dumpling-induced thoughts

Ten or more Japanese people got terribly sick in their stomachs after eating prepared dumplings made in China. Pesticide was found in those dumplings.

Somehow this is a headline on Taiwanese news today. This is not news at all. It's something expected.

I have tried my best to avoid taking in or applying anything made in China since probably 1987 when the Taiwan government started allowing people to go to China and to take things back.
There have been no good stories about made-in-China food, medicines (internal or external), detergents, soaps, shampoos, etc. Recently, I heard less because the US seems only caring about toys. The bad story line is more or less the same: poisonous. The poisonous or health threatening source can come from pesticides, rodenticides, heavy medals, fluorescence, or simply poor-hygiene factories.

I have access to more made-in-china food in the US than in Taiwan. In Asian or Chinese grocery stores, most of dried or canned or frozen food is from China. I could not bring myself to touch it just for saving money. Who knows how the food was dried, preserved, prepared, or wrapped? Scary news reports teach me something: be scared.

Now Japanese should learn the lesson too. We and the world already know the equation: made in Japan = excellent. The world should start to know the other one: made in China = cheap and poor.
They should not trust Chinese anyway. People in China dislike Japan a lot. Some of them still hate Japan.
I don't hate Japan. And I love Taiwan. And I am proud of my cultural root: Chinese. I know what happened in World War II. I watched documentaries on the Nanjing holocaust. Many women, Chinese and Taiwanese and from other occupied-by-Japan countries, were forced to "comfort" Japanese soldiers in the war. But I don't hate Japan. For the fact that even now China still violently threatens Taiwan, I don't hate China either.

Actually I do not think this health-threatening dumpling event is directly related to the tension between China and Japan.
No matter how evil Japan or China could be, there is no justification for poor-quality food or food-related product (such as utensils or toys or anything you may put in your mouth). In particular, the poor quality is nothing about being tasteless but everything about the health.

Kim said there are just too many people in China so that the China government or business owners do not care if they kill their people. Direct or indirect, rapidly or gradually killing tens of thousands won't hurt the number of 1.3 billion. It's a shame that they think people in other countries would not care either.

I hope China will change in all respects. It is a great country. It should earn its respected reputation. It provides almost everything to almost every corner of the world. It should be responsible to what it is doing to the world.
Before it changes, think twice before you put anything made-in-China into your body.

Organic, local, fresh, minimum processing are the keys for good tasty food anyway. You want dumplings? Eat them if you witness how they are made. Or get some made-in-Taiwan.

cubicle fridge

I’m typing with gloves on. In the mid-afternoon. In the middle of the office.
I am not wearing those spa/moisturizing/massaging gloves that make my hands and fingers beautiful.
I am wearing the gloves that are the same ones I wear when walking outside where the temperature is at the freezing point. That is, it is freezingly cold right now in my cubicle, at my desk, on my keyboard.
It is so cold that I cannot concentrate on the grant application forms and instructions.
(I cannot post entries on my blog now actually. The company blocks many websites from our access for security reasons. So I am typing in Word and will post it once I get home)

It is a fun process going through the instructions online. One page of instruction is full of 15 links to 15 plus pages of instructions. After clicking on three consequent links, I get totally lost where I was and what I was looking for. And the freezing temperature is not helping.

What’s wrong with the central AC? No one knows.
I find the answer “no one knows” very interesting. Unlike downstairs (where I am), upstairs is too warm to keep sleeves long. The two-floor research center is like the two-hemisphere earth, and the sun only warms one hemisphere at a time.
Because no one knows, I do not know whom I can complain to. Interestingly and importantly, life always finds its way. I wear gloves and scarf. Floor-mates place a heater at their feet. Just some minutes ago, I got a heater at my feet too. Once I cannot stand it anymore, I will simply call it a day and go home.

Why do they treat us like this? We are the assets of the company! We apply for grants so that the company can earn money. We do research so that we can publish papers so that we can apply for more grants so that the company can earn more money.
No one knows.
Everyone is in the competition of guess-who-is-tougher. You whine, you lose.
I don’t whine but appear in gloves and scarf. So everyone who walks by me will ask “Are you cold?” and I will answer “Yes.”

If you want to change the system, you have to get into the system.
But do I want to get into the system? I am thinking this question seriously these days.
The morale is pretty low now. We should go on strike like what the Writers Guild has been doing. Postdocs are a low-paid population with a great productivity because somehow we believe what we are doing something good for science and for future career.
Really? I believe we are doing something good for science and for knowledge passing on to next generations. But career? Anyone cares? They hire us because we are cheap. Because we don't fight back even in the situation where we are left to sit our warm butts in a freezing cubicle.

If all postdocs go on strike, what will happen to scientific research, to high education organizations, or to the future of mankind?
The answer is postdocs will not survive before anything profound happens. Before we can afford strike, I'll keep myself warm and keep my blood circulating.

Kristen walked by my cubicle and said "Oh, how nice! Your heater does not make loud noise. Mine is so loud that I couldn't concentrate on work."
Yeah, we are so enjoying the "guess-who-is-tougher" competition.

robbery

I walked home from the train station as usual.
This 5-block walk was well lighted.
That night, I actually did not stay until the end of the milonga. Somehow I decided to leave earlier and arrived at my apartment building 5 before midnight.

The entrance of the building was not right beside the street but kinda hidden in the front yard. The yard was well lighted too.

As I was about to insert the key to open the door, a "medium black" guy (using police's way of description) ran towards me. I thought he was a resident of the apartment and I thought he was in a hurry or something.

He grabbed the handle of my bag and said "give me the bag."
I was not sure what he meant and still held the other side of the handle tight.
He said it again "just give me the bag."
So I realized what exactly he meant and he meant it.
I saw a car waiting for him and knew he was not alone and knew I was in trouble.

I let go. He ran into the red old 4-door car, and it disappeared from my view.
I did not dare to chase or look where it went. I just rushed into the building and into my room and turned on the computer to call police. Well... obviously can't call 911 via skype.
I knocked on a neighbor's door and borrowed the phone.
Police came in 5 minutes. The police station is just two blocks away.

That's what happened.
I was robbed in front of my apartment in a supposedly safe neighborhood.
The super said it had never happened since she lived here for 7 years.
Police said last robbery in South Orange was last November. Comparing to East Orange or Newark, it is a much safer area.

I was traumatized. Now it's been a week. I stayed with Kim for two nights. Actually I am posting this entry in Kim's place now using her computer.
My heart rate went up when walking towards my apartment even during daytime. I should be able to overcome this fear. It takes time though.

But life is still good.
Tango is still wonderful.
Just can't walk alone at night anymore. At least not until I move to somewhere even much safer than South Orange.

life is still good

I'm about to leave to work now. This is a quick post. I'll post a better one later :p


I am fine.

Physically, I am fine. The robber did not attack me.

Sorry that I have not had time to tell everyone that I am fine. Sorry if you have worried.

In a day, with the help of the police report, I got my driver's license. I canceled cards. I re-did things. I called thousands of places to get information and advices. I put a note at everyone's door in my apartment. I finally started meeting neighbors.

The world may not be as peaceful as I thought, but I believe most people are good people.

And I still believe tango is one of the greatest things in the world. I will NOT give up tango because of the robbery (I came home late because of tango. But you cannot blame me for being robbed. I am the victim! Stop blaming victims for the bad guys' behavior!)
I will change my returning time from tango. I will wait after sunrise.

I am fine. Thank you :)

car thing - part 5

Please read car thing - part 1, part 2, part 3, and part 4 before reading the following part 5.


IX. Neverwhere

Have you read Neil Gaiman’s book or watched the TV show “Neverwhere”?
I felt like being the protagonist when coming back to Kim’s car from the post office.
I had parked her car right in front of my apartment before going to the bank. So of course, I remembered where I parked it. There were three cars on the side of the street. They were all different makes. I would not miss her car.
When coming close, I pushed the open button at the remote key. The car did not beep. The door was not unlocked.
I looked inside the car and was darn sure this was her car.
I looked around and felt someone was playing a trick on me. Was there a camera hiding somewhere?
Inserting the car key to the key hole, the door was unlocked. I sat into the car and, by habit, I pressed the door lock, but the door was not locked. I had to manually lock the door.
Weird, I thought. Was I still in reality? Or did I accidently go to some underworld like what happened to Richard Mayhew in Neverwhere?
I pushed the emergency blinker. Normally, at least in Bungbung, the blinker would blink even when the car was not started. The blinker did not work.
Fine, I thought. Maybe Kim’s car worked differently than mine. So I inserted the key and tried to start the car.
Nothing happened.
Nothing.
Nothing. Tried again. Still nothing. No buttons worked. No sound from the engine.
This is not my car. Kim has been so nice to me. She let me stay with her. She took care of me. She is a great company. She is as cool as Alex and Zabeth. She makes me laugh. She lent her car to me. And her car just died in front of me. I cannot believe this. I cannot believe this.
All I could think of was “I cannot believe this.”

Did the battery just run out? Or something wrong with the engine?
Kristen the research assistant had just got her car back from the body shop a week ago. Her car suddenly stopped on highway at high speed. The diagnosis was a lemon – her engine was a false one. Having driving the car for 5 years, she could not believe it was a lemon. But shit happens.
Shit. This fresh event simply made me feel even more horrified.
I did not dare to mess things around even if I were some automobile expert, which I was not. I needed to call Kim.

I called Kim. Of course she did not pick it up. I knew her duty did not end this morning until noon. I called Millie to page Kim for me. But Millie did not pick it up. I called Kristen. Kristen did not pick it up. We were throwing a farewell party at noon for Siby. Millie and Kristen probably were busy managing the party thing.
What could I do now?
I left the car and went back to my place. I took a pen and post-it notes back to the car, sitting there and waiting.
On the street, a car without a parking permit can only stay for two hours. It had been more than two hours. I could not let a cop give me a ticket.
Soon, Kristen called. My boss called. Siby was on the phone too.
“Please find me Kim.” I said to them.
Siby went up and down stairs to find Kim. Someone paged her for me.
Kim called me back finally.
I told her about the situation. Kim called AAA, a road-side assistant company. But AAA would not come to rescue me and Kim’s car because I am not the owner of the car and because I do not have AAA membership.

Therefore, Kim asked Kristen to drive her to me. I felt bad that not only me would not make it to Siby’s party, but also Kristen and Kim would not make it because of me.
Kristen said Millie would not make it either because Millie took today off for personal emergency.
Kristen also told me that my boss tried to find her husband to help me out. My boss lives in South Orange too, and her husband works at home. However, her husband’s car suddenly got some problem and would not be able to come to me.

What are the odds that all these could happen on the same day?

We waited for AAA until 2pm.
The first thing we could guess was no battery power. So the AAA guy jumped jacked it, and the car was started!
I had no idea why the battery was out of power in less than an hour. I couldn’t believe it.

Even now I am still shaking my head when thinking back. I cannot believe this.


X. Return

“When is Geico going to see my car?” I asked the body shop on Jan 17 after Kim’s car came back to life.
“We hope he will come over tomorrow.” The body shop answered.
“When are you going to see my car?” I called the Geico person.
“Tomorrow.” He said.
“Tomorrow when?”
“Late morning or early afternoon.”
“I will call you tomorrow.” I was not polite on the phone. Politeness had already run out during the 3-week long wait.

On Friday morning, Jan 18, I was on time for my appointment, but the doctor was not. He did not see me until three hours later. No matter how many times I have waited for different purposes in different situations, I can never get used to waiting.
I told the receptionist that I needed to do some errands after 30 minutes of waiting. She took a note of my phone number and let me go.
I went to the South Orange Parking Authority and got my parking permit.
While I was in the examining room, waiting again, I got a call from Geico and another from the body shop. Both of them told me, I could go get Bungbung back!

By train, I went to the body shop, Bungbung’s smile came to my view. It smiled as a beetle could smile, as a new beetle could smile, and as a brand-new new beetle could smile. Oh my bug.
Dennis the technician walked me through what had been repaired and changed. He assured me that he test-drove it, and that it was like new.
He also put on the New Jersey plates on it for me.
Happily I sat into the car. It was a sunny wonderful day. Very wonderful. Sunny and warm. My heart was warm.

Now Bungbung is parked in South Orange legally with a registration card. Things are sorted.

At least, that was what I thought.
15 hours ago (now it's 3pm on Jan 21), I got robbed and lost my driver’s license and other IDs and other important documents and dance shoes and other personal stuff and my cellphone.
Without my driver’s license, I cannot drive. Bungbung is safe and sound now. I am not.
I cannot believe this. I got robbed right before midnight in front of my apartment.
It was cold. Very cold. I am trapped in fear.
Email me your phone number because I don’t have yours anymore. And pray for me.

car thing - part 4

Please read car thing - part 1, part 2, and part 3 before reading the following part 4.


VI. Cashier's Checks

After sending the forms to the co-owner of the car, I figured I should've also try to get the title with only my name. I was thinking to sell Bungbung and to get a cheap used car. I would pay off the used car at once and would not do this financing and co-owning anymore. The idea of selling Bungbung was a very bad sign.

I shared this depressing idea with mama. She disagreed. She offered me her money to pay off the loan, and I would pay her back at the rate how I'd paid the VW bank. I found it great. Let her, instead of VW, earn the interest.
Thus, I asked for a payoff quote, and she wired me the money.
I was also happy to find that the PNC Bank was open on Saturdays, the days I could go home and deal this car thing.
On Jan 5, I went to the bank to buy a cashier’s check.

It took 4 cashier’s checks and one morning to get this done. (And actually it was not done… you’ll see)

Saturday morning was not a busy time. I walked in and immediately got attention from a clerk. I went to her window. Her name tag was hand-written. A name starting with an S. Miss S took my documents and drew money out of my account. She got a cashier’s check to me.
“May I have my license and debit card back?” I said.
“Oh.” She said.
“Um.. you spelled my name wrong.”
“Let me see. That is how it shows on your license.” Are you near-sighted? I stared at her.
“No, that is not how it shows on my license. My name is spelled the same way it is on my license, my debit card, and the form I just gave you.”
She took a look without any apology. In a few minutes, she gave me another check.
My name was still incorrectly spelled. I told her, and she actually appeared angry as if it was my fault.
Finally, the third time, she gave me a check with my name correct.
She did not say a word to me, and I did not know if the process was done.
“Is there anything that I need to get from you?” I asked.
“No, you are all set. You can go.” No thank-you. No have-a-nice-day. No sorry.

I went to the post office immediately. I mailed the cashier’s check to VW with priority mail.
My stomach was hungry. While waiting for my breakfast in a new coffee shop, my cellphone rang. It was Miss S.
“I hope you are still around here. You have to come back and let me sign the check.”
“What? I mailed it already.”
“But the check cannot be cashed without my signature.”
“Why didn’t you say so when I asked you at leaving the bank?”
“Um… let me issue another check to you.”
“Can you at least say you’re sorry?” I was pissed.
“Sorry.” She did not sound sincere. And I did not want to deal with her anymore.
“I want your supervisor to fix this for me.” I hung up and carried my breakfast to PNC.

Somehow it was much busier now.
Miss S saw me walking in and immediately pointed to her boss, Arita. Good, I like Arita. She was the one who helped me switching my official first name in July.
However, there were three people in line waiting for Arita.
So I stood in the middle of the lobby, making myself very visible. Five minutes later, Miss S waved at me.
I went up and she gave me another cashier’s check, signed.
“I want your apology.” I said.
“I am sorry.” She was not sorry. She was just embarrassed. I was not satisfied.
I shook my head and left her window.
Arita saw me and stopped me, “Let me check everything for you before you leave here again.” She apologized for Miss S. I accepted it.

Within an hour, I came to the post office again and mailed the good signed check to VW.
On Monday, I called VW that they would receive two cashier’s checks, and that please void the unsigned one.
On Wednesday, I got a call from VW. They received the unsigned one. The good signed one did not arrive with it even though both were mailed within an hour with the same priority.

I did not put much thoughts and efforts in worrying about it. The grant application was killing my brain cells. Drafting for a self-selling training goal, hunting down Toby, hunting down the president of our research center, and pushing my boss to finish the “sponsor information” package for me occupied my head and stomach.
Thankfully, Kim was with me. We complained about work together. We made fun out of difficult moments together.

On Jan 14, two days before the application deadline, I called VW again. They told me the good signed check was never received. I felt like dying.
I called the South Orange post office, the Libertyville, IL post office, and PNC for 3 times each places. Andy, my cubicle neighbor, must have thought I was a slacker, using company phone to call for my personal things during working hours.
I gathered an unpleasant picture from all those calls: the check was missing. No one cashed it, but no one had it. It got lost.

My breath got lost too.
If this is how a panic attack feels like, I definitely felt it.

I looked at my computer screen. I needed something under control. At least, I could finish the grant writing on Jan 16 no matter what. Thus, I forced myself away from the car thing. I decided to deal with it on Jan 17, and I would not wait for even longer.


VII. Bungbung’s Recovery

Meanwhile, after the Geico person agreed on a quote with the body shop on Jan 7, the body shop started working on the repair. They said they needed 7 business days.
I did not set my temper off and hopelessly accept their estimation of completion date: Jan 15. Fine. Fine. Fine. I was waiting for the registration card anyway. Without the registration card, I could not drive Bungbung and could not park it in South Orange anyway.

On Jan 14 (the same day I franticly called PNC, VW, and post offices), I called the body shop. They said actually the car was ready.
However, the labor and ordered new parts were over the original quoted price. They contacted Geico and asked for more money.
“When is Geico going to see the car again?” I asked and worried about the “business day” estimation.
“We are pushing for this Friday.”
“Alright, I will call again on Friday.” I hung up. It was Monday.


VIII. Registration and Cashier’s Checks, again

Kim had to cover a resident on the Jan 17 morning, meaning that she had to be in service at 8am.
I borrowed her car after dropping her off at work. Driving an SUV is quite different from driving a beetle. Carefully, I went to Newark, to the DMV agency again.

At 8:05am, I was one of the first customers.
At the familiar “Title & Registration” counter, I gave my forms with the co-owner’s signatures and authorization. My heart beat went up, and I wondered whether the lady who was dealing with my case could hear it.
This lady, let’s called her Ms. Slow-typist = Ms. ST, took my things and got my title from her supervisor. She sat down and started typing. Slowly typing with one single finger.
I patiently stood in front of her, silently calming down my heart beat.
For some five or so minutes, she stared at her monitor without typing. This made me very nervous. I asked “Do you need more information from me?”
“No. You cannot do anything. But this is wrong. This is just wrong.” She shook her head and kept saying the word “wrong” and made me very uncomfortable.
“What do you mean?”
“In our system, the company’s name is Volkswagen Credit USA. But on your title, the company’s name is VW Credit. They do not match. And this is the problem.”
I was like… speechlessly hopeless.
“I brought the contract. Do you want to see it?”
“No, you can’t help it. It is the title that matters. But it does not match the name in our system.”
My heart, after all these, got weaker but not stronger. I felt I was melting.
Ms. ST’s supervisor, by coincidence, walked by. Ms. ST stopped her and asked her how to solve this problem in Spanish. I caught the words Volkswagen and VW.
The supervisor soon said in English “No, there is no problem. Volkswagen is VW. VW is Volkswagen.”
“Oh, how would I know?” Ms. ST responded.
How would you know? Are you kidding me? You work here, dealing with cars everyday. And you don’t know VW is Volkswagen? You almost gave me a heart attack. I almost became the potential subject of my own lab!
I did not shoot her all these sentences but just smiled and nodded.

Afterwards, with her slow typing, I got two plates and a registration card in 45 minutes.
I checked everything and tried to make sure I got everything and left to South Orange.
I went to the PNC Bank.

I walked into the bank and spotted Arita. I requested her service and did not allow anyone else touch my things.
Arita remembered me and was also shocked that VW never received the good signed check for the past 10 days, even though it was mailed within an hour with the other bad check.
She stopped the good check and issued me another one. When she was getting things signed, I called VW and told them I was going to send them another one and asked them to void the previous check if they would ever receive it.
VW was ok about it, but because ten days passed, the payoff quote changed. So the new check had to carry a new amount.
I apologized to Arita and asked her if she could issue me another cashier’s check with a different amount.
“Yes, it’s not a problem. Last time, you were very patient with us. Now it’s our turn to be patient with you.” She smiled and quickly had things done.

I mailed the check with Express Mail this time. Priority Mail had lost my trust.


(... to be continued)

car thing - part 3

Please read car thing - part 1 and part 2 before reading the following part 3.


IV. Icy Road

The grant submission deadline was Jan 16. As the holidays came closer, I got more nervous about the progression of the writing. People would be off during holidays. No one would review my application. No one would write recommendation letters on time.
Hence, I pushed my boss hard to read my drafts. The same 2-page long Specific Aims was written 8 times. The same 3-page long Background and Significance was revised 9 times. I wrote day and night. Day and night, I battled with myself about whether I should battle with my boss.

I went to Manhattan for a long weekend from Friday night to Tuesday (Dec 21 to 25) with a depressed mood.
Friends, Yang et al., were around. They tried cheering me up. We did things and tangoed. But I decided to go to work on Dec 26.

I went to work on Dec 26. My boss and I had a good discussion on a section of writing. So I stayed until 7pm for revision.
I was the last person in the building when leaving.
It was snowing lightly. The temperature was very low. The ground was icy. I walked to my car.
Slowly I drove out of the parking lot and made a left turn to the next parking lot in our research center campus. But the car did not turn.
Bungbung kept going straight and hit the curb.
It bounced back, and I felt my heart had just skipped a beat.

I was terrified.
Long ago, I had a car accident. The impact happened to the passenger side too. My first beetle Lilo was totaled. Since then, I have been traumatized. I cannot even bear to see car accident scenes in movies.
Not long ago, I had the most horrible snow driving trip. This trip was the reason why I hate driving in snow.

The slight hit at the curb reminded me of both unpleasant events. I sat in the car for a few seconds before getting out to see if there was any damage.
It snowed harder now. I could not see any serious damage. But the wheel hub was gone to the dark. I decided not to search for it.
I got back into the car and pulled the steering wheel straight.

Straightening the steering wheel did not make the car go straight. In order to go straight, the steering wheel had to be turn to the left for 45 degrees. At the moment I realized it, my hands started shaking.
What should I do? I asked myself.
Call 911? No, they would want to see my registration card, which I did not have.
Call a towing company? I did not know any number.
Call Kim? She was in Pittsburgh for the Xmas vacation.
I decided to drive home with both flashes on.

The journey had to go through South Mountain Reservation, meaning that the road was curving and bumpy. Plus it was icy now. Plus the steering wheel did not control the car properly.
My hands were shaking and my head was spinning.

I made it.
I found the dealer's number first thing getting in my apartment. The receptionist told me I could call them tomorrow at 7:30am, but she could not arrange any service for me now.

I tried to pretend everything was alright. But I could not even talk to myself. "Calm down. Breathe." did not run through my head. So I hid in bed from everything, from myself, from my head, from anything that could make me even lonelier. I felt cold and lonely.
Everyone was so far away from me. Zabeth was in Germany. Alex was in California. Jason was in China. Mama was in Taipei. Kim was in Pittsburgh. I needed a hug so badly.
I cried when hearing mama's voice on skype. She calmed me down.
I set a goal that night: I have to move into a city where everyone is with everyone, and where driving is not necessary.
I always have this goal. But that night, the goal was urgent. It felt like if now I moved into a city, everything would be alright.

I called the dealer in the morning at 7:31pm. They sent a towing truck in 3 hours. I rode with the truck and saw Bungbung for the last time in 2007.
The body shop guy seemed very professional and friendly to me. I got good feelings.
"Is rental covered?" Everyone asked me the same question.
"No." was my answer to everyone.
I did not think I would need it when buying the insurance policy.
Renting a car now was silly because in 24 hours I was going to Manhattan for my birthday and New Year Day. But it would not hurt to ask about it, so I walked to the rental car company right beside the body shop.
As I calculated, it was not worthy to rent a car over the weekend. A guy from the rental gave me a ride to the train station, and I went home, starting my carless life.

Well... the body shop could have fixed Bungbung in one day if I paid out of my pocket.
But the cost could go so high that I went broke.
So Geico the insurance company would be involved. They needed 6 business days for simply assigning a person to take a look at my car to decide the cost.
Dec 27 was the day I called Geico, but this day was not counted. So from Dec 28, the sixth business day would be Jan 7.
Guess what, the Geico person did not go take a look at my car until Jan 7. That is, not until 12 days later, did the repair start.

At least, I stopped worrying about where to park without a registration card on Jan 1.


V. Housemate

I had great time on my birthday. The weekend went well with tango and MoMA.
But my mind was not at ease. The car thing haunted me all the time.
I came back to South Orange on Dec 31, contemplating how I was going to get around without a car.
Ten blocks away from my place was a rental car branch. They told me it would cost me about one to two hundred per week for rental. I reserved a car for Jan 2.
While walking back home, I called Kim for saying Happy New Year. She was having a great family time. I briefly told her about my loss.
She immediately suggested me stay in her place over night. And many other nights followed.

I moved in for weekdays so I could go to work with her.
I was sent back home for weekends so I could go tango from South Orange Train Station.
I was picked up on Sundays so I could carry my small luggage to Kim's house for the week.

One day she was so ill that she could not work but stayed in bed. But she stilled drove me to work. That evening, she asked her husband to pick me up from work.
One Sunday, she picked me up back to her place. Her husband made fried rice for dinner. He was nervous to make Asian food for me. As long as he did not claim it was Chinese food, and as long as the food he made was good, I was totally fine and happy that someone was cooking for me.
After dinner, Kim asked me to close my eyes for her mysterious dessert.
She baked a birthday cake for me. It was a week after my birthday, and I had a happy belated birthday because of her.
Not just a cake, she gave me two presents. These presents were on my wish list for the Secret Santa party in December. But my secret santa lost my note, and he gave me something else. It was no big deal. It was just a fun game we played at work.
But I was totally moved that Kim remembered it.
We were like a family. I was like a child.
(Feeling like a child somehow is not foreign to me at all.)

Every night, before going to bed, I asked her when we would get out of the house because her schedule was not as regular as mine.
Every evening, she worked later than me, and kept working later than me after dinner because being a physician is not an easy job.
Millie, the lab secretary, joked that Kim was like my mother, taking me everywhere. Yeah, I depended on her not only for transportation but also for great company.

I felt like I found another Alex or Zabeth in New Jersey. Someone who I can really be myself around her. Someone who really can be herself around me. Someone who does not mind taking care of me. I felt loved.


(... to be continued)

car thing - part 2

Please read car thing - part 1 before reading the following car thing -part 2.



II. Court

Kim is a fellow, but unlike me, she is a clinical fellow, meaning that she sees patients. Meaning that she is far busier than me, a research fellow.
She took off early for me on Dec 5 because I needed someone to drive me to the court. Without a registration card, I refused to drive my car near the police.
My scheduled time was 5:30pm. At 4:30pm, we left West Orange (where our work is) to Orange. See? By town names, you can figure South Orange, West Orange, and Orange are neighbors. But it took one hour for me to step into the court. Traffic was not bad, actually. North Jersey is a mysterious place to drive. Roads go every direction and change names as they like. We got a bit lost from West Orange to Orange. Later, we got a bit lost from Orange to South Orange. Arh.... this can be another story, which may be told in other blog entries.

Because we were almost late, Kim dropped me off, and I walked in alone.
After getting my paperwork and passing through an X-ray gate, I sat down in the court with other hundred people at 6pm.
Kim came in at about 6:20pm. She had almost decided to leave. Cellphone was not allowed, so she did not know the court had not started yet. She simply just tried to see if she could come into the court. I was glad that she tried and that she was with me. Because I was totally bored. The judge showed up a bit later than Kim.

Waiting is one essential element of this whole "car thing" story.

This judge was sharp and doing a good job. However, there were too many people. Some of them did not bright enough to keep their mouths shut, and made the process unbearably longer. Some of them were quite entertaining. For example, a guy got a ticket because he parked at a handicap space.
"Did you park at a handicap space?" The judge asked.
"Yes."
"Do you plead guilty or not for parking there?"
"No."
"But you just admitted that you parked there. Which means you are guilty."
"No, I am not."
"This is not logical," the judge took a deep breath, "you are contradicting yourself."
"No, I am not. Please let me explain."
"Fine. Go."
"There were two handicap spaces, which were requested by a house resident who were handicapped years ago. He requested one, but two came. So we lost parking space for no reason. And he moved away. That is, no one is using those two handicap spaces. So I deliberately parked there to protest this unfair arrangement."
"You should have contacted the parking authority."
"But..." The guy wanted to argue more, but was stopped by the judge, who said "Why are you holding a New York license? You do not live in New Jersey?"
"No, Sir. I only came here several times a year."
The judge shook his head and remained silence for a minute before he continued, "Case dismissed. You do not park in the handicap space any more in New Jersey."

And I found many of them were here for the same reason as me: they took a left turn at a green light.
New Jersey is weird, and it makes normal people like me to make mistakes.

We were hungry and tired. So was the judge. Thus, he called a break for 15 minutes. The break was of course actually 20 minutes.
During the break, the attorney called names and discussed things with us and summarizes things for the judge. It was like making an agreement before the judge officially made a decision, so that the process could go faster.
From the attorney, I learned that I could plead not guilty for my registration because my temporary registration sheet covered the date when I got pulled over. However, I should plead guilty for making that left turn. And this needed to be negotiated.
The original ticket would get me a 250-dollar fine and 2 points.
But if I agreed, the judge could tone it down with a different charge, which would not come with any point but the fine was about twice higher.
I did not want points. Points mean records. Records mean higher insurance price. So I chose the latter.
The agreement was done, and the conversation with the judge was short. Finally, about 8pm, I got out and did the paperwork.

I felt like I had just thrown time and money into a black hole. Nothing bounced back.
Kim drove me back to South Orange, comforting me, cheering me up. She and the sunny boy dinnered with me.
But my anxiety became depression.
That was also the last night I saw the sunny boy. I was really truly depressed. Emotionally tired. I lost my confidence of doing anything.

When confidence bailed on me, nothing in my life seemed right anymore.
I had been working on a grant application. Many problems gradually surfaced during the process. I started highly questioning about the purpose of my persistence in pursuing an academic career. I was not happy about my job. I could not drive my car happily. Happy suddenly was not the word to describe my life.


III. Failing Registration, again

Trying to get some control back, I called VW. They told me that the title had been mailed to NJ DMV on Nov 30.
Oh, really? Why wasn't I notified by DMV?
NJ DMV does not like people to call them. They simply let you wait forever. And when a receptionist finally talks to you, he/she will transfer your call to a wrong department. For example, my call was transferred to International Plate. I did not want an international plate. And I did not have an international plate. I wanted an NJ plate, for god's sake.

So I went online to DMV's website. They have an emailing-your-question service. So I emailed. In 24 hours, I got a reply from a person named Tom.
He needed more information such as the VIN (vehicle identification number). I emailed him. And he emailed back in 10 minutes! I felt lucky that he was actually online somewhere in Jersey right now replying my email. He wanted to know which DMV agency. I told him. He said the title in fact was received some days ago.
"You didn't get a post card?"
"No. Do I have to show the post card in order to have the registration done?"
"No, you don't. You can just go in. And by the way, they open until 7:30pm today."

That's cool. Tom's instant emails gave me courage. Yeah, I felt lucky for someone actually was doing his job right and good.
I got very excited and nervous. Because I was going to drive Bungbung without a valid registration card into a DMV agency. Because I was not sure what kind of difficult tasks they would ask me to do and fail me.
Quickly stopping by home to gather documents, I drove to DMV.
I failed.
Because the co-owner of the car did not come with me, it was not ok.
I told DMV the co-owner lives in California, and she could not come over here. They gave me an attorney authorization form. The co-owner had to sign it and other forms with a notary public.

When I walked out of the DMV, it was pouring. It was 6pm and dark. It was Dec 19, and I knew the co-owner was in Taiwan for a month-long vacation. She would not fly back to California before Jan 3.

Further worse, South Orange Parking Authority sent me a notification: If you want to continue parking in our friendly community since Jan 1, 2008, please come to us with your driver's license and valid registration card. And we will give you a parking permit. Oh of course, it's not free but pretty cheap.

Now I was in deep depression, worrying where I should park without a registration card.


(... to be continued)

car thing - part 1

Preface

This is a true story.
Every time I updated friends about this story, which I named "the car thing", they laughed and some of them asked me to write a book about it.
I am not going to write a book about it. I like writing. I know, and probably you know too, I have always fancied being a novel writer. Writing my own personal true story is not considered creative writing for me. I am simply writing down what's in my memory in a very colloquial, non-standard English way.
For now, writing entries in my blog is satisfying.

Before you keep on reading, please say this name Kim in your head and put it in your heart for me if you ever care about me.

Kim, this is for you.


Bungbung moving to New Jersey

I. Registration

Dennis the technician gave me the car key, and said "It's like brand new. Take it home."
I could not help but smile. My smile got wider when I saw the two black kitties on the key chain. My smile got even wider when I sat in the car. My smile did not fade off until I parked.

I had not smiled at Bungbung since 2 am, Nov 8, 2007. Today was Jan 18, 2008.

On Nov 7, 2007, I was watching Sopranos before leaving to Empire Dance.
In that particular episode, Tony Sopranos was pooled over by a cop. The cop asked him for his driver's license and registration card.
I was like "Oh shit, where is my registration card, PennDOT!"

PennDOT stand for Pennsylvania Department of Transportation. My registration was expired on Oct 31, and my new one had not arrived yet.
The Sopranos episode totally reminded me of this situation. I cursed PennDOT for another second and left to tango.
Driving into Manhattan after 8pm is not a trouble at all. Parking on the 25th, 26th, or 27th street after 8pm is not difficult at all. Parking is free. Toll is reduced. All is good for me to drive in. I drove in.

I wanted to dance like a usual Thursday night. It was not usual. Someone I expected did not show up. Someone I did not expect did show up. Well... in this case, it is actually fair to say it's usual, right? Things usually do not work out as I expect. Anyway, this usual or unusual tango night is another story and will not be told here.

I drove back as usual. As usual, I went on I-280 and took Exit 11 and made a left turn at the first traffic light right after the Exit. I had done this since July.
Passing through two intersections, a police car was shining his light into my rear mirror. I hesitated and did not believe I did anything wrong. But being a good driver, I pulled over.
A cop came to me with his spotlight-like flashlight, and asked me "Ma'am, do you know what you did wrong?"
I shook my head and said no.
"You turned left at the traffic light." He corrected me.
I looked puzzled and totally did not understand what was wrong about turning left at a green light. So he continued to tell me my wrongful demeanor "You cannot turn there. A sign 'NO TURN' is under the light, and you should've kept going straight."
I looked even more puzzled and did not understand why I would want to go straight which is not the direction to my destination. But I chose not to argue with him and said "Sorry, I thought 'NO TURN' meant 'no turn at the red light'."
"License and registration card, please." He demanded.

I gave him my license, saying shit in my head when I opened the drawer and got my expired registration card.
As I opened my drawer, another cop appeared at the passenger side with one hand spotlighting my drawer and the other hand holding her gun at her waist.
Behind my car, there were two police cars: one that pulled me over, and the other one carried an older cop. The older cop seemed to be other cops' supervisor. What did I do? Why did it need 5 cops pulling a small cute VW beetle over for making a wrong turn? (And I did not think the turn was wrong.)
Soon the supervisor came to talk to me, "Your registration is expired. We have to tow your car."
"The car is registered. Can you run the system? I am still waiting for the card. It should arrive in my mailbox anytime."
"Ma'am, you are very cooperative, and I believe you are not guilty. But your license has been run through the system. We cannot just let you go. You can bring your registration card to get your car back in the morning."
I was speechless and tried to think. A line ran through my head "why can't you now tell the system that I am not guilty and let me go?" but the line did not successfully came out my mouth. What ever that system was, I hated it.

The supervisor took my car key away and asked me to wait in the car while they issued me two tickets (one for turning left and one for no registration) and called a towing truck.
My window was open. The cold air was blowing in. I sat in the car without any emotion.
It was getting pretty cold after 10 minutes. So I stuck out my head and waved at them and yelled "Sir!"
A young cop came. I told him that I was cold and that I needed the key to turn the car on so I could closed the window. He let me.
"How am I going to go home?"
"Where do you live?"
"South Orange." I got pulled over in Orange.
"Can you call someone to pick you up?"
"No, I live alone."
"Can you walk back?"
"It's dark and cold now. And it's not a short walking distance. Would you please at least give me a ride home?"
"I cannot make this decision, Ma'am. You have to ask my supervisor."
I don't like people who call me Ma'am. I sat in my car, looking miserable and thinking how I was going to walk back in such a dark environment with the temperature of 35F.

It felt like a long time later when the towing truck came.
I stepped down my car. Bungbung was towed away. Two cops came over and stood beside me. I asked them where my car was going. They said once my tickets were issued I could ask their supervisor. Right, everything was decided by the supervisor. And the young cops' job was to make sure I did not escape. How was I going to escape with my car!
So my car was gone, and I was still waiting for my tickets. One cop said "woooo, it's cold."
"I thought your uniform was quite warm." I said.
"No, it's not. Do you want to wait in our car? It is not comfortable but it's warmer than standing outside."
I sat on the back seat. Not "in" the seat because it was hard and plastic.
I felt like a criminal. The glass between me and the cops might be bullet-proof. I started shaking. I was still cold in the police car. The hard plastic seat was cold.

Finally, the supervisor came and gave me the tickets.
"Go to the station first thing tomorrow. Don't wait if you want to have your car back before the weekend. The station does not open during the weekend."
"OK. Thank you. Can you give me a ride home?"
"Where is your place?"
"South Orange."
"Where is South Orange?" I could not believe he lied to my face! You don't know where South Orange is? It's just five blocks away!
"Uh, do you know South Orange Avenue? My place is close to the South Orange Train Station."
"You," he talked to the young cops in the car with me, "took her to the border."

After the supervisor left, I asked what he meant by "border". Oh, he meant the border between South Orange and Orange. WTF
On the way toward South Orange Avenue, one cop asked my address and I knew they would drive me home not the border.
They turned on hip-hop music and started chatting and laughing while I was sitting very uncomfortably on the back seat.
They dropped me home and made sure that I entered the building. They were nice to me. One came out of the car and opened the door for me. Of course, I could not open the door because I was on the criminal seat. The door had to be opened with a cop's key. They were nice because they told me I'd be alright and everything would be cleared with no guilt charges. They kept reminding me that I should get my car back first thing in the morning.

First thing I did as entering the apartment was to turn on the computer.
I needed to know how I was going to show a valid registration card and rescue Bungbung in the morning. The PennDOT website allows online registration, which is followed by a temporary registration sheet that has to be printed out.
I don't have a printer.
I didn't know how to get to Orange at sunrise.
I texted Kim and begged her to call me as soon as she saw the message.

At 7:30am, Kim picked me up and drove me to our office. I printed out the temporary registration. She drove me to the Orange Police Station. I paid the towing fee. I got Bungbung back.

It was of course not over. My court day was Dec 5. No matter if I was pleading guilty or not, I had to go to court.
Well, I was not surprised. I had had experience with New Jersey court.

The temporary registration only worked for 10 days.
The actual one never came.
After the temporary registration expired, I drove anxiously everyday. My heart beat went up every time I passed by a cop. I only drove to work. I stopped driving to tango. Well, but I kept on tangoing. Train was kinda reliable

I was brave to drive to Department of Motor Vehicle (DMV).
Basically, I should've had my car registered in New Jersey in a month after moving here. So I filled the registration forms.
I failed.
The reason was I did not show the title of the car. The title was with my loaner, VW Bank. So DMV gave me a piece of paper, which I had to fax or mail to VW and asked VW to mail the title to DMV. Once DMV received the title, DMV would send a postcard to me, telling me I could go in and register.

Before the court day, I did not hear anything from DMV. My Pennsylvania registration card never arrived.


(... to be continued)

witty tango chat

I have totally accepted Jason's wise suggestion and embraced this idea and written it on my wall.
This acceptance is very rare, and Jason is very honored that I happily live with it.

Of course, he did not mean to be wise. He was simply chatting with me and comforting my frustration in many aspects of my current situation: being compared with relatives' friends' children who make tons of money with an BA degree, being reminded that I will be kick out of the States if I don't get a real job soon, being dependent on a good friend who may be annoyed by me after two weeks of taking care of me, and you know, lots of things I can complain about work and lots of things out of control.
I want to quit. Quit everything. I want to have a loooooong vacation.
Suddenly, a stroke of idea came to him out of the sky and was converted into words and was delivered by Jason.
He said "Since you are looking for a horse on a donkey, then you should have the relaxed attitude of riding a donkey while looking for a horse."

I felt like some great master just gave me a bat of good hit right on my head.
(Exactly, here is another literal translation of a Chinese idiom.)
I was like "oh, Jason, this is the first time I feel it's wonderful to have your friendship." He said thankyou.

Of course our conversation was in Chinese. And the idioms make much more sense in Chinese. But I want to share this with all of you who can't read Chinese. As Yoshi pointed out, even though he learned traditional Chinese characters in school, he could not read the whole article with them and especially the characters he learned were more meaningful in Japanese than in Chinese.
I am typing out all the train of thoughts running in and out of my head for the reason of making this blog entry long. Yoshi also pointed out that the length of my posts indicates my intelligence.
I was like "oh, is that so? I always know I am intelligent."
This called tango chat. One more phrase that I coined.

Sometimes tango chat on the dance floor can go very well like most conversations between Jason and me on gmail, skype, or MSN. (Well... probably less often than "sometimes". Most of the time, I wish most dancers just danced and interpreted the music in a way that I also would interpret. Chatting can be distracting or disappointing.)
This reminds me of the old college days when I chatted with people on BBS all night. Nothing serious but simply playing with words and random ideas to impress the other person.
However, as me getting older and as the number of friends getting bigger, this fun is getting much less frequent and relaxing.

The difficulty of finding a person who understands my humor and who is not easily offended is actually not as difficult as the difficulty of finding myself relaxed.
Jason said I am hitting the so-far biggest crisis of my life.
Probably because I am in the crisis, I find his comments wiser than usual. Usually it was me who analyzed his trouble.

I called Toby and Cathleen. I found their office numbers on their department website.
I was going to call Toby first and only. He was impossible to reach. So I called Cathleen to hunt Toby down. Lucky for me that she was in office. We talked for a while, and she gave me their home number and cell phone numbers. So I found Toby! We talked for a longer while.
I realized how much I had missed them, and how much I miss research life in a university.
It is relaxing.
Of course, I am lucky to have Toby and Cathleen as my academia parents to begin with. They set a model for me. A research career can be a good and rewarding career. Rewarding in many ways.
If I stay in academia, university will do me much more good than anywhere else.
If I don't go to a university, I probably will not stay in academia.

Relaxation is the key.
When I dance well is when I am relaxed and enjoying every movement.
Being able to tango chat with peers, supervisors, dance partners, and friends is essential. Somehow, this essential element does not exist in situation where I need it. Not everyone is like Toby or Cathleen.

A donkey does not listen. In both Chines and English, a donkey does not stand for a positive image. It is either stupid or stubborn. It does not run fast. It is ok but not ideal. I can't tango with a donkey. A donkey does not know how to tango chat.
Let's find me a horse or two.
A qualified "horse" has to be
a) a guy who has good connection with me on and off the dance floor, so that he and I can tango and tango chat and on and on and on...., or
b) a job where I can work with people who have good connection with me on and off the professional setting, so that they and I can tango chat and find witty ideas out of the chat.

It's not too ideal to be possible. People have done it. I am looking for my horses.

無奈看美國人

我突然有興趣看美國總統黨內初選(Iowa caucuses)是因為 Chris 跟我說民主黨的黨內初選很有趣。

前些日子，還有接下來幾天我都住在 Kim 和 Chris 家裡，因為我的車子還在車廠裡呆著，已經呆在那裡超過一個禮拜了，保險公司都還沒有去看一眼，因為六個工作天還沒有到期，因為他們就是不想要在六個工作天之前去把工作搞定。第六個工作天是禮拜一，保險公司的人會去看車(我希望)，然後打電話給我，然後我去簽名，然後車廠才會開始修車，這一切莫名其妙的緩慢，而我只能無奈的等待。

沒有經費租車的情況之下，Kim 好心的讓我住在她家裡，所以我可以跟她一起上下班。
夫妻兩個住一棟 town house，是頗浪費空間，而且浪費能源，光是暖氣費每個月就要上千塊錢，所以 Kim 為了省錢，暖氣開很低，在家穿毛衣，我睡覺要蓋兩層被。
他們租這房子是因為 Kim 的老公 Chris 是傳教士，房子是跟教堂租的，教堂租給傳教士可以省房地税，房子租金也比一般房子便宜。所以可以說是雙方互惠，但是冬天的暖氣帳單是真的嚇人，比我的房租還貴。

Chris 跟我說民主黨的黨內初選是大家排排站，站在自己心怡的候選人面前來投票，我一點都不相信他。
民主黨就是藍色的黨，就是美國現在的在野黨，就是柯林頓的黨，就是比較開明的黨，怎麼可能黨內初選是這種公開透明而且不太有理的方式？
而且黨內初選那天傍晚很冷很冷，美國東北只有華氏十度(攝氏零下十二度)，愛荷華那邊更冷，因為是大湖邊，所以水氣大，下大雪呢，誰要在太陽下山之後出門去投票啊？

Chris 也不知道為什麼是從愛荷華開始黨內初選，而不是全國每一個州同一時間黨內初選，他給我的理由是：某個歷史理由於是成為傳統。
反正好幾個月以前，所有的候選人和媒體已經集結到愛荷華，去拉票助選看好戲。

共和黨就是紅色的黨，就是美國現在的執政黨，就是布希的黨，就是莫名其妙整天上帝來上帝去的保守黨，他們的黨內初選是不公開不記名的投票，一張票算一張票，不能反悔重新投。

藍黨的黨內初選可以反悔重新投。

不可置信對吧？
我是完全一個不相信 Chris，我說傳教士先生不要愛說笑，怎麼可以重新投啊？
CNN 馬上派人講解：
首先，想要投票的人要準時的到指定的場所，時間一到關門不放狗。
開始數人頭。
假設這一房間裡有 100 個人，時間一到，大家開始走向每個候選人的隊伍，一排一排的站好。
然後數人頭，看看每一排(每個候選人排)有幾個人，然後算百分比，如果某一排少於 15% ，這一排人就要放棄這一個候選人，去其他排。
所以，假設候選人甲前面只有 12 個人，這 12 個人就要解散去其他候選人前面排隊，走去他們心目中第二人選的時候，可能會經過其他隊伍，這些人就開始被拉票 (場面就像你想像的一樣搞笑)。同時呢，候選人甲在那一個房間裡失去被選舉權，不會再有人去站在他前面。
這個過程一再重複，直到沒有一個候選人面前少於 15% 的投票。

這就是為什麼藍黨的開票時間比紅黨的久。
Chris 說他們選主教也是這麼選的。
喔．．．我無言以對。
不過我還是希望藍黨年底大選時會當選總統，有個快樂藍藍年。

在愛荷華州，沒有黨籍的人可以參加任何一個黨的黨內初選。
在賓州就不行，Kim 沒有登記屬於任何一個黨，而她還沒正式過戶到紐澤西，所以她不能參加賓州或是紐澤西的黨內大選。
這樣的法規應該跟政府沒有什麼關係，為什麼還是各州興政呢？Kim 和 Chris 說不知道。
那晚在愛荷華州，許許多多沒有黨籍的人都去參加藍黨的初選。
藍黨初選裡，被迫放棄心中第一人選而要去第二人選面前排排站的人，大部分都走向歐巴馬。
無奈歸無奈，這個遊戲規則的產物是我喜歡的，我也就不那麼無奈了。

週末我不想麻煩這對夫婦，所以禮拜五(昨天)下班我請我老闆送我回家。
今天一大早我去銀行辦事，還在慶幸說沒想到銀行禮拜六會營業，結果遇到一個超級笨新手。
我要買一張 cashier's check，花了我一整個早上，和四張 cashier's checks 。
那小姐首先給我一張支票，沒有撕開銀行存根，我提醒她，她也沒說謝謝，我仔細一看支票，我的名字拼錯了。誰是 Peni 啊？
我跟她說，她再看了一次我的文件、提款卡、駕照，然後重開一張支票給我，一聲對不起也沒有。我拿到這第二張支票，名字還是錯的。誰是 Penii 啊？
我當然要再指證她，她卻一副臭臉似乎怪我沒有講清楚，我指著所有文件跟她說，每一個文件上的名字都是一樣的，請你看清楚再打上支票去。
於是第三張支票開出來，我檢查我的名字，終於對了。
然後我問她，一切都 ok 嗎？我還需要跟她拿什麼資料或是簽名嗎？她搖搖頭，說我可以走了。

接著我到郵局去把支票寄了。
回家路上買早餐，到一家新開的咖啡廳，窗明几淨，老闆親切美麗，點了一份 panini ，老闆說要三分鐘，我等啊等，十分鐘十五分鐘過去，老闆跟我說不好意思，panini 放在那熱熱的壓製器裡太久，cheese 融的太糟糕，要重弄一份給我。
我看個那幾個大學工讀生，一看就知道是新手，不知道食材放哪裡，端盤子的時候紙巾刀叉到處散落。
我無奈的對老闆點頭微笑，她給我一杯咖啡。
繼續坐在咖啡店裡等待，兩個小男孩用尖叫聲欺負他們的爸爸和咖啡廳裡的人，然後我的手機響了。
是銀行打來的，那個笨蛋業務員跟我說她開給我的支票不能用，因為她沒有簽名。
我立刻毛起來，我很少毛起來的，今天我是一點耐性都沒有了。
我說那張支票已經丟進郵桶了，妳必須再開給我一張，而且我要妳的上司來幫我做好這件事情。
她說喔。
我說妳連一句道歉都沒有嗎？
她才說 I'm sorry.
我心想 You'd better be.

拎著我好不容易等到的早餐，其實已經快中午了，再次到銀行。
那小姐指著她上司跟我說她上司會處理，我看著她，我說我要妳一句道歉，她道歉的時候的眼神不是道歉而是尷尬。
她上司的道歉才給了我「誠意」的感覺。

我又到了郵局，又寄了支票，還要記得禮拜一要交代人家會收到兩張支票，其中一張要作廢。

美國人．．．
就算執政黨換成藍色的，美國人還是美國人。

happy blue year

This title is to echo with Michael Moore's latest letter on his website.
Just watched Sicko. I went on his website and wanted to see if any updates of good news to turn the States healthcare system into a universal/national one.
But I was distracted by his latest letter because I'd watched the caucuses last night too. And I am also happy that the red state Iowa seems to turn blue.

Give what people want. That sounds democracy.

I am really shocked by the fact that USA is sooooo way behind the other developed countries or so-called the third-world countries or Taiwan in health care.
I am really saddened by the stories of American citizens going bankrupt and death for not being able to pay medical bills.
I am really determined not to apply for US citizenship or to raise a family in the States until the health care is universal in this country.

Give what people want. However, educate people well and provide correct information before letting people pick what they want. This is true democracy.

As the British professor said in Sicko (the below video is actually longer than the edited version in Sicko), some governments do not like well-educated people and prefer to terrify people. Because the educated are difficult to control. Because the terrified usually helplessly follow whatever they are told. This view is consistent with what Michael Moore is proposing in Bowling for Columbine (which remains my favorite of his films).


Now Sicko can only be seen on DVD in the States (I believe). Please watch the features too or you can click here to see 30 seconds of each extra and find it on YouTube. See which country beats France in health care! I wish I could apply for the citizenship in Norway if I could ever learn how to speak Norwegian.


And more upsetting stories are told in the features. Those poor people.
The poor have no right to get sick or injured in the States. American dream is just a dream way too good to be true.

But my hope is up for the US.
Although I have no right to vote here, I have paid some attention to the presidential candidates, especially Obama and Clinton. I personally prefer Obama.
Both of them belong to the same blue party (which is the classy color of mine). Policy-wise, I don't see much difference between the two. I prefer Obama simply because the feeling he gives. He is sincere, honest, confident, humble, knowledgeable, sensible, humorous, and hope-providing.
I feel he is the one who can really make bad to good in the US.
Bring the troop back home.
Build up the universal health care system.
Slow down the climate change.
Make education affordable.
I'm not saying that the other democrats are against the above. I'm saying that Obama is the one who may actually do the above -- as we Taiwanese say: those election checks will not bounced back.

I admit my little knowledge in politics. But I know many Americans know less than me about what is good for them. They should watch Michael Moore's films. They should watch Colbert Report. They should read newspapers. They should travel around their country and if possible to other countries. They should learn to know what is good for them and pick a leader who can lead them to what is good for them.
Vote for a blue candidate, Americans.

Michael Moore is not God. He is a man who knows how to tell and spread stories to people need to know the stories.
Al Core isn't, either. He is a man who worries about us and the next generations on earth.
Colbert Report is a comedian news, which is a great funny way to obtain news.
Listening to these people is not following what they say, but learning things from other angles. I found many Americans very conservative and uptight about their mind. Open up, people.

As to the presidential election in Taiwan this year, I wish it a happy blue year too :)
I have voted green before. But President Chen's administration is trying to make Chen a tyrant. He is humiliating what he had been fighting for and what we Taiwan have become. His party does not deserve another presidential term.

Happy Blue 2008
Stay Healthy

red balloon

Ignoring my humble nature and easily-feel-guilty selfishlessness, I asked Yang for help (perhaps she has been used to my request). Her work ID got me a ticket to MoMA for free (as if she did not give me a valuable xmas/birthday/new year present, which in fact she did and did a lot).

Ignoring the long lines and messy crowd, I insisted to enter the museum. No one could stop me.

This was not the best time of the year to visit MoMA, or anywhere in Manhattan. Tourists were e-ve-ry-whe-re. I could hear all kinds of languages and hardly English with a New York accent. Thus, the background noise (i.e., all kinds of languages but English) could not be automatically processed by my language system, and actually my mind reached a peaceful state of quietness.

From time to time, I heard Mandarin with a Taiwanese accent, and I would smile a bit in my head. The voice just simply chimed with one of my silent voices.

A long ladder and other "sculpture" pieces from Martin Puryear were first things people and me noticed. Sculpture is quoted "" because I am now very confused by the term "sculpture". If anything hand-made in a 3-D way could be categorized as a sculpture, then this category was so unnecessary. But art is art. The ladder moved me, so it was art.

It reminded me of an old dream I had. I had had this dream many times before, if my memory was correct and conscious about dreams, college years. The dream was about climbing stairs. Up and up to somewhere high. The situation or story lines might be different each time, but the stairs would appear at the end of the dream. I would wake up and wonder " Why am I always ended up at the stairs? This is so boring." I don't like boring dreams. Anyway, some time later this dream stop repeating.

Also, size does matter. The movement of heads enhanced the appreciation of this particular art piece.

I stayed and stared at the ladder for minutes and decided to head to my favorite place: where Miro, Piccaso, Monet, Hopper, and Klee's works are.

But I did not remember where the place was. I only remembered all I wanted to see were on the same floor.

So I walked up floor by floor. I skimmed through gallary by gallary on each floor.

I did not just get an exhibition paper but wanted to give the contemporary modern art a chance to impress me.

The more floors I climbed up, the more I was eager to see Miro, Piccaso, Monet, Hopper, and Klee. I realized my preference: dead people made classic modern art that moves my heart.

The fifth floor of MoMA is where I wanted to be. The heaven of my visual sensation.

It was very crowded but not annoying. No one pushed over if I stood in front of one painting for more than 15 minutes.

What was I thinking when staring at a Picasso?

Nothing. The beauty of nothing-ness is the purity of beauty.

And I smiled and moved on to the next nothing-ness-creating painting.

I sat down in front of Monet's water lily pond.

I remember the day I first saw it was a great romantic day. It was the day I found the floor of MoMA perfect for tango. That was a memorable day.

The key of being classic is being timeless.

Everyone should visit Frank Lloyd Wright's houses in Fallingwater and Kentuck Knob. These two houses were built separately in time (20 years) and in distance (about 15 miles). You don't feel you are younger than these buildings. Fallingwater was designed in 1935. You don't feel disconnected from these buildings. There is no age. There is no time.

That is what I felt when I visited the buildings in the middle of nowhere of Pennsylvania.
That is also what I felt when I was on the fifth floor of MoMA.
There is no time. You just want to be surrounded and be a part of the classic modern art.

I stared at Miro's red balloon. Actually it is called The Birth of the World, but I prefer to call it Miro's red balloon. It reminds me of Klee's red balloon, which should be stored in Guggenheim. At least, that's where I believe I saw it.

I stared at Miro's red balloon and thought about Klee's red balloon and wanted to become the red balloon. I cannot find any image (poster or postcard or e-images googled) comparable to the original paintings. I also knew I would not take a good picture of them. So I am not going to post the copies here.

I just stared and immersed in the imagery of me being the red balloon on Miro's canvas, sometimes flying to Klee's. There was no time. There was no me.

What does it mean being the red balloon? How did I feel being the red balloon? Nothing. Nothing. You know? Or you don't have to know. It's nothing, which means something to me, which is the point.

And I felt satisfied and smiled and left the 5th floor. That was a warm sunny afternoon of Dec 29, 2007.