave the cloud show and make a move to the hostel.

The interminable night

As I slowly rise in altitude, clouds still racing frantically about me, I find my hands are beginning to sting from the cold. I'm forced to add an extra layer in the form of my ever-dependable MEC fleece. You gotta hand it to that company, they make stuff that endures. Even though I've prepared myself for the year round cold of Yakou, the reality of driving in it remains a challenge. As I pass through the infamous weather changing tunnel, I wonder what the view will be like on the eastern side. The western side usually holds the favourable weather until you hit that dank, creepy tunnel which often leads to gloomy weather on the other side. The weather is already gloomy though so I can't see it getting any worse.

Sure enough, it is marginally nicer on the other side as I am welcomed by the sight of a glorious sea of clouds, immobile and restful. I stop to admire my new setting briefly before cruising down to where the isolated hostel lays nestled on a small plateau.

With Berthe's engine cut for a well-deserved rest, the first thing I notice is a difference in the strength of the wind up here. It's wailing; a worrying factor if I am to spend the night in a tent. I'm already starting to regret not reserving a room. And when I scope the parking lot, I notice the dreaded tour bus. Surely a full bus will fill the hostel. A couple are outside their van checking out the scene as well. It turns out they too are also from Tainan. We go in together and soon learn that they are indeed completely booked. Where is my saviour, Peter, this time around?

As it is only 7 o'clock, I contemplate eating my reserved supper and then making a run for Lidao, the next village over. Not a mouth-watering prospect in the dark, especially after a long day of driving already, but doable. For what though? The sake of comfort? That 's when the stubborn part of my personality, the part that believes strongly in self-sacrifice and and rigorous challenges as a means of learning to live without comforts, takes control. “We're staying. You said you'd tough it out, so tough it out tough guy”. Did I mention that I make it a point to never argue with my personality?

After dinner, I return outside. The couple introduce me to Kevin, their son. They invite me to come over and try some the taro cakes and soup they had been concocting under the shelter. Though freshly full, it would have been rude to not accept. Plus, I was curious to try these reknowned tarot delicacies from Jian Shan I had often seen but never tried. Again, I try to converse with them as much as possible, practising as much Mandarin as I can while the opportunity is there.

Then I set up my tent. I am advised to set up right next to main entrance of the hostel as it is the best place in terms of priority number one: wind protection. Once it's up, I try it on for size by lying down and faking sleep, unconvinced that concrete will provide any sort of rest this night. Beneath my delicate spine and the tent's thin layer of vinyl, I feel only rigidity. Bob Marley's words, "Cold ground was my bed last night/and rock was my pillow too.." spring instantly to mind. I think back to my rainbow waterfall; the sunshine, the elation and freshness of it all and have to question whether or not that was really earlier today. The yin and the yang. I resolve here and now to make the best of it and deal with situation I have put myself into with as much grace as possible.

The couple beckons me over yet again. This time for some sake to warm us up. After my first small cup, the wind suddenly gusts violently and my tent responds by leaping in the air and dazzling us with a lovely pirouette. However the landing is less impressive as it folds over on itself and crumples in an injured heap. I react immediately by mending the minor damage and then gathering four fair-sized pieces of metamorphic rock residing in the neighbourhood and tying them with string to the tent. I return to finish the rest of the sake in this increasingly blistery environment. The family ask if it would be ok to camp out beside me. With all the hospitality and good will they have shown me, do you think I am about to refuse? All I can really offer them in return are some grapes, which I do, and of which the mother eats one out of politeness. Oh well, I can't exactly force them to accept.

For a very long time now, after milleniums of lying awake, invariably woken up each time just as I am on the verge of sleep by a severe feeling of discomfort resulting from the unyielding ground beneath me. I have resisted looking at the time on my cell phone -even though my personality leeps asking if he can check - because I am all too certain that I will see an earlier number that I desire. Each time I get close to sleep, I suddenly realize that if I don't remove my shoulder blade digging into the concrete this instant, I may never regain feeling in it again. I'm cerain this seemingly endless cycle of near sleep and extreme discomfort could only get worse by checking the time, triggering spiralling, negative thoughts of how much longer there is to endure. Why bother counting?

The wind is unrelentless. Often I can hear it howling way off in the distance beforehand,so I prepare for its imminent arrival by bracing myself. Sure enough, when it reaches the tent, it swoops down and sweeps it up in a brash demonstration of power. I can't believe the tent is holding up as well as it is. I decide to dub the tent George, after George Chuvalo the Italian-Canadian boxer who withstood punishing rounds with such boxing legends as Mohammed Ali, Joe Frazier without ever being knocked out.

A gleam of hope perhaps. The noise of awake and chatty people is clearly audible now. Sure it's another source of sleep deprivation, but if people are up and about, then maybe I've survived the interminable night after all. My personality can no longer resist the temptation and reaches for my phone, unable to ignore the time any longer. It reads 4:02. "now why did you have to go do that?" I scold.

A few times during the night, I think of my friends in Tainan. Are they struggling to sleep due to intense +30 degree humid heat while I lay here wondering if I am going to contract hemrrhoids? Ironic! Well, it's almost seven now, so I might as well make my way to the cafeteria and wait for my pre-ordered breakfast to emerge. I take out a book in an effort to stay awake. I'm physically exausted yet strangely, I feel an inner strength. It occurs to me that I did not once feel myself turning negative throughout the entire nocturunal ordeal. Sure, I second guessed my decision and my stubborness in accepting my fate rather than attempting to make it to Lidao, but on the whole I'm happy with how I've dealt with it. Not once have I succumbed to despair as I easily as I could have. This feeling is echoed in the smile I give the curious little boy who keeps interrupting my reading by saying only "hello" and then running off.

A breakfast of eggs, shredded pork, a steamed bun, rice porridge, cabbage and pickled something or other is devoured in record time. Now to decide on the course of my day. High on the list of temptation is renting out a room and making up for valuable lost sleep. Alternatively, I could suck it up and start exploring mountain country. The weather does nothing to ease my decision-making. It remains storm cloudy, cold and windy. I decide to wait it out until 8 o'clock to see if there is a change in the sky by then. Dreary thoughts of returning home -of quitting - undoubtedly brought on by the ominous clouds, start to get seriously entertained.

As I pack George up , an audience- small both in number and in size- consisting of the same curious boy along with his brother and sister watch my every move. They find it tremendously funny every time the wind blows through to mess up the fold and I have to run to repair it. So content were they with the foreigner show that they did not even think of coming down from their comfortable perch to help me out, the little brats! To kill time afterwards, I go back inside and try to read in between dozes.

At 8 am, I make my way to the very front of the hostel grounds to check out the weather again. A shiver runs through me as the cold wind whistles through. I have to crouch low in order to see under the tall pines blocking the view of the valley. Is that sun I see reflecting on the face of the mountain in the valley beyond? I turn around and look behind me. Dark rainclouds pervade. Still unsure. One thing I do know is that I've got to move. “Well, I'm going to get on Berthe, start her up and when I get to the highway, I will either turn right or left and my decision will be made.” Poor Berthe has trouble getting going, evidence that she has also suffered last night.

Paradise re-visited

Sun vs Cloud. Hot vs Cold. Elation vs Suffering. Me vs Personality. These are the major battles so far this trip. It is only on these weekend excursions to the mountains, on my own, that I become more vocal and cast a shadow over my control-obssessive personality. No, that isn't quite right. It's like my personality is hushed by Nature and allows my wisdom to be heard. In the city, my personality is much too distracted by the myriad of city life social activity to be worried about the Big Picture. As splintered a being as we are, we still have much to learn from one another. And because there are no other personalities present to sway, influence and relate to, my personality is all ears for once when I have something to say.

So it is I which gives the commands to turn right, towards the light, when I reach the highway junction. No sooner then I begin to head east does a full dose of sunshine strike the valley brilliantly, supporting my decision immediately. From this particular point on the road, at an altitude of 3000 some odd metres, it is all downhill until you reach the Pacific. I rejoice in slipping the bike into neutral, thereby severely diminshing the noice factor (she is vocal with her raspy voice that Berthe) and increasing the peace. Even after a short stop at the side of the road to inspect a never-before-seen strikingly violet feathery friend, I merely point the bike back onto the sweet path of momentum to get going once again.

It's time for the Neutral Game! The rules are simple: put it into gear and you lose. It means that sometimes you may slow down so much from a slight incline that you come agonizingly close to stopping. A rookie would then be tempted to slip into gear, for speed's sake. But the wily veteran will exert patience, knowing that holding out those few extra metres will reap rewards of steep declines to follow. I stop again at another spot further down where the entire baricade, designed to protect from landslides has been completely wiped out. The remains of the wall can be seen further down in the trees following the sheer drop-off. Mental note: stay humble and aware.

The worries and doubts I had at the top of the mountain disppear as quickly as my motorcycle drops in kilometres. The temperature also plummets rapidly and it isn't long before I can strip off the burdensome layers. My next decision is the following: to go to paradise right away or on the way back from Wulu. My aching body from the interminable night confirms paradise would very much be appreciated as soon as possible. If you recall the Paradise Found monthly, paradise in this region comes in the form of a unique hot waterfall. The water comes down scalding hot in small jets, which in turn form small pools. People have allowed some of the cool river water to seep into those pools to make them just right for a natural hot tub.

I make it down to the gate and pack a half day ration of food. I will be munching on fruit and snacks until dinner. Aside from a parked green BMW, it is all quiet. So quiet in fact, that I strain my eyes to match the machine-like hovering noise that has peaked my curiosity. A squadron of giant bees or wasps have come to check me out. A little bit further down the path, I hear some strange cawing noise. If it's a bird, then it's a strange one. My suspicion is soon confirmed as a band of monkeys greet me with loud noises and snarls from a safe distance. They are a quintet and the reason they may be so agitated is because there is a baby on board. It's rare to see monkeys in the wild in Taiwan (yes people, Taiwan not Thailand) so I'm quite excited to see my distant cousins again. However, they share neither my enthusiasm nor my curiosity so I decide to keep moving, past the pig sty and the unfriendly chained up dogs (I'd be sour too if I were chained up all day), leading to the path down deep into the valley.

The path down to paradise is as steep as I remember. I hope it isn't slippery from the recent rains but it isn't too bad. A few slips and slides, without the away. Once riverside, I decide to give the beemer crew some time alone in paradise. Plus, I am feeling mighty hot and could use a cool down before the spa. I set down my bag and start hopping and skipping over the rocks with an extra zing in my step. Suddenly, as I stand on a massive piece of rock, I flash back to grade 4 at Jeanne Lajoie. I'm playing on the jungle gym, stalled and standing on the green iron bars that are meant to be crawled upon, maintaining perfect balance. When I reopen my eyes, I'm back to this very same spot on top of the rock. No wonder I'm so happy when I come here. This is my natural jungle gym. And I realize that all that training I had at Jeanne Lajoie has made me a fearless climber even now.

I'm careful not to step on the gazzillion tadpoles near the surface as I enter the water. It's ice cold! A refrigerated shock runs through my entire body when I plunge in head first. When I exit the water after a short swim, my back remains icy cold for a good minute. The swim is just what I need. Now I'm hyper-awake. I brew up some tea and let time pass away in a Pooh styleh. A large spider crawls onto my bag. I manage to convince it that my bag will make a poor home. A fat, brown bird comes to say hello. Then the sun and the clouds start their back and forth, brother-sister squabbling about who rules the sky again.

Time to hit paradise. Populating it is a group of youts (gotta say that one a la Joe Pesci). My guess is that they are classmates in their last year of high school. About 6 guys and one girl in total. Funny age. Lots of horseplay, like pulling each others bathing suits off and loud screams when taunting one another to dive into the cold river. How lucky, two sets of monkeys in one day! Just joking, I got along fine with them, all the while remembering that I was very much the same age once upon a time.

It isn't until a quarter the way through the climb back up, feeling my entire t-shirt heavily soaked through and through, that I recall the intensity of the heat and humidity from my previous climbs. Again, the blessing of my upbringing strikes me. I used to go down into Wilcket Creek and find little paths (eventually leading up to Sunnybrook) and spend hours just scrambling up and down them in the dirt. Or, when we would stop for a water break at the fountain on the way back from a bicycle ride, I'd take a quick sip of water and then beeline for the path and sprint up and ski down the path until my parents would call me to leave again. Getting down on all fours is almost as natural as walking to me!

Now back up on the highway, my plan is to continue eastbound, by-passing the town of Lidao and exploring further down into the Wulu Gorge, unchartered territory for me. I apologize in advance for this one, but what a gorge-ous area! It consists of a deep canyon with high walls rising high on either side of the narrow, brilliantly turquoise river. In the distance from where I am now stopped, I can see a road which possibly leads down to the river. However, the longer it descends, the worse the roads gets. Finally, I decide to turn around as I have no intention of getting stuck and stranded on this rarely trodden path. But first, I might as well take a peek just to see how far... At least the distance of Paradise and back and to be honest, my legs are still a bit wobbly from this morning.

On the way back up now, I spot a suspension bridge. Being a heights enthusiast, I must check it out. Wooha, it's up there. When I peer over the edge of the bridge, seeing the 1000 foot of emptyness between me and river and rock, I feel a tinge of excitement. I always get the urge to jump. Not to kill myself mind you, but maybe it's that desire to feel that flying sensation. I hawk a lugey and it takes it about 8 seconds before it hits the river bed. The view is stunning. On the other side of the bridge, there is a staircase. My personality starts to climb again out of curiosity, (or is it addiction?) before I stop the insanity. Have we not had enough gruelling exercise for one day? When I look down at my trembling legs, I know they are grateful for the decision.

Heading back up towards Yakou, the weather turns sour. The rains come and they aren't messing around. I make a quick decision in Yakou to keep driving until I hit Meishan where I can get a room. It will mean an extra 1-2 hours of driving in the cold rain after having driven a fair bit already, too. But it won't be dark and I feel sufficiently energized to do it. And strategically, it will make a huge difference for the drive back tomorrow morning. And so I ride slowly and carefully in the pounding rain. When I finally reach Meishan, it is dark. I am soaked down to the marrow and exhausted from the required concentration of driving in the rain. I settle a room in the otherwise vacant hostel and, once my stuff is hung up to dry, I relish jumping into the womb-like comfort of a hot shower. I stay in that stall much longer than necessary.

I spend a quiet night in the hostel. It's Mother's Day today and luckily, there is a cell phone antennae practically outside my window. The reception is so good that Maman sounds as if she is in the next room. Then I listen to an old Bill Cosby stand up routine before letting the rain massage me into a sleep as deep as the Wulu gorge.

The rain has ceased when I wake up. When I open the curtains, it takes me a good minute to adjust to the light. I feel like a gremlin. The sky appears overcast but leaning more towards clearing up than more precipitation. I eat the last of the supplies: an orange, a star fruit and some young mangoes, before setting off.

The air is magnificently fresh from the rain. I am literally intoxicated from it. The entire time I remain in the mountains, I make sure to consciously inhale as much of this natural air as possible before returning to the city. Lusher than lush valleys are my delight for the first hour or so. I do not rush this part of the journey. I make a stop in Jiashan for a banana milk and some noodles.Then, the fine selection of latin jazz, latin-funk and salsa rhythms propels me home with a wide grin pasted on my face.

Funny, but it isn't until I reach the town of Shinhua, just outside of Tainan, that the heat starts to get to me. All that concrete and lack of greenery makes a huge difference. The traffic and the frantic driving also gets my mountain goat. Why can't everyone just chill? “You all need a trip to the mountains my friends”, I suggest to all the city folk. Nobody listens. Th reality of work, errands and everyday city life slowly consumes my thought process. I can feel the transformation coming on. My personality is about to take over again and there is nothing I can do to stop it. At least, not for the time being. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

Movin' on Up

2005-04-28T16:11:00.000-07:00

Blasted mozzies! As soon as the temperature heats up even slightly, I'm reminded of how these minute, six-legged creatures - and their incessant buzzing in my ears (nothing, aside from a depleted amte stock, makes me cringe more) and their lump leaving itchy bites on any uncovered section of my body - continue to be the bane of my existence. I'm just hoping for some sweet karmic revenge in the next lifetime. That is how karma works, isn't it? All the suffering inflicted upon you in this life, you get to do back, with interest, in the next one? Hope so coz I've been banking on it with the mosquito in mind...

It's very late or very early, depending on which end of the age spectrum you find yourself. The clock reads 04:14. Darkness still pervades the outside world. The restless nite owls are reaching the climax of their days while the early risers are eagerly beginning theirs. I am neither, or sometimes both; but I happen to be up this time not only because of a mozzie but also due to a rare case of insomnia.

However, and this is the part that strikes me as odd, the lack of sleep isn't driving me crazy the way sleeplessness normally afflicts one. My brain just seems to be alert, and I feel well rested - despite not having properly slept. Can't quite figure it out. I'm not in a worried state of mind. I didn't have any caffeine beyond a morning mate. I even went for a 2 hour bike ride this afternoon where I exerted myself to the fullest so I'm not exercise-deprived either. And yet despite frequent lion-like yawns and seeming fatigue of the body, my brain is as zingy as if it were post-mate. And even with the covers brought right up to the chin (I'll say it again, sub-tropical my ass!), the ever-persistent mosquito, not so much desperate for survival as plain greedy, has managed to pierce into my cheek (twice) and my neck. Enough's enough, you win you blood-sucking little beast!

And so, I take advantage of the special serenity of the dawn of a new day to get down to my long overdue letter.

I'm writing to you from my new home. After over a year of visiting this space I used to call my girlfriend's, I'm slowly getting used to the idea of not calling it “Michele's place” anymore, but, mine too. I moved in at the beginning of March. Not a trying move considering my former house and this apartment are a mere 5 minute walk away from each other. And because of my minimal possessions and lack of anything too big or heavy (i.e fridge, stove, bed etc), I didn't have to hire the infamous blue truck movers (whose little trucks have more of a reputation for bad driving than for moving). Yep, I could feel myself turning Taiwanese as I piled a celiling fan here and a bookcase there onto Michele's tiny hair-dryer-for-an-engine of a scooter. A few equilibrium-challenged zings to and fro pretty much did the trick. One classic trip had me on the back dragging my mammoth suitcase as Michele piloted us slowly through the tiny, zig zaggy streets. The noise from the wheels dragging kept our ears ringing for the rest of the night. I also made several trips on foot, walking through the park and its constants of old folks cold chillin' on the concrete ledge staring - and occasionally glaring - at the atoga while the young kids playing on the jungle gym threw out their "hallo"s each time I passed carrying some different item, be it a kitchen rack, a chair, or a patio umbrella. South Central Tainan baby, keepin' it real in the hood!
Truth be known, Michele and I considered looking for a new place and even went as far as checking a few out. But in the end, the proximity to both the Trees (a small but rare forest next to a farmer's field I've often cited) and the canal (with a stench I've surprisingly grown accustomed to – truly, we humans can get used to anything!), a rare vehicle-free zone close to a giant sports park and a beautiful temple, were the best thing for little Flea. Flea is the impressive-eared street dog Michele nearly hit then decided to rescue two years ago. When she's not rolling in dung or dead animals, she's the cutest thing since Mochichi! I'm already very much enjoying the routine of taking her to the Trees in the morning and then walking off dinner down by the canal at night. It's also pretty special to have someone extremely overjoyed - and genuinely at that – greet me every time I come home. Now if only Flea would take after Michele's behaviour! Yes, the unconditional love and loyalty of the pet dog cannot be overrated – even when she follows my every step around the apt as if her existence depended upon mine. I always wanted a pet shadow.

Getting out of the old place wasn't as smooth as we had envisioned. The landlords, Dr. Tu and his wife, were far nit pickier than I suspected they would be. I knew there was an element of anal retentiveness to their collective personality but when there is no room for compromise or even discussion it can be frustrating. "She's the boss" I can still hear Dr. Tu say with a nervous laugh after his wife would groan out yet another complaint about a missing light bulb or huff and puff because the blinds had a slight bend on one of the layers. Basically, they expected the house to be in the exact same state it was in when it was rented out to us two years ago. And I mean exactly. Admittedly, our lack of regular up keep came back to haunt us but to expect a house to not go through any changes in two years seems a little unreasonable to me. In fact, it downright goes against the laws of physics and Dr. Tu is a man of science...

And even the home improvements we thought we had made came back to bite us in the ass. We replaced the intensely bright living room fixture with a ceiling fan during a moment of heat-induced insanity during our first summer. Instead of simply buying a lamp so as to have light and a fan for the taxing summer ahead, we were required to hire a technician to take it down and put in a new light fixture. We also put in many hours of sweeping, mopping, moving and tossing. Junk piled up outside the house. It didn't take longer than the first item to be carried out before passer-bys were eyeing the unwanted goods and applying on those squeaky brakes in order to get a good look, raid gleeming in their eyes. Dave commented that the locals were a little like the old Cretan ladies scavenging Madame Hortense's place. In the end, it all got done - as it always does - and we got most our deposit back.

Going to the electric and water company proved to be an intersting experience too. Because Dan was back in England this whole time for a funeral (RIP Grandpa), I was by default the chosen one to perform the task of telling them we had moved out due to my fluency in Chinese. Yeah right, as if terms like “meter”, “gauge” and “pay” are even in my vocabulary. And even if I knew those words, there was always the likeliness of getting the tones messed up and end up saying “lizard”, doorknob” and murder” instead.

The first time I went to the water company, it was dark and I wondered whether they were even open. When the fantom appeared out of the corner of the caged payout area, I tried to tell her we wer moving. She gave me a long-winded response, in a mix of Taiwanese and Chinese characteristic of Tainan, of which I understood almost nothing.Thankfully, another customer spoke English and was able to convey her monologue. When I went back the next afternoon, I had to wonder if I was in the same place. It was lit up like a tv set and there was a huge line-up snaking almost out of the building. A far cry from the ghost town from the previous day. Maybe there was some sort of mass refund I hadn't heard about. I joined the cue. Then I realized that it must be because the bills must had been sent out. Bad timing for this lost, little foreigner. Luckily, I ran into a lady I coincidentally knew from a vegetarian restaurant I often go to and she helped find the right desk. After lots of painfully bad attempts at using my Chinese, much shrugging, waiting and uncomfortable laughter following a language stalemate, I was finally shown a number I had to equal in cash. Done.

Sometimes frustrating but often amusing, it remains a daily challenge to live in Tainan.
So far I have been in my new place for about 2 weeks. The apartment has been well-lived in by transitional-minded foreigners for about 5 years now. That translates to lots of accumulated junk. We've got our share of gutting and cleaning ahead of us – a challenge we're ready for. We can both see what we want to do with the place, the vision is there, so it's up to how much time we are allotted by Father Time to do it. The way it's looking as far as Michele's schedule is concerned, the place should be ship-shape sometime in the fall of 2008. She's a busy one these days. No matter, baby steps, right?. Baby steps. Baby steps. (What About Bob? anyone?)
Last weekend was a positive start though as we spontaneously braved cold and rainy weather and an even more severe language barrier (once again) to hit the B & Q (AKA Canadian Tire/Walmart) to buy some paint. This time we had five employees corner us in the aisle. One poor guy, probably from the car part section, got dragged into it because he spoke a few English words. I could see the regret in his eyes for having bragged about his English skills on his resume. After a while, they stopped even talking to us and formed a huddle of their own while Michele and I pretended to look at the different styles of brushes on sale. Somehow we succeeded on our mission and spent the weekend painting what will be our chill out/stretching/guest room. We plan to put tatami mats down with loads of cushions from Bali, a Thai triangle cushion (the bomb for reading) a low table and some lamps for just hanging out. I've been wanting a space like this for a while now.

I might as well describe the rest of the apartment while were on the topic. It is a two-floored place situated on the 9th floor (though is says '10' on the elevator button because the '4' is missing. The '4',of course, is an evil number in Chinese superstition and their equivalent to unlucky 13.) in the "Datung World" complex. The lobby is beautifully adorned with a Japanese garden, amazing rocks and minerals and a lovely pond with all sorts of exotic marine life. Not! It's about as drab as a lobby can be with ugly, antiquitous Christmas and Chinese New Year decorations and a few fake plants. You'd think the guards might spend a little time doing it up since they spend 8 hours just sitting around but apparently it isn't in the job description. However, since the building goes no higher than the 10th floor, I guess that means we live in the penthouse. "You heard me right Weezy, we got ourselves the penthouse", I can just hear George Jefferson exclaim.

The bottom floor consists of the aforementioned soon to be dubbed the Cafe Del Merde chill out room plus another room, yet to be gutted, painted and transformed into an arts room for Michele and the numerous projects she's got bubbling and simmering in her soul but ain't got the time for right now. There is a decent-sized kitchen that spreads out into the salon where we watch ancient episodes of Seinfeld and SCTV on dvd. From the entrance, if you don't go straight into the appartment, you can take the stairs up to the this very little enclave where the computer is set up. Take a left from there and enter the sizeable master bedroom and adjacent bathroom. Outside our room, you can step out onto a massive, tiled rooftop deck which we plan to clean up and maybe set up a garden. After a typhoon, you can see mountains!
Not a bad pad for roughly 350$ Canadian per month, n'est-ce pas?
I'm very happy and excited with this new beginning. Good habits that I've felt I've needed in my life have already started forming, like cooking and cleaning for example. And most of all, I'm living with the girl who brings daily sunshine in my life. Sure, it was a little weird at first but every change for me is strange at first. But then I settle in and get my groove on and it's all good. It's my pattern.

I want to end on that high-pitched note so let's revert back to the mosquito. When I was travelling through Thailand several years ago, I met this hippie-ish traveller who acted as though he had become enlightened because he refused to kill mosquitoes. He said to even hurt these pesty creatures was equal to murder in karmic terms. Another friend who was there jeered and scoffed when he heard this; I was sympathetic to his ideology but also wondered whether he was taking it a bit far. Now I regret not standing up for him. Sure I slagged them blood-sukers to start this off, but that's exactly where the lesson lies. Their annoyance is their lesson just like every bad driver, every tragedy and every perceived mistake you encounter out there. He started to think with his heart and that's what made him see the world in a different light. It's not a better light, but it is a more appropriate, eventually leading to a higher consciousness; a higher form of evolution beyond petty human concerns. Hold on a second, there's something nibbling at my ankles, making it hard for me to type. Slap! Got it! Shit, no killing.

Baby steps, baby steps, baby steps...

oj

Above the Clouds

2005-03-20T20:53:00.000-08:00

"Above the crowds/ above the clouds/ where the sounds are original/infinite skills create miracles/warriors spiritual/above the clouds raining down/holding it down" -Chorus to Gangstarr's Above the Clouds

I sit on a shaded, miniature bench in the Sports Park on this splendid Sunday morning so reminiscent of the finest day summer has to offer back home. My journal is spread out, my budget pen ready to wield my imprisoned, impassioned feelings and thoughts barely able to contain themselves within any longer, my lemon-honey green tea (iced) standing at attention ready to quench my unrelenting thirst. Flea is sprawled out, patiently waiting, having already relieved herself several times during our walk alongside the canal. I've only had a couple of hours of sleep and yet I feel energized, as if I've slept for ten hours or more. What could possibly explain this phenomenon of not being tired despite a clear lack of sleep?

P P P P P P P Premier P P P P P P P Premier... P P P P P P Premier...

Anyone who has heard a Dj Premier mix tape will recognize. For those poor souls who haven't even heard of Dj Premier (inciting me to wonder what planet you live on) - or Primo as he is known in the game - he simply is the best hip hop dj/producer of all time. You won't find many heads contesting that one. "That's a bit of a pretentious dj name, don't ya think?", was one comment I heard during the week. When I thought about it, Jay was right. It is a braggadocious name. But bigging up oneself is simply part of hip hop. And besides, I challenge anyone to name better dj. With countless classic singles, albums, remixes and beats under his belt, the man is a true champion in the hip hop game. And though it was our birthdays and not Christmas, Dan and I couldn't help singing it, "Dj Pri-mo's comin' to town". And we wondered just what sorts of treats he would be bringing in his vinyl gift sack...

I try desperately to keep my expectations to a minimum. After all, to be perfectly honest, Primo's beats have become somewhat formulaic as of late. And besides, the ghosts of too many disappointing hip hop shows from the past continue to haunt me in the present. The doubts creep in like fog. Won't it be expensive to go all the way up to Taipei just for one night? The cover will be hefty as will be the drink prices. And then there's the fact that the bill is lined up as Premier with emcee Big Shug. For all I know, Big Shug has just released a mediocre album and that's what will be featured. Maybe Premier's set will be cut short and therefore not worth the time and money? Or what if he forgoes the real to play crap club hop - crowd pleasers for the predominantly hip hop unitiated Taipei audience?

(I'm constantly amazed at how my brain works, conjuring up such ridiculous doubts before even experiencing the event. And if it's not thinking of the worst, then it's doing the opposite by fantasizing about the ideallic outcome. Either way, it always seems to stray from the now. Positive or negative, it's clearly dangerous to plant the seeds of expectations. )

But any doubts I had were erased on Friday afternoon when I went into the Shining Radio studio to do my weekly radio show.* An hour long set of DJ Premier produced music was enough to convince me that I had to go. Shit, DJ Premier in Deep Concentration alone was enough to slap me back to the present. Sure, part of me wanted to go for nostalgia's sake. Is that wrong? Is it so wrong to hear the music I love even if it is old school? So long as I don't cling to it, depend on it, and still get turned on by recent joints then I reckon it's healthy. As the day of the concert approaches, one by one, doubts are washed away as swiftly as the incoming tide erases footprints from the shore.

We are giddy on the four hour trip up to Taipei, maxin' and relaxin' on the comfy deluxe He Shin buses. The seats are so broad and massive that even Mr. Incredible's frame would have no trouble snuggling comfortably into them. Small piece of advice though: steer clear of the free water. And once we arrive into the big city, us country bumpkin Tainanians can only stare wide-eyed at the large, bustling boulevards and the fast-paced vibe. We ease into Taipei the right way before deciding on some food at a trendy hot pot spot.

By the time we arrive at the Luxy, it is busy and there is already a sizeable queue. The square-shouldered monkeys in grey suits and girly ties who work the door oversee the queue with painted stern looks. Whenever I see them, I can't help but scoff at these ogres who look and act so ridiculous, almost always giving themselves an air of self-importance. We try the old act-like-you-belong bud-in near the front of the line but we are caught by one of the monkeys, who promptly sends us to the back of the line. "But don't you know who I am?", protests Dj TwoHands. Sorry Dan, no one knows you in the big city. As luck would have it, we coincidentally arrive just after a flock of young Taiwanese hotties wearing practically nothing. Is this a punishment or a reward? Michele is not as impressed as the boys are by this circumstance. Before long, however, they are handpicked to the front of the line by one of the monkeys so our innocent gawking is short-lived. It's been ages since I've had to wait in line to get in somewhere, highlighting the fact that I don't get out much anymore... In any case, after waiting in lines during freezing cold January weather back home, the mild low twenties temperature is certainly bearable on this night.

The Luxy's core is alive to the entropic energy unique to that time frame just prior to live shows. I feel as if it is Christmas Eve, I'm 6 years-old and I can't sleep a wink. The suspense! Even though I have a hunch as to what Santa will give me (after all, I've written an extensive detailed letter outlining my wishlist), the wait is killing me! A local dj is warming up the crowd. He is a good mixer and is clearly enjoying himself up there; however, he's playing the clubtastic hip hop joints for which I normally don't have much patience. And yet, in light of what's to come, I can ignore the ignant lyrics for now while concentrating on acclimatizing myself to the hecticity buzzing all around me. Finally, at around midnight, the opening Taiwanese acts take the stage.

I believe the first group is from Taipei. Not bad. And following them is Tainan's very own MC Dawgy. He's a large boy with kinky big hair. He reminds of Phat Al so I take an instant liking to him. Accompanying him are his dj and another rapper/singer to feed off of. He more than holds his own up there in front of a demanding audience. Of course, I don't know what he is saying. Even if I catch the odd word, that word could have a number of meanings. And beyond the standard Mandarin meaning, what hip hop slang does it symbolize? Maybe it's a good thing as it'll spare me the details of hearing how good he is, how many women he bags after each show and the beatings he duly administered to the other sucka emcees before the show. I can take the emcee bravado if it is put in a creative way - or, if the beat is nice - but when they're clearly taking a piss, well, I have no time for that crap. As far as Dawgy is concerned, I'm keying in on his flow. After all he is a poet and you can hear whether or not he's got a sense of timing and rhythm. And he's got it. Also, it's an amusing challenge to see if I can catch some of the Chinese and even more amusing to try to distinguish between what's Mandarin and Taiwanese. It occurs to me that due to the commonality of identical sounds and words, Chinese has to be one of the easiest languages to rhyme to.

And then it hits me - again. Hip hop is a worldwide phenomenon. I have heard groups from Scandanavia, Japan, South Africa, Brazil etc. and even here in little Taiwan the trend has caught on. There must be something to this music my jazz-obssessed Dad could not tolerate - even when I introduced him to some of the best hip hop jazz fusions (Buckshot Lefonque project, Fresstyle Fellowship). But he was a purist and purists are less inclined towards accepting experimentation. The roots of hip hop steep in creative expression. Especially for youths who have that ravaging desire to break free from the molds forced upon them by society and family, hip hop allows them to release. It's a plausible reason why hip hop is popular among all socio-economic classes - the basic need as human beings to be creative. And what's more, whichever of its elements - djing, emceeing, breaking (dance), graffiti writing - you look at, each one demands spontaneous creativity. In my mind, this spontaneous ability to create is the most underrated aspect of hip hop.

But we've seen her suffer through much change. She used to be young and pretty, with a great sense of humour. Recently however, she has become crusty, aggressive and uncaring as she reaches puberty. She now acts like the teenage rebel who doesn't know herself, who has grown up too quickly, and, unable to face that reality, feels inclined to mount fronts and defenses in order to protect her softer side. Thankfully, there are still some artists out there - names like Talib Kwali, Mos Def and Common, The Grouch spring to mind - who aren't afraid to point out its softer sides and often even make a point of doing so in the name of education.

Another influential hip hop educator is DJ Premier. In an industry obssessed with being real or fake , Gangstarr has always professed keeping it real. Although he didn't preach, Doctor Primo came to deliver a lecture in hip hop 101. Never afraid to speak his mind, he came to Taipei intent on educating and enlightening the Taiwanese crowd. He is more than just a dj and producer. He is well of hip hop knowledge whose source originates from deep in the underground.

The set

Before I talk about the set, a little anecdote:

New York City, June of 2004, 2 hours after the famed power outage.

It is Friday night and we're out on the town looking for something to do. But New York is uncharacteristically - and I hesitate to use this word, but damned if I have to - lifeless. Folks is just staying in their cribs hibernating. After circling around in a cab for anything that looks decent, we finally spot a joint that looks like it has potential. We eagerly jump out to check it out. The small placard out front has the following written in obscene yellow chalk: DJ Premier, $10 cover. I can't believe my luck. I approach the bouncer and ask him if it's for real. "Don't make me pay $10 to see some Primo impersonator, now!". "Come on bro, I ain't frontin', he retaliates. "My man Primo is down there right now spinning some live shit."

I figure a $10 gamble to catch Premier simply spinning in a small club is well worth the risk. Actually, for the little time I spend in NYC, it's worth about $50! When I walk in, sure enough, Primo is up there on the decks. My man Ian goes straight for the bar but I'm not worried about drinking right about now. I mean, the Dj Premier is up there on the loonies and twonies!!!! He mixes in the next song with Primo timeliness and tastefullness. He puts the record back in its sleeve and then I'm suddenly concerned by his next action. "Um, why is he putting all of his records into his carrier box? He's not packin' em away... It can't be...." But it too is. Noooooooooooooo! So close! The bar is dead, he got paid so it must be time to get back to the lab. As Primo passes me, I do the only thing I can do: stick out my fist and say "Yo Primo, respect". Sure enough, he gives me a pound and walks up the stairs and out the door. Secretly, I hope the contact with his hand will somehow transfer some of his dj magic into me through osmosis.

And now, two years later, I'm once again in the presence of the master - though cirumstances are much different. This time, rather than a quaint NY club, I am here in a jam-packed megaclub in Asia. And more importantly, he is taking out his needles rather than putting them away. After the Taiwanese acts, the same loal dj has taken over to play a few tracks while Primo readies himself. As a budding dj, I can't help but put myself in the other dj's position. Can there be any more pressure when mixing than having a legend standing behind you getting ready to take over. My hands are jittering nervously just imagining it was me. Involuntary poop in the pants about...now. I can tell my man is a little unnerved as he isn't quite as loose and carefree as he was an hour ago. Can't blame him. At last he steps up, bringing several records with him. Xiao Jei's and xieng sheng's, the moment you've all been waiting for...

First, a short speech to address the crowd and then he asks us if we're ready. Hmm, let me think about that one. Let's see, I've been listening to the last ten years of your music non-stop in my Ipod all week long, so, yeah, you could say I'm pretty much ready. And by the way, can't you see the Angel Falls of drool flowing from my lower lip? And then the classic beat from "MC's Act Like They Don't Know" drops and we all know that it's on - Primo is in the house!

The first set is nothing but early nineties hip hop classics. One after another, the beats that have made us giddy throughout the years are slapped onto those spinning wheels of steel mixed in Primo's sublime and unique style. The length of each song depends entirely on the next one; some have a short-lived playing time, a mere bar or two to give us a tease of what could have been. It's as if, through his selections, Premier is saying, "Careful not to get too attached because guess what other little surprise I've got in store for you." That's the sign of master. Let them know what they're missing and even hurt them with it intentionally so that when you drop the next one, they'll be even more excited for it. Plus, it's a cunning technique to sow seeds for the next time...

Meanwhile, Primo is making sure we are still with him by encouraging crowd participation through command and repeat. People are slags for being told what to do and I'm no exception. I feel like one of my kindergarten students and Primo is the teacher. Whatever you want me to say, I'll say it. Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it. Why? Because it's fun and I'm mad for it!!! Oh, here comes another intro to a classic and I'm jumping up and down again in frenetic anticipation. Normally a somewhat subdued dude, I am up there consciously losing it and not giving a damn who sees me! And despite playing footy all afternoon, I jump higher now than I did for any of the headers during the game. Often, it takes only a few notes before I erupt with joy at the prospect of another classic. And not only does he know the words to every song he plays but he unashamedly sings along with them loudly into the mic, encouraging us to do the same. This goes on for an hour or longer before he graciously allows us to rest by inviting Big Shug onto the stage.

Thanks to Big Shug, I had a buffer with which to catch my breath, pee, claim my complimentary drink and wriggle my way back near the front. Big Shug is, well, hai hao (so-so). He's a big boy who likes to talk about being big. Yet he lacks the originality or the stage presence of a gifted emcee. He's not terrible yet neither is he inspiring. I can only assume he is Primo's boy. Primo makes sure to support him as best he can; doing his best with what he's got to work with. This is nothing new however, as he's often worked with emcees whose skills aren't on par with his production talent (um, can you say Group Home).

Now it's Primo's turn again. He takes the mic once again and declares in his steadfast way that he is going to take us back to where hip hop all began. Back to the roots is it? The tingling, the shivers and the newly secreted adrenalin are all instant reactions by my nervous system, responding hastily to the information my brain has processed: in short, here come the breaks!!! So, if he is going back, way back, which song do you think he begins with? Go on, I'll give you a guess. Louis Armstrong? Cab Calloway? Good guesses but we aren't going that way back. Apache? Ooh, another good guess. What was that? Herbie Hancock's Rockit? Best guess yet. Many a dj revert back to the immensely popular Rockit video where they first saw the scratch performed by DJ Grand Mixer DXT as their inspiration for wanting to dj. Well sorry, but you never had a chance. And don't even try to tell me Tears For Fears was your next guess!

Ok, now I can feel you starting to disbelieve. What does Tears For Fears have to do with hip hop? Well, let's not forget that Premier is a hip hop producer, and the only thing a hip hop producer looks for when he or she is making a beat is the sample; as in, a bar or a sound to use found on any given record, no matter how random it may be. Consequently, anything from country, to classical, to 80's pop to Hawaiian ukelele ensembles are game to use in a beat. Primo came to teach that there are indeed no boundaries when it comes to the heart of hip hop. Because it's all about the music. Throughout the remainder of the night, he would refer to what's real and that attitude didn't let up even when he played ACDC's Back In Black, Queen's Another One Bites The Dust, Steve Miller's The Joker, Blondie's Rapture, Rush's Tom Sawyer (a dj fav), Pink Floyd's The Wall (I would have chosen a different Floyd track myself) and even Nirvana's Teenage Spirit wasn't a stretch. And we haven't even touched the funk and soul classics like Jimmy Castor's It's Just Begun and AWB's Pick Up the Pieces and some James Brown joints just to name a few. He drops one bomb after another and I get more excited with each one again. A personal fav is Bob James' Nautilus, a track I had mysteriously been pining for recently...

Then it's back to hip hop to close it out. First a predictable yet always satisfying dedication set to all the fallen rappers. Big L, Ghostface Killah, Biggie, Tupac and Big Pun. Then it's time to show off some of the newest joints. For the finale, I decide to join my buddy Jordan, who has planted himself front and centre. Premier's set is so long (3+ hours) that a good chunk of the crowd has already evaporated by now. We are directly in front of the bass speakers. I'm wading in the intense vibrations the bass-heavy track is providing. And when he throws on the second last track, Dead Prez' Bigger Than Hip Hop, the vibrations intensify tenfold. For all those who are familiar with the song, need I remind you of my location? It certainly gets my vote for one of the sickest bass line in hip hop's story. Jordan and I flash each other a knowing look before hunching over and surfing our heads right down with the beat, lower and lower, until that seemingly fathomless and unending/no beginning bass line shimmies throughout our entire bodies.

Primo then closes out the set with a classic Gangstarr track and, with a bow, he announces that he is done. What? Only 3+ hours? That's it? I'm joking, of course, as I honestly don't think I can take any more. And yet, unbelievably, the drunken Taiwanese youths are demanding more of him. While they chant, "One more, one more", I independently counter it with "No more, no more". When you get hit with the real deal for three hours, jumping, screaming and goin' buckwild with every ounce you've got to give, then the tank becomes empty at some point.

I go up to see Dan, who is now sitting on a stool, rubbing his knee tenderly. Poor Old Man Dan. His bum knee is acting up from all the leaping and bounding. I sink into the seat next to him. "That was an epiphany", he says, practically teary-eyed. Speechless, breathless, I can only nod in agreement. He and I will surely reminisce about this one while playing cards when we're in our eighties...

Xie xie Primo for temporarily lifting me above the clouds, keeping me suspended in time and, most importantly, for blowin' up the spot.

* give a listen, especially you West Coasters at http://fm881.stut.edu.tw:8000 (you will get many ? because it's in Chinese. Click on the third icon from the left (3?) to listen.
Live on Fridays from 1-3 PM local time and rebroadcast Sundays at the same time)

3 years and counting

2005-01-01T00:12:00.000-08:00

It's the mad 6 o'clock rush in Tainan City as I sit down at one of my semi-regular eateries, a small restaurant enveloped in bamboo at the corner of Minchuan and Kangle streets. I order the usual neo rou mian - gan de (beef noodles - dry) and have a seat at a corner table. In the few minutes it takes for my big bowl of yumminess to arrive, scooters, bicycles and cars zoom in a constant stream of noise, blending together into one single hum. After 3 years in Tainan, I have of course grown accustomed to the chaotic nature of the roads here and yet, as I sit here, quietly observant, I am glad that it still amazes. I haven't lost all sense of reality just yet.

My deep bowl arrives and just as I'm about to pinch my first heap of noodles with the chopsticks, I notice a short, bing lang (beetle nut)chewing man on the road remove the cigarette from his mouth and apply it to the lit end of a group of longish sticks who in turn start to glow. Oh shit, I know exactly what is going to happen now. With somewhat ageing ninja-like reflexes, I set down my chopsticks and place my hands over my ears just as the initial KABLANGs! KABLINGs! and KAPOWs! echo and shake the fragile bamboo walls. Even muted, it is shockingly loud. Have the Chinese finally lauched thier attack? Guess again. It is merely a temple celebration, something witnessed almost daily in this, the traditional and cultural capital of Taiwan. It is a unique place where the ancient superstitions, rituals and traditions now slowly fading in mainland China continue to be practiced faithfully. The noise produced by the firecrackers are meant to either get the attention of the gods or scare them away, depending on the god and the nature of the celebration. With over 80 temples in this old city - each with varied days and times and gods to appease - the setting off of firecrackers in the middle of the street is a common occurrence. Sometimes there is no warning and, driving along minding your own business, one might suddenly run into a blasting zone.

When the mist of smoke finally dissipates, a procession of uniformed men carrying a bouncy alter swing past while the musicians blare out unmelodious music using high-pitched, unfamiliar and strange-sounding instruments. If I were a god, I can assure you that it would drive me away very quickly. And then, as the tune fades into the distance, it's suddenly over. I take a second, shell-shocked. At last, when I am sure it is safe, I remove my paws from my ears. I glance over to the owner of the restaurant. She simply shakes her bandana-wrapped head and her face, so full of stories, shows obvious disgust for the ritual she and her poor, little restaurant are subjected to so frequently. I pick up my two wooden sticks and resuming my business of eating. After unabashedly sucking up my noodles in a manner any North American child would be scolded for at the table - yet perfectly accepteable here - I take 5 minutes to watch the old , classic kung fu flick they are running on a big screen outside the temple before going off to work. Apparently, the gods enjoy a good laugh and kung fu just as much as us mortals...

Yes, I am certainly back in Taiwan. My trip to Tibet - the subject of my latest semi-yearly - is quickly becoming a vague memory already. When we came home at the end of September, after such a long time "off", it was a bit strange to be back in the modern world. Back to cell phones, hectic driving, pseudo work, social engagements, daily responsibilities etc. Back to the hecticity in the hectic city which I consider home for now. In other words, back to anything but the simple lifestyle we had been enjoying during our 6 weeks of travel in the remote region of Kham in eastern Tibet. I admit that I've been overwhelmed by the intensity compared to the relaxed pace of Tibet.

Having much too much on our plates immediately upon return, October was a blur. Things calmed down in November and I began to have the time to write things down but progress has been slow due to the sheer amount I would like to write versus what you good folks have the time to read. And here we are in December with Christmas already come and gone and New Year's celebration tomorrow! Autumn and its sublime weather whizzed by with winter coming much too early as always. Don't laugh. We may not get temperatures that dip below freezing but riding a motorcycle at 40km/h into strong headwinds in low teen, humid temperatures is pretty damn cold. On the chilliest of nights, long johns and gloves are essential. And it's important to note that in Taiwan there is no such thing as central heating; the walls are concrete and there are no carpets to keep our feet warm. Slippers are worn at all times. The air in the apartment is colder than the air outside. Flea and Michele shiver constantly. For a few days, the wind howled relentlessly. People complain about the cold much the same as they do back home.

But we got our first taste of winter back in August when the snow was just starting to cover the tops mountains outside of our tent, pegged down at roughly 4200 m, just outside Siqu town. Ahhh, Tibet. By far one of the most intriguing places I've been to, perhaps due to my immense curiosity I had for its people and geography even before departing. My already notoriously long letters would be dwarfed by the prospect of sharing the entire trip. What I will do is attach a snippet of adventure so you can at least get an idea. I will include a short piece I submitted to a local magazine (Kham Adventure) and the extended raw dog mix for all my hardcore readers (Adventures).

As it is holiday season, many of you should have the time to print it up and read it at your convenience; maybe even in front of the fire (I feel a sudden surge of envy). Wish I could be there in person with each and every one of you, glass of rum n' eggnog in hand, to further explain or better yet show you the stack of pictures to go along with it. Speaking of which, a few weekends ago, Michele had a phenomenally successful charity photo exhibition where she featured 25 of her photos from the thousand+ she took on the trip. Not only did she sell over half of them (blown up and framed), but she also managed to raise a lot of money for two separate orphanages we visited while in Tibet. I'm so proud of ma Belle Michele. Watch out, the girl's got talent oozing out of her!

As we embark upon this new year, I shan't pepper you with the usual malarky about bettering yourselves or resoluting till the yaks come home. I simply wish you all the best for the rest of your friggin lives!

Happy holidays my friends/Joyeuses fetes mes amis

oj