Flirty Toilet

I like things that are straightforward, especially my toilets. Per the norm for obsessive signage in all areas of public transportation, these signs are found inside the subway station restrooms. "Come Closer Please" - very polite, suggestive even. Hopefully I get a phone number after this encounter, if not I'll settle for a thorough hand washing. I wonder if this was a literal translation or if it is something the engineers just settled on to encourage foreigners not to make a mess. I have a few suggestions to improve this message...

- Come Closer Please, You Smell Great

- Have We Met Before?

- Comer Closer Please...Wow!

- Welcome Back!

- It Was Good For Me

- You From Around Here?

But like all things public transportation, the facilities shine and sparkle, my nose twitches from the bleached air. Unlike some transit abominations (South Station, Boston or Port Authority, NYC), I don't feel the need to light my clothes on fire after I exit. Instead of using acetone to wash my hands and a therapist to cope with my pathological fear of contamination, Taipei stocks velvety Softsoap Antibacterial Liquid Hand Soap with Light Moisturizers with hint of vanilla scent. My skin celebrates!

You're doing it wrong.

Coming next...

Are you at a bar and have had too much to drink? Trying to enjoy the contents of your stomach a second time in reverse? Need to make upchuck and don't know where to go? I will show the world!

Million Dollar Question

"Congratulations" a stranger says, "here is $1,000,000."

A good day for you, indeed, but what do you do with it? People I know might say buy a fancy car, get plastic surgery, pay off loans, have a party with an endangered species buffet, quit my job or take my girlfriend out for an amazing dinner at the Olive Garden. All good ideas, a good mix of the selfish and the selfless. But what about the youth? What do kids, especially Taiwanese kids forced to attend English school taught by a doofus foreigner, want to do with free money? I got a preview of their innermost desires on Friday.

I was teaching the 10-year olds - a bright young group full of future lawmakers, ditch diggers, scientists and crash test dummies. To begin classes, I always have some kind of warm-up which can be in the form of a sentence, question, activity or nap. This afternoon was...

"What would you do if you had $1,000,000 dollars?"

Teacher Andrew: "I would buy a fast car."

Of course I wouldn't but whatever. Besides, I couldn't drive fast in this city even if I wanted too. The roads are as clogged as Dick Cheney's arteries and the ubiquitous scooter would block my path like a boss. At first I wrote "I would buy a case of Dom Perignon's Moet et Chadon, a pet anteater and a Faberge egg" but tragically I was unable to translate any of the items on my wishlist. So I went with the car, easy is good. Students began to answer (all of the answers 100% unchanged), initially with the moral correctness of a saint: "I would donate it, I would give it to my mom" and "I would give it back." Wait, what? To who? Take the money and run you fools! Do you realize how many Pokemon you can buy? Have you ever had candy for breakfast, lunch and dinner? You could buy Giraffe school, fire me, pay me to be your servant and make me do humiliating things all day - too late on that last part. I congratulated them on their earnest kindness towards others, BUT, what fun would that be? I changed the question to "What would you buy with..." Finally, some creativity. Here are the top answers, the names have been changed to protect the incompetent...

4. Melinda: "I would buy 10,000 tomatoes."

She doesn't look Italian but I've been wrong about these things before. What I loved about this answer was the specificity (say that three times fast). First, 10,000. I've been alive for 8,976 days which means a tomato a day, every day for my whole life. Second, tomatoes. I don't like any product in the world to have 10,000 of it. If you know me well, maybe Frank's RedHot but still, wow.

3. Patricia: "I would buy 100 mice and one snake."

Somebody start hugging this girl. I'm sure at first the snake would be pumped. But after looking at the varmints for a little while, I think it would just end up wondering where to put all of these furry entrees. Kind of like having 10,000 tomatoes. "...no, yeah I like mice. But. You know I eat one every couple weeks, right?"

2. Buddy: "I would buy your head."

Good hair day? More like mesmerizing hair day. What would he do with it? Bowling? Keep it in a jar? I didn't dig to find the answer, some things are not worth finding out. Better idea Buddy, just take a picture. Please? Is that sword real? Ok that's not funny. Put it down, seriously. No? Ok, minus two points. Yeah, I thought so.

1. Jack: "I would fight my cat."

Yes. Amazing. The students didn't think it was very funny, they all donated to Peta last year. I guess having loads of money allows you to follow your passions: Jimmy likes animal combat. Iconic match-ups like "Ali v Frazier," "De La Hoya v Mayweather," "Tyson v Holyfield" will be replaced by "Jack v Mittens" or "Jack v Snowball." He's a bit puny, my money is on the feline.

A foreign teacher told me that sometimes the kids have a hard time being creative. I disagree, they just need to be reassured that being creative is fun and appropriate in the right environment. During their normal school day, students are drilled on the finer points of grammar, spelling and the proper usage of the verbs. But when they come to my class, they are able to spice it up a little bit: instead of Mr Smith as a subject, let's use Lady Gaga. Rather than "run a race" we could "run to the moon." In any case, there is no such thing as having too much creativity, as long as you don't get stuck with 10,000 of anything.

Halloween Evidence

Do I like dancing? Sure. Am I good at it? Heck yes, here is the proof.

Teacher Andrew and super-Teacher Celeste wanted to do a little something 'special' for our lovely students at Giraffe School in Tianmu. Private lessons are available however there is a three month wait, email to get on the list and men need not apply.

This Bar Has Wheels

Late December in New England: frozen sidewalks, windburn, darkness, depression.

Late December in Taiwan: frozen daquiris, sunburn, brightness, depression ("Aw dude, that beer stand is far away, bummer.").

These are the problems that ravage the tropical landscape of Kenting, Taiwan. Truly hard times have befallen Brendan and I; should we go surfing or just lay on this velvety, white sand? Ugh, I hate making difficult decisions. And where the hell is my sunscreen?

About a month ago, I asked my terrific employers how long my Christmas break was? They informed me that Christmas Eve was on a Friday, that leaves Saturday and Sunday, the whole day is all yours kiddo! Vomit. No Christmas break? No time away from my ungrateful, extremely well-behaved and literate students? Does Jesus know about this? I've got news for you Giraffe, if I don't take a few days off, these kids are going to start learning the English language with a Southern accent and vocabulary words that would make a prison guard blush. My bosses don't speak great English, I guess my wild gesturing and barbaric tone scared them into giving me a few days off.

After Giraffe's Christmas Spectacular (will post later in the week), the foreign roommates went out for some Christmas Eve libations, ending very late and discussing the brilliance and fortitude behind the Christmas Yule Log DVD. SPOILER ALERT: It's a video of a log fire set to Christmas tunes, wish I could have been at the production meeting for this blockbuster. After three hours of sleep, or decomposing, Brendan and I made our way to the main station in Taipei to board the high-speed rail (HSR). The train moves at 150 MPH, has cabin attendants, assigned seating and can offer some of the most amazing views of the Taiwanese countryside. I learned all of this from the brochure stuffed into the seat in front of me, I spent the two hours on board drooling into my armpit. From the last stop, the southern city Kaoshiung, and another one hour by bus, we made it to Kenting - a little smelly, confused, sweaty but conscious. Temporarily.

The small town hugs the coast for about a mile, one main road allowing beach-goers access to the rocky shoreline. Kenting consists of the following: a mega-resort filled with people who wear their sandals in a pool, an elementary school, two vans that sell alcohol (or two bars with engines), small restaurants and bars, dozens of surf shops, a impressive population of wild dogs and scooter salesmen up the wazoo. Quiet, unassuming, the area is frequented by foreigners and I think English here was more usable than Taipei. Most of the action is on the main drag, a beach anchoring either end, vendors and food carts straddling the road at night. The specialty? Grilled cuttlefish, think squid's better looking cousin. Since crazy ideas like "refrigeration" and "sanitation" top the vendor list of "Things I Don't Give A Crap About," I skipped these particular purveyors.

There is a pleasant national park to visit with the normal features: visitors center, nature park, hiking, bus-loads of Japanese, conservation center to name a few. We did a short hike, filled with ups and downs, impressive views, rocks, and trees, and shrubs, and plants, and birds, and blah blah blah. Sorry folks, you get the idea, it was really nice and I really enjoyed it but I can only elaborate so much before I start to cut and paste from National Geographic.

They will rent scooters to anybody. Sure you could walk most places, but why not take your life into your own hands for a few days? Could be fun! I rented from a gentleman by the side of the road; eating a sandwich, balancing a cellphone between his shoulder and ear, writing out the lease form. Definitely legit. After I cleaned off the lettuce from my helmet, rock and roll. I'm sure to fit in like a local, no problem just ease the throttle and OH MY GOD A BUS! No problem.

Wherever Brendan and I go, we make friends, we did so at two competing bars. But as I alluded, these are not your typical bars. Sure, we visited a few brick and mortar watering holes but something didn't feel right; I couldn't take the bar with me after I had my fill.

Van bar numero uno is Mark Bar. Nicely stocked, well-known, a locals place. We happened upon this vehicle by accident; the sound of hippy drums drifted down the coast and called us like the Siren's song. And the Siren is Jagermeister. We linked up with many locals, learned about what beaches to visit and why living in a city is so "not righteous, maaaan" and "totally bogus, maaaan." Just kidding, the locals did describe the rhythm of Kenting as more mellow. Mellow as in drink until dawn, go surfing, maybe work a little, and repeat kind of mellow, maaaaaan.

Mark's Bar is situated on the back of an over-sized flatbed , fully stocked with electricity and coolers. Besides wine and finer spirits, it offered everything one could need and even a few challenges. For example if you could ride a bicycle the size of a terrier inside a small hula-hoop three times, you win a free shot of tequila. Or you could fall on your face one time and buy the damn thing.

The rival across the street was Alex's Bar. In his mind, Alex is a black, Jamaican musician, touring the world spreading reggae rhythms, using an incomprehensible accent and feeling 'ire. Instead, he is a Taiwanese bartender, touring the coast spreading hangovers in a van using an incomprehensible accent. Not too far off. But he was a true gentleman and one of the friendliest people we met. The van is all reggae, all the time. His chariot decked out in rastafari colors, furniture made by hand from driftwood, homages to reggae legends, amazing music playing at all times. We were treated with true island hospitality and talked the night away over cold beer and a magic potion. The name wasn't very friendly but it included the word 'bucket' and some a combination of foul words that rhyme. Take a small, plastic beach bucket, a pint of cheap whiskey, a can of soda and an energy drink and all of a sudden this reggae club is hopping. And after another one, you'll think you're at a bar that you can drive! Excellent! But drinking and driving is NOT excellent man, drinking and scootering is way more fun. Jokes...

We sat on a beach, we swam, we ate fresh seafood, we stayed out late. We had lunch at a bistro with a French owner (Chez Papa, amazing brunch!) and the nicest wife who would happily taunt our pathetic appearances after a long night, "Oh, 1:00 lunch, early for you today." I'm going to come back; warm weather, cheap hotels, reggae music, surfers, cute girls and a whole lot of nothing. And when I'm back at Giraffe, getting poked, prodded, smacked and teased, I'll be daydreaming of that day; the feathery sand, warm breezes, refreshing ocean water, briny smells and balmy temperatures. I miss it already, maaaaaaaan.

Some Turkey, One Drinking Contest, No Football

I suppose two out of three ain't bad. The last Thursday in November is always the best one, other Thursdays don't even come close. The Pilgrims called it "Thanksgiving" and Squanto's people called it "these idiots have belt buckles on their hats." Silly Pilgrims. Modern America has taken the premier American feast to new levels since the it's inception - Indian corn has been replaced by potatoes, a variety of fowl replaced by one gigantic genetically modified so-fat-and-juicy-we-redesigned-ovens turkey and Pilgrim smallpox replaced by pumpkin pie.

In Taipei, the excitement of gastrointestinal discomfort, bloating and pure bodily fatigue does not resonate with the population. The ideas of moderation, useful energy and activity are still strong within these fine people. Hopefully, they'll see the light. And the light is gravy.

This was the second Thanksgiving (from here on, Fakesgiving) I have celebrated abroad in the past three years. Two years ago I was in Sydney, Australia with a terrific group of Americans and we were able to make an unbelievable meal that was enjoyed for days. Here in Taiwan, little bit different. In fact, this Fakesgiving...I had to...EAT OUT! And it was...at...A BAR!!! Instead of my aunt and uncle's cozy, quintessential New England home in Massachusetts, Brendan and I stuffed ourselves into a dimly lit, noisy, foreigner bar filled with intoxicated nincompoops. Let's go to the footage...

The Food: Yeah, pretty good! The starter was a soup, like a tomato chowder. Tiger beer? Delicious, of course. Next was a Fakesgiving plate with all the usual suspects present and accounted for. I know for a fact the cooks are Taiwanese and they did a spot on job of recreating this American masterpiece. I'm sure they asked each other if foreigners really eat this crap and the answer is YES! We love it. In fact, I eat until my pants don't fit correctly. We eat until our cholesterol level goes up a minimum five points. We eat until our B.O. smells like cranberries, stuffing lingers on our breath, food gets into our hair AND THEN WE EAT MORE.

And then we do it for the next 2 - 4 days until there is nothing left, not even our dignities.

Oh, and we got a slice of pumpkin pie. Back to quaint, colonial New England.

The Drinking Contest: Right from the get-go, I do not advocate this type of behavior. It is irresponsible, dangerous and totally awesome so unless you want to be a total bad ass and totally be like the Motley Crue video you saw on MTV where the dude gets all the chicks, DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME! Do it at a bar, much safer.

It wasn't even my intention, idea, or choice to participate. As it happened, Brendan and I tied another team in the Fakesgiving trivia game, ten correct answers to ten correct. The bar owner said the only way to settle the score was a drink-off. Now, I didn't want to get deported, and of course, I'm a stickler for following rules. After a quick team meeting, and a comparison of belly bloat, it was decided that I would represent us.

Nervously, we went upstairs to stare down our opponents. Who is my competition? We were pointed to a group of men around their fifties, busy selecting their prize-fighter. They chose a Taiwanese, a bit taller than me, nicer hair but definitely not funnier, I could tell. Age is on my side, but is experience his advantage? Two glasses of Carlsberg, the bartender explained the rules and cries "3...2...1...DRINK!" And I'm off! The first two gulps go down faster than a lightning strike, almost losing control. I'm not looking at my enemy, just focusing on my dissolving glass and looking like a bad ass. At this point, I know I'm a bad ass, I'm almost done. Glug glug glug, winner! This guy didn't stand a chance, apparently going to college in the United States is useful in many applications.

Conclusion: Unfortunately, I didn't get any chicks. I did not sign any autographs, rip my shirt off or smash any guitars. But I did win more alcohol! Even better, our names are on the bottle and the bar owner said he'll hold it for us. This Fakesgiving turned out to be sweet; we ate, we drank, we enjoyed the company of others and we looked like bad asses - exactly the way Pilgrims and Indians had wanted it.

Halloween Part II - Teacher Andrew Gone Wild

Like most Halloween nights, the difference between what you think will happen and what actually transpires can be unbelievable. For example, the woman who owned the Korean restaurant we dined at thought I was Justin Bieber and insisted on feeding me. A few times actually - this particular time she put together a lettuce wrap with steak that would make P.F. Chang want to hang up his chopsticks forever. Crazy, unreal good. If Koreans eat like we did on a regular basis, their culture has learned to completely ignore calories, forever remaining skinny. No less than two soups, multiple plates of meats cooked on tabletop griddles, dozens on tiny bowls with colorful contents, a bucket of rice, several fish, noodles, more meats - after the first five courses I blacked out and woke up resting comfortably in my dessert. Far and away, one of the best meals here thus far.

Luckily for me, I had a sweet and thoughtful coworker named April who adopted me into her group of friends. Little Red Riding Hood periodically checked in to make sure all was well, namely that I didn't jam my chopsticks into my nose or burp loud enough for the other end of the table to hear - too late on both accounts.

After avoiding any major crises at dinner, let the night begin. We all put on some kind of getup and hit Tianmu, the side of town where April and I work and others reside. There was a big gathering in the town plaza, plenty merchants and vendors selling Halloween-themed treats, drinks and wares. Around the corner there was a haunted 'house' we walked through; lots of people, a few screams from my new friends but at the expense of sounding like a super manly man, I wasn't very frightened in the least. I've experienced scarier situations on laundry day. I have a feeling it's because the haunted houses and trails in Connecticut, where people chase you with revved up chainsaws, is a little more worrisome than a short man behind a curtain with Hello Kitty backpack. Still scary, different reason.

After party, excellent. Grab some adult beverages, a karaoke room, cool people, strange circumstances, mix thoroughly and you've got a good time. The new location was the basement in an apartment building where somebody lived. A comfortable room, complete with professional karaoke systems built in, was the staging area for a night of hysterics.

The Taiwanese have a liquor called kaoliang (pronounced 'gow-lee-ung') which is similar to rocket fuel in strength and tequila in taste. A clear solvent, capable of softening concrete, was the catalyst for my nonstop spectacular renditions of Franky Valli's "Can't Take My Eyes Off", Michael Jackson's "Black and White" and outrageous dance moves unfamiliar in the Taiwanese culture.

A few hours later - Drunk Red Riding Hood is comforting a wobbly Snow White, Michael Jackson can't moonwalk a straight line, the Taiwanese ghost disappears and the karaoke machine is silent. Empty bottles and cans, Halloween accessories everywhere, communications in Chinese and English breaking down. Tomorrow morning is going to be...damn, right now.

Great success! An excellent time! Somehow, a few guests were over-served but the authorities are out right now looking for suspects. This Smooth Criminal is Bad, considered Dangerous and should Beat It before there's Blood On The Dance Floor.

Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough.

Halloween Part I - Student Funtivities

Even if you don't live in the United States, I firmly believe that once a year kids are entitled to free candy from strangers without doing any kind of background check. The greatness of Halloween spans the globe and my beloved Giraffe School wisely decided to be a part of this glorious day.

For the month of October, my fellow teachers and I loaded our kids with vocabulary relating to the special day - words like 'Frankenstein, graveyard, ghost' etc. were a part of our everyday English. I had quite a bit of fun with them and we'd play charades to guess the word. For example, a student would walk stiff for 'mummy' or flap their arms for 'bat'. I ran into a bit of trouble when they started nibbling each other for 'vampire' and serious trouble when they started to eat each others' brains for 'zombie'. Very true to life, well done.

On the actual day, classes were cut short to prepare for our night activity, taking the hell-raisers around the town to trick or treat. Dressed like Michael Jackson circa 1982 'Thriller' video, my army of goblins staggered from business to business and singing the classic 'trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something blah blah..'. Being the neighborhood English school, the places we went to were preselected and were patiently awaiting our arrival. After the first couple of groups went through, they were patiently awaiting our immediate departure. I guess a few dozen kids screaming they were going to pull down your underwear unless you gave them candy is bad for business.

Most of the younger kids dressed up - many superheroes, princesses, vampires - but unfortunately some of the older students were approaching the 'too cool' stage of their late childhood. For them smearing some magic marker on their face (my recommendation, of course) qualified them as a bonafide werewolf or grab some toilet and drape it over your head, instant ghost.

I also realized why Halloween in New England is incredible. My young friends and I would walk house to house in a neighborhood with walkways to front doors. You could see who had lights on, enjoyed plenty of space to sprint around the neighborhood feverishly and hide easily from your parents who try to convince you that four pillowcases full of candy is enough. Here, most everybody lives in apartment buildings, the city doesn't stop and the candy here is...unquestionably... TERRIBLE! It's mostly hard candy with strange flavors. I swear I had an asparagus flavor, a pork rind flavor and something I imagine what Windex tastes like. Fools! Do you want kids to hate you? Let me tell you, I think you're doing a good job.

After returning to the elementary school across the street from Giraffe without losing a single kid, there was a treasure hunt outside around the track and playgrounds. We should have been more specific because after we said go, kids were trying to climb trees, shimmy up down spouts, dig holes and break into the buildings. You'd of thought we told them we hid gold bullion or diamonds the way they swarmed the schoolyard like an angry swarm of bees. After coaxing them back inside, the treasures were counted up and school points were given to the team of crafty hunters.

Everybody had a great time - nobody cried and I got a stomachache courtesy of a ear wax-flavored lollipop. Unfortunately, I didn't carve a pumpkin, smash any mailboxes, ring any doorbells and run away, toilet paper any houses or set bags of poo on fire in front of people's houses. All that happened later...