Prangster in Chicago

Silence is preferable, thanks

I have over 40 different blogs in my 'Blogs' bookmark folder at work. Most are about branding or business, many are about advertising, many about design, some about writing. Of course there are a couple of random ones, like a Japanese photographer's blog on mountain-related activities (at least I think so, I'm not actually sure, it's in Japanese) and ParisDailyPhoto, which is so popular already that I won't even bother linking it. More often than not, I find myself scrolling down the list picking one at random for a zap of stimulation, kind of like playing a game of roulette. It's possible I do this twenty times a day, which doesn't reflect well on my concentration span at all.

Today, during a late afternoon 'blog zap', I read something which I think is especially true in the DDG office. What I mean to say is that this is an idea we already practice:

"Speak only if it will improve upon the silence."

Yeah, man.

An endnote to the previous entry, 'Happiness is Bullshit': Time Magazine reports that 34% of Americans say they are "very happy". Hmm. What the hell do they have to be so "very happy" about, I ask? Or is it more accurate to say that they just don't feel sad? But still, very happy? The only explanation I can come up with is that they conducted the survey on Christmas morning, right after all the presents were opened. 

Photo breakdown: I went to see the Botero "fatty people" exhibition in Paris during January, 2004. This was a couple of weeks before I left France. Entering the gallery that rainy day was like stepping into a bubblegum balloon -- it was just another world.

Happiness is bullshit!

I've just finished reading an interview on Salon with an American psychologist whose book basically says happiness isn't normal. In fact, the first line is, "People suffer." Brilliant, huh?

He says what we think is happiness isn't really happiness. Everything from the job we do, to the area we live in, to the clothes we wear and the beer we drink -- we do it all because we think it will make us happy. But in reality, we do these things because we don't think they will make us feel bad. We do things to avoid feeling pain, boredom and dissatisfaction. We indulge ourselves because we think it achieves happiness. So how true is this?

I'm trying to think of an example from my own life, and I guess the simplest one I can come up with right now is this: I started this blog to exercise my unfit writing muscle, so I wouldn't feel uncreative. And maybe to compensate for not doing any real writing. I suppose this blog exists so I don't feel lazy, like my brain is turning into a platter of stinky tofu (a popular Taiwanese dish, by the way). On top of that, I pay hard-earned New Taiwan Dollars to Typepad because I think it's worthwhile not to feel lazy and uncreative. There. That fits right?

Photo breakdown: Sunset at the INT (Institut National de Télécommunications) campus. Taken January, 2004 in Evry.

And lastly, a photo to finish this off. Tall stacks of takeout coffee cups at the DDG office last week.

Shudder-worthy

Tonight, on my way to the 50 Cent concert, I saw this:

A man crouched on a roadside gutter taking a dump. Yes, a dump. A poo. A shit. A crap. It was a very busy street next to Tai Da (Taiwan National University), with cars and buses going by. So strange and gross. I almost didn't believe it until I saw a pale butt cheek peeking out from under his ratty shirt. Even more strange was that he had a bicycle leaning against the wall behind him, and sitting in the front basket were four -- yes, FOUR -- leather briefcases! Black and brown ones. I'm not sure what disturbs me more: That this guy takes a dump in a street gutter, that he feels the need to carry around four briefcases, or that he has anything worthy of storing inside a briefcase in the first place. I guess it's probably toilet paper.

(I would've put a photo up with this post, but you know what? I think it's graphic enough on its own. I'm sorry if you were eating while reading this.)

Baby got back

I just got back from a post-work gym session and after that, a post-gym shopping session. I bought some cargo pants and a stripy men's top from this brand called Izzue, which I don't know, could be Japanese, could be Taiwanese, could be from Hong Kong. You just can't tell these days. The laundry instructions are in Japanese, English and also French, which doesn't give me any clue. It could be the clothing brand of the International Olympic Committee for all I know.

What's weird is I fit into a size 2 (medium) in the men's top. It's even somewhat fitted. Are Asian men really so petite? Or am I chunky right now? God, I shudder at the thought of either one.

And today, I booked plane tickets to Tokyo for April. Horray :)

Taipei is so great, I cry

Taipei's been getting some good touristy press in recent months, most notably a really nice photo spread in Wallpaper last year. Looking at the photos, I couldn't believe how photogenic Taipei seemed...and then I went outside and the disbelief just evaporated from my eyeballs. Anyway, I thought I'd include the links to these articles so we can all rejoice in the fact that Taipei exists. What's also worth rejoicing is that this great city is easily reachable by plane for those who'd like to visit me.

In the Travel+Leisure article, Da An District (on Page 3) is described as one of six hot new Asian neighbourhoods, and more specifically, as "Taipei's designer enclave". I'm not sure how accurate that is, but it's the area I live in, and the area where Grandma and Grandpa live too, so I feel good about that. We are in the designer enclave, yes. And it's just where Grandma and Grandpa belong.

The Wallpaper City Guide has a succinct Top 10 list of things to do, and also lists places to shop, stay, eat, drink etc. Yongkang St is included as a shopping destination, which is bogus, since there is nothing worthwhile to buy there apart from food, so it should probably be put under the "Places to Eat" category. Good one, Wallpaper. Then they describe Shintori as a "a favourite Japanese restaurant for years" or something. That is bogus too. There are a bunch of other, better Japanese restaurants in the city. Mitsui for example. That's been OUR favourite Japanese restaurant...for years! Take that! (Actually Shintori has been an unfavourite of ours ever since Dad got a fish bone stuck in his throat and we had to wait two hours at the medical center. It was very unpleasant for Dad because I suggested he drink some vinegar, and he ended up going through the whole bottle. There just wasn't anything to do but wait. Except for Dad, he got to drink vinegar.)

Finally, the New York Times article mentions Ten Ren tea houses and Eslite bookstore, so it's fine with me.

Photo breakdown: The photo above was taken (outside) the Dragonfly design store in the new Eslite in Xinyi District. It's mentioned in the Wallpaper and NYT articles. People are there all the time, touching things they're not allowed to, and attempting to take photos when it's strictly prohibited. (Not me though, I took this from outside.)

Click to read:

Travel & Leisure -- November 05
Wallpaper City Guide -- December 05
The New York Times -- February 06

Weird scientist!

Happy 24th birthday to my cousin Christine, also known as our family's "Silencer of the Lambs" (actually I just made that up) due to her daily lamb-chopping at the science lab. She says it's to get bone juice for her experiments or something, but we all know she's just a creepy wolf in a mad scientist's costume. Hm, this was supposed to be a happy birthday message, but I guess it didn't turn out that way. Plus, it's late! (Let me quickly tweak the posting date of this entry...)

Here is a photo of us taking advantage of the mirrored ceiling at Eslite Bookstore! Yay! Happy birthday, Cous!

Another day in paradise

Some things that have happened at work recently:

- Nine of us spent an hour this afternoon deciding which chairs we'll get for the new office, wherever that may be.
- I spilled hot coffee all over my desk two days in a row. Second day hot coffee backsplashed onto my t-shirt in a not unattractive pattern. (Oh, I should make t-shirts with spilt coffee all down the front.)
- We had business cards printed. I got five boxes despite having handed out less than 20 in the eight months I've been working so far.
- Oh, this is a biggie. Two new people joined the company. This brings us to a total of ten, which is an annoying cake-cutting number.
- As previously mentioned, I have hit the eight month mark at DDG, which means there are four months left before I have the right to even think about moving to another job. (Note: When I accepted this job, I made the decision to be serious and stuff, and stay at least one year, even if work made me cry or something, which it doesn't. Lucky me.)
- I have completely shattered my new year resolution to dress more professionally to work. Actually, I even cut myself some slack and said "dress more professionally to work every second day."  But I haven't kept it up. I am a slob. I dress worse and worse every day.

Photo breakdown: So this is a photo of my old desk. I took it just after Christmas 2005. See the Christmas mug? It's from Starbucks. See the papers in front of my laptop? Those are ad designs I worked on with Everett. I think that stuff is some of my best work so far, and also the most enjoyable and creative project I've worked on to date. The boo-hoo is that in the end, the client didn't pick the best concept. The pain, the pain. Oh, see my laptop screen? Yes, that is this blog. You are very smart.

That's all. Now I'm going to watch an episode of House.

Daylight and distractions

Yesterday I got an e-mail from my uni writing teacher, Tegan Bennett Daylight, who taught my favourite class throughout the five years I spent in the concrete buildings and grassless grounds of UTS. (Well, four actually, if you discount the year in France, which you really should.) She taught the short fiction class I took in second year, and I don't know how she managed it, but by the end of the semester, she'd made 'writer' or 'novelist' seem like a feasible and sensible career path to follow. Doing anything else would just be a distraction, I think were her words.

In every e-mail Tegan's written me, she's said flat out: "Keep writing" or "Don't stop writing". It's like she knows that without a deadline, or the fear of being critiqued by classmates, me and every other back-seat writer/graduate is nothing but a freaked out career-ist wondering what the hell can be done with a creative writing degree. I myself have wondered, do I have what it takes -- the balls, the perseverence, the freaking talent! -- to do what Tegan's done? (What she's done, incidentally, is write three novels, have two children, be named one of Australia's finest young writers, teach and inspire hundreds of writing students, and write me a much-too-nice reference letter.)

It's quite possible that every time I hear from Tegan, I start to think about this stuff. Why aren't I writing more? Or actually, why don't I write anymore? Where did all that stuff go? I have no idea. Maybe I've got it stored in a little time capsule that a special task force in my brain will discover and open any day now. Or crap -- what if the special task force finds the time capsule but there's nothing inside?!

Maybe Tegan's right. Maybe all this stuff -- brand names, slogans, corporate profiles, meetings, presentations, everything -- it's all just a distraction. And it takes a real balls to admit this, but I think I'm too far distracted and far too brainfried these days to do anything about it.

Playing Russian Dolls

This film has it all: philosophical voiceover, English spoken with a cute French accent, people running through the streets naked, a wedding, Swan Lake, an ageing grandpa, an interracial couple, lesbians, the Eurostar, an Apple Powerbook...

I'm talking about "Russian Dolls", the not-at-all-disappointing sequel to "L'Auberge Espagnol" (The Spanish Apartment), a French film I saw in 2003 during one of the 'Cinema Nights' at INT. I remember "L'Auberge" well because in Paris, Priya and I were both experiencing some of the same stuff that happened in the film, stuff that inevitably happens when you mix different cultures together and throw in language barriers and frustration to the power of ten. The sequel though, is less about finding out who you are, and more about figuring out what you want to do with your life and finding someone to share it with.

I thought it was a weird, stupid title until the very end of the film, when Xavier, the French dude, said this: "I think all the girls I've known or slept with or just desired, they're like a bunch of Russian dolls. We spend our lives playing the game, dying to know who'll be the last. The teeny, tiny one hidden inside all the others. You can't get to her right away. You have to follow the progression. You have to open them one by one, wondering, 'Is she the last?'."

This photo was taken by Helen in June 2005, on the train back to Milan from Bologna. We missed the last train back to Milan that night, and after killing four or five hours, we took the first train out in the morning, along with hundreds of kids leaving some rock concert...hence the homeless-style sleeping you see on the floor of the carriage behind me. We got back to Milan at 7am. Just thinking about that night makes my neck feel sore.

Ramen for life

Back in Taipei, where life passes by like noodle dough through a ramen-making machine...but in a good way. A very good way. Even when the conference call at work on Thursday morning went crap. Crapola. Vomit-style. I still can't complain. Life is good in Taipei. We had a company dinner last night at a Japanese buffet and it was three hours of tempura-eating, sashimi-scoffing, sake and beer-drinking mayhem. Crazy, maniacal laughter all round. My coworkers are fantastic. My boss is cool. We got bonus money again.

So today, my first weekend back, the first post-work weekend this Year of the Dog, I am a cowboy at Rancho Relaxo. Doing laundry, listening to You Am I, soon to flip through the GQ with Heath Ledger on the cover. It's a sunny, lazy day outside and Lien's gonna come over to watch DVDs later tonight. Like I said, life is ramen.