Thoughts all sizes

As someone anonymously commented on this blog once, winter is for lovers and summer is for friends.  So it goes that the key ingredient for an enjoyable season is assembling a summer crew, a group of people that one spends most of their time with over the few special months when the sun shines its longest and brightest.  It is with this group of people that you will develop in-jokes, perhaps your own language, and a love of a dozen or so summer defining songs.

I have been party to several different summer crews, groups situated in K-town and the 'Loo, the CBG and Ottawa.  There are a few defining traits that exist in every summer crew.  For starters, a summer crew will usually consist of four or five core members that hang out consistently, perhaps three to five nights - including weekends - a week.  It is crucial to have a bit of gender balance in your group so that evenings do not get stale and usually two members of the crew will become a couple by the time cooler weather rolls in.  I mean, if you hang out with all bros all summer it is likely you will get into a work-drink-bar routine that misses the essence of what a summer crew is all about.

Having girls around means that guys will do things they would otherwise not conceive of or would avoid at all costs, like going bicycle riding, having a picnic, or playing beach volleyball.  These are key summer activities because they are outdoor.  That is what the season is all about, at least in Canada, since there are seven or eight less than stellar months to catch up on indoor life.  

Besides the four or five core members in a decent summer crew - the people you will see three to five times a week - there are those other friends that orbit your crew and will join in for birthdays, concerts, or other preplanned evenings.  These friends will be core members of their own summer crew and it is for that reason they will not be around as much as you would like.  After hanging out with one of these friends I would say to my group the next day, "Man, we should hang out with so-and-so more often.  That dude is hilarious."  Yet it would always prove difficult to track down said person.  Yet invariably our summer crews would collide in a random evening of debauchery.

The strange thing that happens to a summer crew is that it increases in size as the season rolls on.  If summer begins as a beautiful t-bone steak of possibility, then it is right around August that it has been gnawed away to the white and folks are eager to suck some marrow. Thus, that is when summer crews will diversify or amalgamate, growing in size to eight, nine, perhaps ten members.  I often feel an animal instinct to have a few lasting blasts of fun permeating the thick summer air like nighttime smog come those last few weeks of summer.

So it is that around the end of August there are those last hurrahs, weekday nights on the patio with a few too many beverages and evenings spent watching a friend's friend's band in the company of your extended summer family.  For those that are still young enough school is on the horizon.  For everyone else there is the prospect of fall and a pledge to put the indulgences of summer behind so that it will be a much more productive season.  

And then it ends.  There are no more long weekends or cottage trips, the youngsters get back to their studies, and, eventually, the weather makes a definitive switch to cooler climes.  Your summer crew breaks apart.  Perhaps one goes back to school, another moves off to the city, that couple pair off and hibernate in their own warmth.  Party induced bonds of friendship are loosened and memories take on the hue of nostalgia.  At Halloween you will try to bring everyone back together again, thinking that costumes and alcohol will fire up that old camaraderie.  Maybe it does and everyone takes on their summer roles and the in-jokes still pop will absurdity.  But Halloween is the last stop for a summer crew, if it gets that far, before the December holiday season.  Finally, hibernation sets in after St.Nick makes his rounds and the New Year is rung in.

Yet, come late spring life for a summer crew shoots green again.  It will not be the same as last year's crew - it never is - but so is life.  I look forward to my own opportunity to be part of a fledgling crew this summer.  I don't know what shape or form it will take, but I know it will exist and I anticipate solid times ahead.

By this time next week I will be doing something different from what I am doing now.  That is a grand feeling.  The past five months have taught me that the life of a teacher is one of constant planning.  When something gets ticked off the "to do" list invariably three more items pop up, like hacking away at a hydra.  So it is that I have left my summer open with the exception of the two long weekends, which I have planned to spend in comfortable places: my hometown and my family's cottage.  Otherwise, the next seven-plus weeks are a vista that I hope to spend with family and friends, the two large pieces of my life that cannot be packed up and moved to Taipei.

Yet I want to maintain some perspective.  My vacation will not be a romantic bout of stress free revelry.  People will be working and on their own schedules, the weather will not be one uninterrupted sunny day, and I will have to do some work of my own (documentation for working here next year plus lesson planning and maybe even some painting).  It will be fun to catch up but it is likely that at some point the pace of CBG life will bother me and I will crave the go-go of city life once again.  There are a few things I will miss about Taipei during my summer break.

Buying fresh fruit, whatever kind I like, cheap and around the corner.  I have eaten fresh pineapple for breakfast every weekday morning for nearly three months.  The supermarket I frequent has started selling yellow kiwi that is sweeter than the traditional green variety.  Staples like bananas and apples can be found, as can tropical favourites like mango and papaya.  If Alberta is Canada's bread basket than Taiwan is Asia's garden.

Another thing I will miss is the transportation.  Mopeds, for instance, are noisy and people weave around dangerously on them - the sight of a family of three or four perched behind the handlebars is something that I may never grow accustomed to - but it is a vehicle of necessity here with the limited space and slightly lower per capita income.  I have also come to enjoy seeing the bright fluorescent toe-to-shoulder coveralls worn by moped riders in the rain and the sight of a suited businessman cruising around on a two wheeler; I suppose that last sight is amusing to me because scooters are still associated with quirky high schoolers and notice-me university students in my mind.

Transportation comes in other forms here as well, and I will miss seeing children wheeled to school on bicycles.  Usually it is a parent or sometimes a grandparent churning away at the pedals while a child stands on the back pegs or sits on a specially attached seat.  I cannot explain why this interests me so much other than to say that it is different and yet somehow alike to how my own mother walked me to school as a youth.  Of course, I cannot leave out the MRT when writing about Taipei transportation.  As the world's number one ranked subway system it is perhaps the single biggest reason to live in this city.  I can get anywhere I like in cheap and efficient style, plus the metro stations can be used as landmarks ensuring that I will always find my way home.

Finally, I will miss the sense of security in this city.  Not that I feel in danger in Canada but I feel a complete sense of ease here as if the mere scent of violence has never been on the breeze.  Hell, I can eye some guy's girlfriend and not be given any reproval at all.  I will miss that about Taipei this summer.  So while there are things that bring me back to Canada - namely family and friends - I do have reasons to look forward to my return east in late August.

I went and saw "The Hangover" last night.  It was an interesting and entertaining comedy although it has a few flaws that prevents it from ranking amongst my recent favourites like "Knocked Up" and "Anchorman."  Zach Galifianakis is the strongest point of the film.  His character, Alan, is a bit "slow" and gets the biggest laughs, for instance, the scene where he is masturbating "Carlos" was profane and a bit disturbing but within the context of the scene it made me bust a gut.  To describe any of Alan's other bits would be to ruin the movie's best character.

The concept is also intriguing: that four guys go on a bachelor party bender with no memory of what happened and have to reconstruct the evening, kind of a like a frat boy mystery.  I have been in similar situations with friends "the morning after" and it is always entertaining, especially when someone pipes in with some bit of debauchery that I'd forgotten and then the whole night comes flooding back.  Perhaps the most engaging sequence of the film is the end credits when we glimpse the photos from the forgotten night and get some insight into what really happened.

Now, the parts that did not work for me as much.  I found Bradley Cooper as Phil to be a jerk.  Maybe that is what he was going for, but there is nothing about him that is sympathetic and I did not care what happened to him in the film; he could have gone missing in a deep hole in the Las Vegas desert and I would have given a shoulder shrug "Meh."  At least the othe two guys in the foursome - Doug, the future husband, who is in the movie for a short while, and Ed Helms' hen picked character - were somewhat funny and sympathetic.  I was dismayed that Phil's biggest laugh in the film is when he shouts "Paging Dr. Faggot" to Helms because it is 2009 and that kind of humour should have been left in the 90s.

Other than Phil, the other aspect of "The Hangover" that bothered me were the female characters.  There aren't any.  Well, there are two women in the movie but to dub them "characters" would be a disservice to writers everywhere.  There is Helms' shrill and shrewish girlfriend and Heather Graham as a stripper with a heart of gold.  That is it.  With the absence of anything resembling a real female in "The Hangover" the movie cements its reputation as a "dick flick."  So, a fine film with some good laughs that is undermined by a few characters. Worth seeing in theatres with friends or a rental later in the year but is definitely not on par with "Old School."

Of all the things I am looking forward to during my upcoming summer vacation perhaps the simplest joy will be playing The Riffing Game with some old friends.  Although I have never formally referred to it by name, and in fact just came up with "The Riffing Game", it is an activity whereby a group of people, usually males, sit around and riff.  

To riff is to talk, but not in a serious, "So what are you doing with your life?  How are your parents?  Do you think God exists?" kind of way. It is informal.  Usually somebody starts with a recent story, something humourous, and then it spirals off from there in riffs.  Maybe the story is about an embarassing moment at a baseball game so somebody picks up that thread and goes on about a shameful act a few months prior, to which someone may add an imaginative comment and so on and so forth.  To explain what a series or riffs are is kind of like explaining what good food tastes like - you just know it when you are experiencing it.

The only rule in The Riffing Game is an unspoken one: each participant tries to maintain a poker face in spite of what ridiculous, absurd, or disgusting things everyone else is saying.  That is part of what makes it fun, trying to make old friends (people who know your personality, your stories, and have a likely idea of what you will say next) bust out in laughter at something unexpected.  

Of course, The Riffing Game works best with old friends because you know what topics are unbroachable (as we mature things like terminal disease, child abuse, and religion are increasingly difficult to make fun of) and what subjects dredged up from the past will bring out the most laughs (old girlfriends, past parties, and poor clothing choices).  It is also best played with an intoxicant or two so as to remove pesky comedic inhibitions.  

I love it because of its simplicity.  Here is the act of catching up with friends, something that can be a tedious exchange of questions and answers, turned on its head into the main event itself.  That is why I look forward to playing The Riffing Game this summer.

I can see it, however distant, that first light of an upcoming holiday.  For the longest time I have not allowed myself to envision leaving Taipei, to think of this as my lasting residence, so as to get through things.  But there is a bit over three weeks left.  I will likely re-sign for next year.  In the space between my flight out and my return I hope to have some good times in Canada.  That is it.  My plan is to put my head down and barrel through the next few weeks.  Let's get on with summer.

Take this with a grain of salt because it is the observation of a non-Chinese speaking foreigner who has lived in Taiwan for a total of four months, but it appears that the locals are gluttons for punishment.  Teachers I work with will show up on weekends even when they are unsure of their contract status for the next year.  People will accept any decree that comes down for the lofty offices of our president and it is rare to hear even a murmur of discontent.  Said president had the gall to begin a "make school a complaint free zone" campaign, complete with Livestrong-esque purple bracelets with the saying inscribed on each one.  Whether locals realize that such a slogan is another way for the leader to enforce her power is unknown.

It is such a bizarre environment sometimes.  Coming from the staff rooms of Ontario where it was whinge central, Taipei is a change.  Yet it is so far in the other direction to be nearly masochistic.  Teachers here seem to thrive off the uncertainty of their future and will not question the logic of any decision that comes from on high.  Case in point: we were told to move offices two weeks ago and four classes - two each of grade one and grade two - were booted to new rooms on a new floor.  This would never happen in Canada; everyone - parents, students, teachers, administrators - would agree that a move in summer would make the most sense.  Not here.  And the odd thing is that no one questions the logic of such a decision - it just is, much like the weather, and nothing can be done about it.

That is why I wonder about staying another year.  I wonder if that attitude is creeping into my own thought patterns, that I am beginning to love to be abused.  That I would rather be busy and content than anything else.  It is difficult to get any critical distance from such a lifestyle; I worry that this summer, after I have renewed my contract for next year, I will go, "Whoa, hold on, was I really that bent to their will?" and not want to come back to Taipei.

It has been almost five years since I made my first overseas trip.  I flew to Spain in June 2004 to visit my old CBG friend BC for twenty-three days of planned debauchery.  

First off, I cannot believe that was five years ago.  Half a decade makes me feel old.  It took a year and a half to coordinate the trip and I was so laughingly provincial in my absent knowledge of international travel that I had a friend mentally walk me through the entire process of boarding an airplane, from check in to take off.  I examined maps of Pearson and Heathrow imagining potential snarl-ups that would endanger my travel time or leave me stranded in an unknown locale.  

I know better now.  Having been through my share of airports I know now they are idiot proof and geared towards efficiency for everyone; ever see a golf cart transporting a clutch of elderly folks to their departure gate? For some innocent reason I thought airports would be a Darwinian struggle for survival.

In fact, innocence characterized the entire trip.  I considered my venture to be the climax of all my years reading Beat authors, that I was finally going to have my big adventure, the one that I would write about and reconsider for the rest of my life.  How silly, at least that is how it seems now, to imagine that going to another part of the world - one as well traveled as Spain - would mean a beginning for me as an author.  

Homesicknesses paralyzed me at times.  For some strange reason I talked about my hometown's upcoming Canada Day celebrations on several occasions.  I could not fathom moving in a country where I had no idea what people were saying. Locals could be talking - no, in fact they were -  about me at any given moment. Luckily, I had a near fluent friend to guide the way.  Again, the innocence to imagine that Spaniards, a people that see millions of tourists a year, would consider me interesting in the least.

So I possessed all this innocence going into it and the odd thing is that nothing really went wrong.  It was one of the best times of my life, if not the best.  I have never felt more freedom.  Yet in the time since then I have come to see that freedom as an indulgence, something of those innocent years; I could not vacation like that again, eager to suck in substances and experiences as if they were oxygen in a quickly depleting tank.  

We took a lot of chances.  I can see that now.  One afternoon we wandered into a valley full of bulls sunning themselves and thought nothing of it.  There were times we traveled when we shouldn't have, taking an automobile into the night when we should have waited for the harsh light of morning.  Food poisoning in Portugal; leaving BC curled up pale and shaking in three layers of clothing at the Lisbon bus station while the outside temperature read thirty degrees.  Of course too, the general disregard for our health and well being besides worrying about where we would find our next bit of cheese.

Miraculously, nothing went askew.  We had one run in with the police where they demanded a circumspect payment for some undefinded traffic violation but that was it.  I cannot believe how lucky we were.  My innocence was preserved in that we did not lose a passport, get beaten up, or experience anything worse than mild hangovers and said bout of food poisoning.

It was upon my return to Canada that my innocence was spoiled a bit when no one expressed interest about my June.  I had expected a run down of questions from folks but got nothing.  They wanted to talk about Canada Day excitement and parties, local goings on that seemed trivial - I had seen something they had not.  They must have been jealous.  And again, here is that innocence of twenty-two year old me, thinking that what happened to me would necessarily interest all, that I would be some prophet talking long into the campfire night.  

In the years since then I have learned that it is best not to talk about my travels unless prompted.  People ask to be kind, not because they are always interested.  Besides, it is unnatural to say, "So, tell me about Zambia," and expect someone to just start riffing on the past seven months of their life, as I tried with BC last spring.  He said something that has stuck with me, "Just let it come out natural in the course of conversation."  

That is something I will employ upon my return to Canada in a month's time.  So I have learned not to talk about my travels and learned why I thought the fortysomething bartender at my former bar was so awesome; he never mentioned his adventures, never dropped one of those pretentious, "Oh, when I was in Inida this was the beer we used to drink," or "The Cambodian food here just does not compare to Phom Penh."  Travel was a part of him as I hope my travels will become a part of me.

So I reflect on my time in Spain as a time of innocence.  I thought that it would change me, that simply going there would make me a more interesting person by default, that I would then have stories to tell and experiences to relate.  Though it was a fantastic time I did not learn a lot about myself because it did go so well.  Truly, you do not know yourself until you go through a difficult time; by that measuring stick I think failing my practicum last April was something that made me mature a lot more than barnstorming through Spain.

Yet as a measuring stick for pure fun nothing beats those twenty-three days in Spain.  I met so many interesting people and I have so many memories to flit back to anytime that I feel upset.  That is a blessing.  It would be silly to go through the laundry list of things that happened there and I will avoid doing so to keep from appearing vain.  I wonder what I will think about my time in Spain in another five years and what I will think about this post in five years as well.

Finally, as a testament to how much fun I had in Spain I have always planned on going back there to explore further.  There is the Basque region with its excellent cuisine (that I can now somewhat appreciate), Barcelona, and the middle section of the country that we mostly ignored.  There is also Portugal to do properly since our stomaches did not let us do so the first time around.  For me there is no higher compliment for something than to say that I would be interested in doing it again.  In my memories it never rains in Spain. 

There are many things that I like about Facebook.  The ability to quickly interact with a range of friends and flip through the photos of buddies being the foremost reasons why social networking is actually kind of cool.

But there are three things that bother me about F-book as well.  Status updates that are countdowns, for instance, really make a "friend" seem attention starved.  An old high school acquaintance has been posting for the past year or so in anticipation of her upcoming wedding, stuff like, "72 days to stag and doe, 196 days to the big night!"  I kid you not.  

First of all, those days are so far off in the to future that a countdown is unnecessary.  Who would read your update and say, "Oh geez, today is 123 days to their wedding!  I thought it was 127.  What a relief that she corrected that!"  Yet maybe the postee is writing to remind herself, maybe it is a way of dealing with the stressful future of marriage.  Perhaps it is a way to remind herself to get those invitations sent out, to get that dj recruited, and to find a decent caterer.  In which case I query, how did you manage to organize yourself before social networking?

To me those status updates come off as a cry for attention.  I think it's great that you're getting married and the best of luck to you and your future hubby, but what is the point?  My issue with countdowns also applies to those who countdown to a vacation.  Is it too much to ask that you just post, "Wow, great time in Cancun!" upon your return.  Why the hype?

I guess the biggest reason countdowns bother me is principle.  Life is meant to be lived every day and looking forward to a meager twenty-four hours is a waste of your time on the planet.  Often I have found that it is the trip I remember more than the destination.  I wish I could tell countdown people that straight up; maybe I should have my own countdown to "When I will tell so-and-so to stop writing like a twelve year old about how many sleeps are left until some big do." 

On the topic of countdowns is the related issue of attention desperate status updates.  I am thinking of one person here who, again, is a high school acquaintance - maybe there is a trend here and I should stop adding these pseudo friends.  He has written things like, "Why am I such a failure at life?" and "Suicide is always an option."  

It is obvious that dude wants someone to write back, "I think you're awesome" or "Don't get down.  I love you."  And I have seen more subtlety from my first graders in garnering my attention.  So it comes down to principle, yet again, someone floundering, spreading their bad vibes through a medium seen by many people when they should call one friend and ask for a pick up.  Come on guy, stop making me feel rotten for laughing at your status updates and please try to mature a bit.

Finally, the third thing that bothers me about Facebook is people who post more than sixty pictures on a given topic.  I have written about this in the past.  Sixty images of you getting hammered in the woods with your friends is plenty; sixty pictures of your wedding is also heaps (especially if you are an acquaintance - closer friends may want to see more but they should visit in person and flip through the photo album); sixty snaps of a concert is lots because I am probably not as smitten/obsessed with said artist as you are.  

Again, my problem here is principle.  People need to learn restraint and how to pick the the wheat from the chaff.  Don't just dump the entire contents of your memory card online; pick out the images that summarize your special evening, day, or weekend.  Please try to tell some kind of story that is not just the equivalent of "Blarrrrrrggggg a bunch of stuff happened blarrrrrggggggg" (if even frustrates me moreso when pictures are obviously out of sequence, but that is one of my own peculiarities).  I wish people would take a bit more consideration when posting information that is going to be seen by many curious eyes.

So those are my Facebook issues.  Countdowns, needy status updates, and photo albums that run into a part two or beyond.  These are likely my own concerns that do not bother others but so are the charms of the internet that I can complain about it in my own public domain.

I'm going to commit the blogging sin that frustrates me the most of all blogging sins: I will promise to write a specific post.  Just not right now because it is not the right time and I don't have enough time.  I think I will write this post for a few reasons, namely:

1.  It is on the subject of travel and anniversary, two of my favourite topics.  

2.  After posting about this past event I feel that my current path will be a bit more straightened out in my head. 

3.  There is a four day weekend coming up.

The subject is the 5 year anniversary of my first trip overseas.  Yes, as in half a decade.  So, I will come back to this in the days to come and I suppose this post is, in itself, a kind of note to future me saying, "You promised not just yourself but the two and a half people that read this dusty corner of the internet too."  Oh dear, the expectations.