Tonight was our last official Fulbright reception.
After school, I met Karina at the HSR station and--probably as a result of all the end-of-year writing I've been doing--found myself immersed in memories. The last time I stood here I was saying goodbye to Alex and Melanie; the first time we took this train we didn't know what was going on; the first time we came to Taipei Fonda guided us and it seemed so foreign; look at us now, all self-sufficient and calm...an oddly charged train trip.
In Taipei, we briefly relived my previous experience of getting lost looking for a hotel near Taipei Main, but Karina pulled us through after a quick check-in with a friendly shop-keeper and her son. We checked in (the same hotel we stayed at the first time!) and headed towards our reception.
I've got to be honest: receptions tend to be somewhat boring affairs. I've got to be honest: this one was NOT. We got to meet some of the Taiwanese Fulbright grantees to America for 2012-2013, and I discovered that two FLTAs (Foreign Language Teaching Assistants, or the equivalent of what we do, but in America) are going to Oregon! One will be at Lewis & Clark University, and the other will be at Pacific University. I had fun telling them about the great state they'll soon be heading towards.
Our table consisted in Karina, Analacia and I, plus three senior scholars, including Serge, a law professor who never fails to keep us laughing, and whom Karina and Brittany are often consulting with on their work in Taitung. We were soon all playing musical chairs, as Analicia, Brittany and Rachel shifted into and out of seats as they worked the room.
It's amazing to think that this is our last officially sanctioned trip to Taipei; it is also likely to be my last visit overall, since we've seen most of the city by now and it costs a lot to come here. Taipei has been a great part of my life for the last 10 months, and it's weird to think a weekend trip will soon no longer be a possibility.
So begin the "last"s...time to start saying goodbye to Fulbright.
Showing posts with label Americans. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Americans. Show all posts
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Friday, February 24, 2012
Nissan and Fried Chicken
I'm writing this on Sunday, so I'm just going to go ahead and give the highlights and necessary details.
We flew out of Kaohsiung Friday afternoon around 4pm, and I realized that it was my first time back in the Kaohsiung airport since I arrived here in August, and the first time ever that I've seen Kaohsiung from the air when I actually knew what I was looking at. I had fun catching glimpse of Qingshan as we took off, and look down at Cijin; Karina even caught a glimpse of her apartment from the plane window. Great fun.
When we arrived at Kinmen, we randomly ran into Nick, a friend from Taipei, and learned that he had a whole group of friends coming from the mainland for the race. We agreed to meet up later, then hopped in a car with our arranged ride whom we assumed would take us to our home-stay, but who instead took us to...a Nissan dealership. We piled out with our bags, and learned that we were renting scooters here, now, luggage and check-in aside.
We hopped on our scooters to discover that Kinmen is cold this time of year, and we still had halfway across the island to drive before we could go inside, and had to eat before we got there, since there was nothing near where we were staying. We found a wannabe KFC joint (you know, typical Kinmen food and such) and ordered some chicken while we tried, unsuccessfully, to give Nick directions to where we were. We gave up when we realized he was a good 10km away from us.
After the chicken saleslady led us to our home-stay--a GORGEOUS traditional house inside the cultural village here--we settled in and met our co-inhabitants, some Kaohsiung-dwelling Americans who work at Morrison Academy and who were also going to run the race. Also, our home-stay has no inside heating, and is, indeed, half outside itself.
After that, it was trying to keep warm and an early bedtime for us.
We flew out of Kaohsiung Friday afternoon around 4pm, and I realized that it was my first time back in the Kaohsiung airport since I arrived here in August, and the first time ever that I've seen Kaohsiung from the air when I actually knew what I was looking at. I had fun catching glimpse of Qingshan as we took off, and look down at Cijin; Karina even caught a glimpse of her apartment from the plane window. Great fun.
When we arrived at Kinmen, we randomly ran into Nick, a friend from Taipei, and learned that he had a whole group of friends coming from the mainland for the race. We agreed to meet up later, then hopped in a car with our arranged ride whom we assumed would take us to our home-stay, but who instead took us to...a Nissan dealership. We piled out with our bags, and learned that we were renting scooters here, now, luggage and check-in aside.
We hopped on our scooters to discover that Kinmen is cold this time of year, and we still had halfway across the island to drive before we could go inside, and had to eat before we got there, since there was nothing near where we were staying. We found a wannabe KFC joint (you know, typical Kinmen food and such) and ordered some chicken while we tried, unsuccessfully, to give Nick directions to where we were. We gave up when we realized he was a good 10km away from us.
After the chicken saleslady led us to our home-stay--a GORGEOUS traditional house inside the cultural village here--we settled in and met our co-inhabitants, some Kaohsiung-dwelling Americans who work at Morrison Academy and who were also going to run the race. Also, our home-stay has no inside heating, and is, indeed, half outside itself.
After that, it was trying to keep warm and an early bedtime for us.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Ingrained Acculturation
At school today, I came to an odd realization while drawing a window.
See, our lesson this week is about modes of transportation; the main question we ask is "How do you get to school?" Kids answer with the sentence form "I go to school by..."
This of course, naturally lends itself to the board game-like set-up I described yesterday, in which kids go from home to school by answering our questions. This, in turn, means that every class period I get to draw the game path on the blackboard, beginning at a drawing of home and leading towards one of school.
And today, while drawing the "home," I realized something: I can no longer draw houses--or, more specifically, windows--in the American way. Instead, I'm ruled by Chinese rules of stroke order. See, here's a rough approximation of the house I would draw:
See the window? It's a pretty standard Western-style window, one of those things which, for whatever reason, has bars on it (if I were a child psychologist perhaps I'd say something about feeling trapped or something?). Just a box with an up-and-down cross. Pretty simple. American five-year-olds draw it all the time.
But how?
See, today, I drew it like this:
I drew it like this without even thinking. It seemed natural. It seemed normal. It also happens to be exactly how you would draw a window if you were writing it as a Chinese character.
Which, I discovered, it is. And it is drawn this way. Seriously, go to that link. It's "田," pronounced "tian?" and it means farm or field, as Alison later told me.
And I cannot, for the life of me, think of how I used to draw these windows. Was it the box in one stroke, then add the middle? Where did it start? The bottom left? The top?
Seriously, if anyone reading this can tell me, please do. How did I use to draw this picture??? I know it wasn't in the Chinese style, but I absolutely can't think of another way.
In other news, a few days ago I was lost in an odd daydream about making a new recipe. And, at the end of the daydream, I ate my recipe--using chopsticks.
You know, it's odd how acculturation seeps into you unnoticed, subtly shifting your worldview and changing the parts of your consciousness that tell you how to draw simple shapes or how to properly eat a meal. I've only been here about 5 months, and I've already forgotten how to draw a window.
See, our lesson this week is about modes of transportation; the main question we ask is "How do you get to school?" Kids answer with the sentence form "I go to school by..."
This of course, naturally lends itself to the board game-like set-up I described yesterday, in which kids go from home to school by answering our questions. This, in turn, means that every class period I get to draw the game path on the blackboard, beginning at a drawing of home and leading towards one of school.
 |
| The board looks something like this... |
And today, while drawing the "home," I realized something: I can no longer draw houses--or, more specifically, windows--in the American way. Instead, I'm ruled by Chinese rules of stroke order. See, here's a rough approximation of the house I would draw:
 |
| Image apologetically stolen from Google and some 5-year-old somewhere |
See the window? It's a pretty standard Western-style window, one of those things which, for whatever reason, has bars on it (if I were a child psychologist perhaps I'd say something about feeling trapped or something?). Just a box with an up-and-down cross. Pretty simple. American five-year-olds draw it all the time.
But how?
See, today, I drew it like this:
 |
| Purple = the new strokes; all strokes start at the top/left and move down/right |
Which, I discovered, it is. And it is drawn this way. Seriously, go to that link. It's "田," pronounced "tian?" and it means farm or field, as Alison later told me.
And I cannot, for the life of me, think of how I used to draw these windows. Was it the box in one stroke, then add the middle? Where did it start? The bottom left? The top?
Seriously, if anyone reading this can tell me, please do. How did I use to draw this picture??? I know it wasn't in the Chinese style, but I absolutely can't think of another way.
In other news, a few days ago I was lost in an odd daydream about making a new recipe. And, at the end of the daydream, I ate my recipe--using chopsticks.
You know, it's odd how acculturation seeps into you unnoticed, subtly shifting your worldview and changing the parts of your consciousness that tell you how to draw simple shapes or how to properly eat a meal. I've only been here about 5 months, and I've already forgotten how to draw a window.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Rain, rain, lovely rain
You know you're a Northwest native when a weather forecast of 24*C and rainy all week not only doesn't dampen your spirits, it lifts them--and that even when you have to drive 20-30 minutes to and from school every day.
So this morning, I donned my full-body 7-11 poncho, covered it with my full-head helmet, hopped aboard my scooter and set out for Siaogang with a smile on my face. It was raining, yes, but it was raining like it rains in Seattle: a slow and constant drizzle. When coupled with pretty decent waterproof gear and a temperature of 75*F, it was actually quite pleasant.
The only real problem was, of course, the back-splash effect; imagine what you have happen with your car on the freeway, then imagine that you're on a scooter. Still, not too terrible an outcome.
When I arrived at school, I couldn't help but think of home as I heard the steady, comforting patter of raindrops on the large plastic cover over Qingshan's central courtyard. It wasn't *quite* cold enough, but I still felt like curling up near a fire somewhere with a book and a big cup of coffee or hot chocolate.
Yet, for some reason, everyone else here is complaining about the rain. It's been going on for a few days now, yes, but it's just drizzling most of the time! Must be the "all the time" part--the very thing that I'm most used to and which few other parts of the country experience. I got a little worried today in the late afternoon, when a thunder-and-lightning storm started up, together with heavier rain, but both finished up before I had to leave, so no harm, no foul. All in all, it's just been a wonderful little reminder of home.
With that reminder, though, comes the recognition of the other little things that should be accompanying rain in the fall--rotting leaves, for instance. Not particularly pleasant things in themselves, but together with frost-bitten nights that leave ice on car windshields in the morning, the cold bite of air when you first inhale outside in the morning, and the welcome comfort of thick hot soups and steaming beverages, they spell fall--a fall we simply miss out on here.
So far, November is my favorite month in Taiwan: a little cooler, and now this wonderfully light and constant misting. It's still not home, but it's something. So, for now, let it rain!
So this morning, I donned my full-body 7-11 poncho, covered it with my full-head helmet, hopped aboard my scooter and set out for Siaogang with a smile on my face. It was raining, yes, but it was raining like it rains in Seattle: a slow and constant drizzle. When coupled with pretty decent waterproof gear and a temperature of 75*F, it was actually quite pleasant.
The only real problem was, of course, the back-splash effect; imagine what you have happen with your car on the freeway, then imagine that you're on a scooter. Still, not too terrible an outcome.
When I arrived at school, I couldn't help but think of home as I heard the steady, comforting patter of raindrops on the large plastic cover over Qingshan's central courtyard. It wasn't *quite* cold enough, but I still felt like curling up near a fire somewhere with a book and a big cup of coffee or hot chocolate.
Yet, for some reason, everyone else here is complaining about the rain. It's been going on for a few days now, yes, but it's just drizzling most of the time! Must be the "all the time" part--the very thing that I'm most used to and which few other parts of the country experience. I got a little worried today in the late afternoon, when a thunder-and-lightning storm started up, together with heavier rain, but both finished up before I had to leave, so no harm, no foul. All in all, it's just been a wonderful little reminder of home.
With that reminder, though, comes the recognition of the other little things that should be accompanying rain in the fall--rotting leaves, for instance. Not particularly pleasant things in themselves, but together with frost-bitten nights that leave ice on car windshields in the morning, the cold bite of air when you first inhale outside in the morning, and the welcome comfort of thick hot soups and steaming beverages, they spell fall--a fall we simply miss out on here.
So far, November is my favorite month in Taiwan: a little cooler, and now this wonderfully light and constant misting. It's still not home, but it's something. So, for now, let it rain!
Monday, November 7, 2011
When things go right
Sometimes, life gives you a second shot at things, and they go just swimmingly. Today was one of those days, to my immeasurable relief.
Today marked Day 2 of singing the national anthem at the Taiwanese All-Star Series! As I mentioned yesterday, the pressure was kind of on since we sucked before; beyond that, today marked the last of the 5 games in the series. In other words, today was our last chance to redeem ourselves as not-too-horrible singers who just had an off day before.
Fortunately, I wasn't the only person who had come to this conclusion, and those with the power to do so took steps to fix the problems we had yesterday. In other words, we actually used our lined-up time to practice, novel thought, and we practiced with a leader, one of the people with an earpiece. Furthermore, said leader actually turned to face us so that we could follow his lips, rather than the echoes of his voices reaching us far too late to do any good whatsoever.
And the results of all this logical-and-not-too-difficult thinking were encouraging: when it came to the actual singing, our voices were neatly corralled into a single strain of song, and that song was almost perfectly aligned with the music everyone else heard. It was absurd and more than a little difficult to follow someone's lips when you can also hear his voice several seconds behind, singing with what sounds like the part of the song you should be on, but it worked!
Our waiting period was infinitely shorter and less eventful, but we did have a false alarm and several quasi-exciting moments. Walking back from the bathroom, I passed a tall, fit black man in a Yankees jersey; turning around I spied the number 24 on his jersey. I smiled at him and ran back to the press room where we were waiting then.
"You guys, who is number 24 for the Yankees?" (Clearly, my MLB knowledge is in desperate need of an update.)
They turned to look at me, and Emily (one of the biggest Yankees fans I've ever met) was quick to the answer: "Robinson Cano."
"Is he a big black guy?" (Really, how did I get into this event?)
"YES!" Emily disappears into the hallway, closely followed by Brittany, Rachel and I--to discover that is was just a Yankee manager who happened to be wearing Cano's jersey number. Oh well.
In the tunnel going in, we once again got to see Screech (Nationals' mascot) and his sidekick, and once again got to see Kaohsiung's mayor--but none of the pictures I took of these instances are even remotely good enough to post on here, thanks to my I'll-just-hold-the-camera-and-click-it-without-looking-when-they-come-past strategy. On the plus side, I got to high-5 all of those people! On the negative, no viable proof of this exists; just half of them walking into my photo frame.
What I did get this time, though, was pictures of the field from as we were leaving!
Then, while walking back to get our stuff, we were halted in the hallway so that the entire Taiwanese team could pass in front of us. So, there's that--at the front of the line, I got to see pretty much everyone just a few feet away.
We soon realized that the tickets they'd given us were for the outfield seats which, while we could live with the location, did not actually exist. No reserved seating in the cheap seats + popular game + trying to find seats late + group of 6 people = nowhere whatsoever to sit. So we improvised and bluffed our way back into the lower level of the stadium, then climbed up till we found a row of empty seats above the first baseline where we could sit.
Then, of course, came the game, which was pretty great--Robinson Cano hit a home run, and the MLB team ended up winning 6-4, cementing their series-long winning streak. We had some yummy food (ENTIRELY different from US baseball food; aside from my Coke, I had fried chicken and fries eaten out of paper bags using a wooden skewer and an iced tea--and those were way on the tame side of the food stand offerings in the foyer), bought some merchandise (official T-shirts, and a Mariners hat for me, since I somehow left Seattle without buying one...), and enjoyed the game.
Then, as the last inning came to a close, came the real excitement.
The KAS adult leaders had told us to meet them down on the field level after the game for a chance to meet the players; Red Sox player Josh Reddick's dad had spent about an hour chatting with them before the game, and had promised to see what he could do about getting us in to meet people.
Well, that never happened. BUT, as we stood along the hallway across from the press conference room (and once again, incidentally, were reminded of how annoying high schoolers can be in important situations), along came Robinson Cano for his press conference! Hearts stopped all along our line, and he waved to Emily before going into the room and leaving us to anxiously await his return while griping about the photographers and others who were blocking our view through the windows.
Eventually he emerged, along with the World Series-winning coach of the San Francisco Giants (who unfortunately eluded our cameras in our obsession with the major league superstar mere feet away), and announced that he would sign autographs for five minutes. His managers and security personnel told us, anyway, and asked us to form a line.
Let's see. Take over-excitable high schoolers in Taiwan, add a celebrity and the chance to meet said celebrity, and then ask them to form a single file line. Yeah, that turned out exactly as well as you would expect it to.
Into the press, though, Mr. Cano's dad, Jose Cano (who used to play pro baseball in Taiwan), came walking and selecting people to come to the front of the line. He was looking for kids initially, then grabbed Emily: "come," then me: "stay," then Rachel: "come," then one of the high schoolers standing nearby: "definitely come." And I regretted that I had left my Mariners hat upon my head.
Eventually I did make it to the front of the line, though, and he neatly signed my baseball and handed it back to the security guard to his right, who then passed it back to me. I stared down at my hand for a second, then realized I was still less than five feet from him and whipped out my camera.
We turned to leave, abandoning the possibility of KAS connections eventually coming through because, really, who could top Cano?
And that's when I discovered JUST how amazing our group's interaction with Cano had been.
Emily was wearing a hat. Emily had not been wearing a hat when she entered the stadium. Nor had she purchased one from the hawkers upstairs. No, the hat she was wearing was Robinson Cano's hat.
As we left, she explained: after she had gotten her shirt signed (which itself happened after he went to sign the Yankees jersey she was wearing and stopped when he realized that it was Jeter's, not his), she turned to go, and felt something alighting on her head. She turned around and he nodded to her, hatless. There were tears in her eyes as we left, and we spent a good portion of the ride home asking her to tell us more details, and passing it around before she returned it, probably never to leave again, to her head.
Plenty of people can claim to have Cano's autograph. But how many can claim to have the hat he used in the final game of the Taiwan All-Star Series, in which he hit a home run? That would be one: Emily.
We returned home with our prizes, still beyond jazzed at our wonderful day.
"Once in a lifetime" can't quite contain the events of today, especially when held in conjunction with the events of yesterday. To be honest, it can't contain any of the events of this year for me. They just spill over, one into the next, and create a world which I really can't believe I'm living in. I am truly blessed; every day I live here in Taiwan reminds of this truth. Especially days when things just go right.
Today marked Day 2 of singing the national anthem at the Taiwanese All-Star Series! As I mentioned yesterday, the pressure was kind of on since we sucked before; beyond that, today marked the last of the 5 games in the series. In other words, today was our last chance to redeem ourselves as not-too-horrible singers who just had an off day before.
Fortunately, I wasn't the only person who had come to this conclusion, and those with the power to do so took steps to fix the problems we had yesterday. In other words, we actually used our lined-up time to practice, novel thought, and we practiced with a leader, one of the people with an earpiece. Furthermore, said leader actually turned to face us so that we could follow his lips, rather than the echoes of his voices reaching us far too late to do any good whatsoever.
And the results of all this logical-and-not-too-difficult thinking were encouraging: when it came to the actual singing, our voices were neatly corralled into a single strain of song, and that song was almost perfectly aligned with the music everyone else heard. It was absurd and more than a little difficult to follow someone's lips when you can also hear his voice several seconds behind, singing with what sounds like the part of the song you should be on, but it worked!
Our waiting period was infinitely shorter and less eventful, but we did have a false alarm and several quasi-exciting moments. Walking back from the bathroom, I passed a tall, fit black man in a Yankees jersey; turning around I spied the number 24 on his jersey. I smiled at him and ran back to the press room where we were waiting then.
"You guys, who is number 24 for the Yankees?" (Clearly, my MLB knowledge is in desperate need of an update.)
They turned to look at me, and Emily (one of the biggest Yankees fans I've ever met) was quick to the answer: "Robinson Cano."
"Is he a big black guy?" (Really, how did I get into this event?)
"YES!" Emily disappears into the hallway, closely followed by Brittany, Rachel and I--to discover that is was just a Yankee manager who happened to be wearing Cano's jersey number. Oh well.
In the tunnel going in, we once again got to see Screech (Nationals' mascot) and his sidekick, and once again got to see Kaohsiung's mayor--but none of the pictures I took of these instances are even remotely good enough to post on here, thanks to my I'll-just-hold-the-camera-and-click-it-without-looking-when-they-come-past strategy. On the plus side, I got to high-5 all of those people! On the negative, no viable proof of this exists; just half of them walking into my photo frame.
What I did get this time, though, was pictures of the field from as we were leaving!
Then, while walking back to get our stuff, we were halted in the hallway so that the entire Taiwanese team could pass in front of us. So, there's that--at the front of the line, I got to see pretty much everyone just a few feet away.
We soon realized that the tickets they'd given us were for the outfield seats which, while we could live with the location, did not actually exist. No reserved seating in the cheap seats + popular game + trying to find seats late + group of 6 people = nowhere whatsoever to sit. So we improvised and bluffed our way back into the lower level of the stadium, then climbed up till we found a row of empty seats above the first baseline where we could sit.
Then, of course, came the game, which was pretty great--Robinson Cano hit a home run, and the MLB team ended up winning 6-4, cementing their series-long winning streak. We had some yummy food (ENTIRELY different from US baseball food; aside from my Coke, I had fried chicken and fries eaten out of paper bags using a wooden skewer and an iced tea--and those were way on the tame side of the food stand offerings in the foyer), bought some merchandise (official T-shirts, and a Mariners hat for me, since I somehow left Seattle without buying one...), and enjoyed the game.
Then, as the last inning came to a close, came the real excitement.
The KAS adult leaders had told us to meet them down on the field level after the game for a chance to meet the players; Red Sox player Josh Reddick's dad had spent about an hour chatting with them before the game, and had promised to see what he could do about getting us in to meet people.
Well, that never happened. BUT, as we stood along the hallway across from the press conference room (and once again, incidentally, were reminded of how annoying high schoolers can be in important situations), along came Robinson Cano for his press conference! Hearts stopped all along our line, and he waved to Emily before going into the room and leaving us to anxiously await his return while griping about the photographers and others who were blocking our view through the windows.
 |
| This is not zoomed in at all. |
Into the press, though, Mr. Cano's dad, Jose Cano (who used to play pro baseball in Taiwan), came walking and selecting people to come to the front of the line. He was looking for kids initially, then grabbed Emily: "come," then me: "stay," then Rachel: "come," then one of the high schoolers standing nearby: "definitely come." And I regretted that I had left my Mariners hat upon my head.
Eventually I did make it to the front of the line, though, and he neatly signed my baseball and handed it back to the security guard to his right, who then passed it back to me. I stared down at my hand for a second, then realized I was still less than five feet from him and whipped out my camera.
We turned to leave, abandoning the possibility of KAS connections eventually coming through because, really, who could top Cano?
And that's when I discovered JUST how amazing our group's interaction with Cano had been.
As we left, she explained: after she had gotten her shirt signed (which itself happened after he went to sign the Yankees jersey she was wearing and stopped when he realized that it was Jeter's, not his), she turned to go, and felt something alighting on her head. She turned around and he nodded to her, hatless. There were tears in her eyes as we left, and we spent a good portion of the ride home asking her to tell us more details, and passing it around before she returned it, probably never to leave again, to her head.
Plenty of people can claim to have Cano's autograph. But how many can claim to have the hat he used in the final game of the Taiwan All-Star Series, in which he hit a home run? That would be one: Emily.
We returned home with our prizes, still beyond jazzed at our wonderful day.
"Once in a lifetime" can't quite contain the events of today, especially when held in conjunction with the events of yesterday. To be honest, it can't contain any of the events of this year for me. They just spill over, one into the next, and create a world which I really can't believe I'm living in. I am truly blessed; every day I live here in Taiwan reminds of this truth. Especially days when things just go right.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
An MLB sort of day...
It's a Saturday, but I set my alarm for this morning with not the slightest bit of resentment. There were two reasons for this: I didn't actually have to get up too early, and I was getting up so that I could go sing the American national anthem at the Taiwan MLB All-Star game.
Rachel, Brittany and I set out earlier than the others, in the hope of getting to see batting practice. We arrived at the stadium to discover, however, that it was cancelled. We further learned that we were the first of our group to get there, so it took a bit of cajoling to get in at all.
Once we (and by we, I mean Brittany and Rachel--I'm still utterly useless) talked one lady with an official pass into letting us in, she whisked us along the corridors behind the Taiwanese team's dugout, past multiple security guards and a barrier to a waiting area, where the dancers who were going to perform before us were eating lunch.
And there we sat. For a good 45 minutes or so. We chatted, Brittany and Rachel listened to music on their iPods, I played sudoku on my phone. If it hadn't been for the numerous security personnel we passed on our way in, we would have been forging towards the MLB dugouts on the other side, but from what we could tell, they were letting NO one back there other than the players and staff. Shoot.
Eventually, the other Fulbrighters (Samia, Lydia, Emily, and Fonda) showed up, and we learned that the rest of the group had since arrived and were waiting in the press conference room. So we went there, and picked up our Kaohsiung American School shirts, since it had been decided that we should all match, despite the fact that we were NOT actually from KAS. We then got kicked out of the press conference room and headed back for the green room, from which we were promptly excised so that we could line up, a full hour early, in the non-air-conditioned hallway.
And that's when they began: the high school memories. And not the warm, fuzzy memories of fantastic jokes with friends. No, more like "OK guys, be SERIOUS from this point on!" "We have an extra person in row 4--everyone in row 4 raise your hands!" (a few seconds pass in which a few people didn't hear the speaker) "Come on, you guys!" "Put away the cameras and just stand still!" All direct quotes, and I could go on. The point being: I had forgotten how little respect high school students get, and how little they even deserve, in many cases.
I hadn't realized how used to getting treated like an adult I had become, and going backwards was less than pleasant--especially as it involved standing motionless in a crowded, hot hallway for an extended period of time, lest we wander off or somehow forget where we were supposed to stand. (Which, it should be noted, some of the high schoolers did, notwithstanding the fact that we weren't allowed to move.)
But I did manage to get some photos. As I told the nice older gentleman standing next to me who identified himself as a trialing spouse of one of the KAS teachers, and a Texan, I don't go to this school! (As it turned out, that was a necessary distinction to make: he guessed I was a senior in high school.)
Eventually, we moved our lines down the hallway, and for a minute I was excited that we might be venturing into MLB area, but no such luck. No, we were just moving into the entryway near home plate, where we would be singing. We did pass a few Taiwanese players in the hallway, though--number 32 and number 6, if you know your players--but no luck on venturing into American territory. Instead, we still had a good 20 minutes of waiting ahead of us, but now we had to do it in an even more confined space, pressing four lines into the space that previously held two so as to allow people to pass.
On the fun side of things, the people passing us to get onto the field included one MLB player (missed who it was, just registered that he was white and in a baseball uniform), the 90- and 94-year-old Taiwanese ex-pro-baseball players who were going to throw the first pitches of the game, and the Washington Nationals' mascot. So that was cool.
Once we were good and sweaty, we finally filed onto the field for the big moment. We were standing on the 3rd base side of home plate, facing the audience, which looked pretty pitiful behind the plate but which was actually pretty full, considering the outfield seating pictured above and later shots I saw on TV of the rest of the stands.
Oh, and the MLB team was standing right behind us, maybe 15 feet away. Right behind us! Did I mention we were not allowed to turn around? Torturous. But, again, Fonda to the rescue with the pictures!
Then came the singing. IF, that is, you could call it that...
We were set up to fail, really. Though the KAS kids had practiced for a while at school, apparently, we combined forces with them just yesterday, at which point we got a grand total of two run-throughs. Then, because all things must be symmetrical and aesthetically pleasing here, we had to have 40 people; yesterday we had just 28 or so, so KAS scavenged among their students and staff to come up with the remainder. As a result, today we had roughly 12 people who had never practiced the song at all.
Then there were the electronic issues. They gave us two mikes, and were told to follow those who had the mikes, because they also had earpieces to hear where we actually were in the song, rather than listening to the slightly-delayed music radiating down to us from the stadium speakers. There were several problems with this: 1) there were 2 'leaders,' who were not even remotely synched with each other, 2) one of the earpieces wasn't functioning fully, 3) the only way we could follow the mic'd people was by following their mic'd voices, ie those coming over the stadium speakers. As a result, we had roughly 3 groups singing their own unique version at any given point in time. It was disastrous.
I have never understood so clearly why EVERY MUSICIAN EVER ALWAYS has earpieces in at all times, or even why, in smaller settings, a personal amp is not enough to create cohesion. If only we could all have earpieces, we might have been synched, and then things would have been fine--our singing was okay, it was just our inability to sing as a group which spelled our downfall.
Oh well. We'll try again tomorrow, and there's really nowhere to go but up, right?
After the singing, we filed back out, laughed at ourselves, and most of us headed home. But first, of course, a picture.
Well, I've got to go now to set my alarm for tomorrow morning. After all, the second time's the charm, right? And who knows, maybe we'll be more successful then in finagling our way into meeting the MLB players. All problems aside, I still have no complaints whatsoever about getting to sing the national anthem at an MLB game here in Taiwan.
Rachel, Brittany and I set out earlier than the others, in the hope of getting to see batting practice. We arrived at the stadium to discover, however, that it was cancelled. We further learned that we were the first of our group to get there, so it took a bit of cajoling to get in at all.
Once we (and by we, I mean Brittany and Rachel--I'm still utterly useless) talked one lady with an official pass into letting us in, she whisked us along the corridors behind the Taiwanese team's dugout, past multiple security guards and a barrier to a waiting area, where the dancers who were going to perform before us were eating lunch.
 |
| Meanwhile, their costumes were busy being creepy in the corner |
And there we sat. For a good 45 minutes or so. We chatted, Brittany and Rachel listened to music on their iPods, I played sudoku on my phone. If it hadn't been for the numerous security personnel we passed on our way in, we would have been forging towards the MLB dugouts on the other side, but from what we could tell, they were letting NO one back there other than the players and staff. Shoot.
Eventually, the other Fulbrighters (Samia, Lydia, Emily, and Fonda) showed up, and we learned that the rest of the group had since arrived and were waiting in the press conference room. So we went there, and picked up our Kaohsiung American School shirts, since it had been decided that we should all match, despite the fact that we were NOT actually from KAS. We then got kicked out of the press conference room and headed back for the green room, from which we were promptly excised so that we could line up, a full hour early, in the non-air-conditioned hallway.
And that's when they began: the high school memories. And not the warm, fuzzy memories of fantastic jokes with friends. No, more like "OK guys, be SERIOUS from this point on!" "We have an extra person in row 4--everyone in row 4 raise your hands!" (a few seconds pass in which a few people didn't hear the speaker) "Come on, you guys!" "Put away the cameras and just stand still!" All direct quotes, and I could go on. The point being: I had forgotten how little respect high school students get, and how little they even deserve, in many cases.
I hadn't realized how used to getting treated like an adult I had become, and going backwards was less than pleasant--especially as it involved standing motionless in a crowded, hot hallway for an extended period of time, lest we wander off or somehow forget where we were supposed to stand. (Which, it should be noted, some of the high schoolers did, notwithstanding the fact that we weren't allowed to move.)
But I did manage to get some photos. As I told the nice older gentleman standing next to me who identified himself as a trialing spouse of one of the KAS teachers, and a Texan, I don't go to this school! (As it turned out, that was a necessary distinction to make: he guessed I was a senior in high school.)
 |
| So close and yet so far... |
 |
| Standing and waiting and standing and waiting... |
Eventually, we moved our lines down the hallway, and for a minute I was excited that we might be venturing into MLB area, but no such luck. No, we were just moving into the entryway near home plate, where we would be singing. We did pass a few Taiwanese players in the hallway, though--number 32 and number 6, if you know your players--but no luck on venturing into American territory. Instead, we still had a good 20 minutes of waiting ahead of us, but now we had to do it in an even more confined space, pressing four lines into the space that previously held two so as to allow people to pass.
On the fun side of things, the people passing us to get onto the field included one MLB player (missed who it was, just registered that he was white and in a baseball uniform), the 90- and 94-year-old Taiwanese ex-pro-baseball players who were going to throw the first pitches of the game, and the Washington Nationals' mascot. So that was cool.
 |
| Fonda wasn't in the ranks, so she got some good shots from the front of the queue |
 |
| There it is. |
 |
| Mascot and the Taiwanese team! |
Oh, and the MLB team was standing right behind us, maybe 15 feet away. Right behind us! Did I mention we were not allowed to turn around? Torturous. But, again, Fonda to the rescue with the pictures!
Then came the singing. IF, that is, you could call it that...
We were set up to fail, really. Though the KAS kids had practiced for a while at school, apparently, we combined forces with them just yesterday, at which point we got a grand total of two run-throughs. Then, because all things must be symmetrical and aesthetically pleasing here, we had to have 40 people; yesterday we had just 28 or so, so KAS scavenged among their students and staff to come up with the remainder. As a result, today we had roughly 12 people who had never practiced the song at all.
Then there were the electronic issues. They gave us two mikes, and were told to follow those who had the mikes, because they also had earpieces to hear where we actually were in the song, rather than listening to the slightly-delayed music radiating down to us from the stadium speakers. There were several problems with this: 1) there were 2 'leaders,' who were not even remotely synched with each other, 2) one of the earpieces wasn't functioning fully, 3) the only way we could follow the mic'd people was by following their mic'd voices, ie those coming over the stadium speakers. As a result, we had roughly 3 groups singing their own unique version at any given point in time. It was disastrous.
I have never understood so clearly why EVERY MUSICIAN EVER ALWAYS has earpieces in at all times, or even why, in smaller settings, a personal amp is not enough to create cohesion. If only we could all have earpieces, we might have been synched, and then things would have been fine--our singing was okay, it was just our inability to sing as a group which spelled our downfall.
Oh well. We'll try again tomorrow, and there's really nowhere to go but up, right?
After the singing, we filed back out, laughed at ourselves, and most of us headed home. But first, of course, a picture.
Well, I've got to go now to set my alarm for tomorrow morning. After all, the second time's the charm, right? And who knows, maybe we'll be more successful then in finagling our way into meeting the MLB players. All problems aside, I still have no complaints whatsoever about getting to sing the national anthem at an MLB game here in Taiwan.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Kaohsiung in song
First of all, I'd just like to point out that this is my hundredth consecutive post on this blog. And, while the perfectionist in me would like to pour hours and hours of time into it so that it does not suck, I'm fairly certain that a) none of you really care; b) I've killed any chances of it being epic by simply mentioning that this is my 100th post; and c) I do actually care about getting some sleep tonight.
And not without reason: tomorrow, I will sing the American national anthem at a MLB game. Not alone, of course, and not in America, but STILL: tomorrow myself, 5 other Fulbrighters, and a group of high school students from the Kaohsiung American school will sing the American national anthem a the Taiwanese MLB All-Star Game.
So, yeah, we'll be on international TV.
Today, though, was just practice, which essentially entailed the group of us standing in the hot sun in the baseball stadium, waiting our turn to run-through the song a couple times. That, and taking jumping pictures.
But I'll have plenty to write about on that account tomorrow and Sunday, after we've actually done more than a run-through followed by a long speech by the mayor, who came for the performance.
So, to rewind a bit: this morning, my 5th and 6th graders had a field trip! And I, naturally, went with them. It was a short affair; we walked the five or so blocks to our destination, and the whole trip took about an hour and a half. But it was fun! We went to Qing-Shan's original building, which has since been converted into a government factory which manufactures clothes for Taiwanese soldiers.
We meandered around the old complex, the kids getting important tidbits of information from the Director of Academic Affairs, in Chinese, while I savored the scenery and absorbed the occasional paraphrase by Patty. The complex was actually quite picturesque.
When we went inside for the actual tour, I found myself wondering who would wear the clothes, and about the home lives of the workers--I had been told that a good number of my students' parents work here, and I wondered which ones they were? No way to tell--when they saw me trailing along at the tail end of the procession, their reactions were universally gasps and occasionally a proffered English phrase like "Hello!"
So that was our field trip.
Fast forwarding a bit, past the MLB practice, song came into my life a second time today, at Zhong Shan Da Shue's (中山大學) 13th annual "Singing Contest in Chinese & Taiwanese for the Foreign Students." In other words, glorified karaoke.
Here's how that went down: some people sucked. Like really, really sucked. The first guy to lead off was one of those, which I appreciated as a boost to everyone's confidence. Then there were a few people who were okay, and a few who were absolutely fantastic and need a record label to notice them now.
One group even dressed up in costume and did a comedic bit, which was pretty great.
And then there was us.
At the last second, Tiffiany had to leave because she had a bus to Kenting to catch for her birthday weekend (because sometimes life is just rough, you know?), and so our teacher recruited some of her other students, a group of French guys, to help us sing our song.
Yeah...that did not go so smoothly.
The thing is, they knew the chorus of the song, but that was about it. Not that we were too much better--we had our lyrics sheets in hand--but we had at least practiced it; knew what we were doing and had agreed weeks in advance to standing in front of a crowd and singing this particular song. (I blogged about it clear back in the beginning of October.)
So here's what ended up happening: the four of us who had prepared stood on one side of the stage, intermittently singing and laughing at ourselves, with a single microphone pointed, not at any of our mouths, but at a generalized point in the middle. I'm fairly certain no one could hear us.
On the other side of the stage stood the French guys, leading the crowd in clapping (clapping??? For Wode Bao Bei???) and chiming in whenever the chorus rolled around. And did I mention they had their own mike?
Fortunately, as I mentioned, we were still laughing. A few audience members laughed, too, which was more a relief than anything else. Because what else could we expect from that scenario? As Lydia said while we were leaving, in that sort of situation you have to be either completely amazing, or completely sucky and able to laugh at yourselves. I'd say we probably fell into the latter category.
Nonetheless, We'll be back out on the baseball field tomorrow, singing our hearts out for an international audience: proof that talent matters infinitely less than tenacity and happening to be one of the only Americans in Kaohsiung. And, as this 100th post attests, I have no talent but the talent of staying constant, whether to blogging, to being American, or to singing--poorly.
And not without reason: tomorrow, I will sing the American national anthem at a MLB game. Not alone, of course, and not in America, but STILL: tomorrow myself, 5 other Fulbrighters, and a group of high school students from the Kaohsiung American school will sing the American national anthem a the Taiwanese MLB All-Star Game.
So, yeah, we'll be on international TV.
Today, though, was just practice, which essentially entailed the group of us standing in the hot sun in the baseball stadium, waiting our turn to run-through the song a couple times. That, and taking jumping pictures.
 |
| Umm, I think we have a problem here... |
 |
| Love the facial expressions...and we're getting closer! |
 |
| Win! |
 |
| Annnd epic win! |
So, to rewind a bit: this morning, my 5th and 6th graders had a field trip! And I, naturally, went with them. It was a short affair; we walked the five or so blocks to our destination, and the whole trip took about an hour and a half. But it was fun! We went to Qing-Shan's original building, which has since been converted into a government factory which manufactures clothes for Taiwanese soldiers.
We meandered around the old complex, the kids getting important tidbits of information from the Director of Academic Affairs, in Chinese, while I savored the scenery and absorbed the occasional paraphrase by Patty. The complex was actually quite picturesque.
When we went inside for the actual tour, I found myself wondering who would wear the clothes, and about the home lives of the workers--I had been told that a good number of my students' parents work here, and I wondered which ones they were? No way to tell--when they saw me trailing along at the tail end of the procession, their reactions were universally gasps and occasionally a proffered English phrase like "Hello!"
 |
| Our procession. |
So that was our field trip.
Fast forwarding a bit, past the MLB practice, song came into my life a second time today, at Zhong Shan Da Shue's (中山大學) 13th annual "Singing Contest in Chinese & Taiwanese for the Foreign Students." In other words, glorified karaoke.
Here's how that went down: some people sucked. Like really, really sucked. The first guy to lead off was one of those, which I appreciated as a boost to everyone's confidence. Then there were a few people who were okay, and a few who were absolutely fantastic and need a record label to notice them now.
 |
| That would be this guy. He also needs to stop wearing v-neck shirts now, but I won't quibble. |
And then there was us.
At the last second, Tiffiany had to leave because she had a bus to Kenting to catch for her birthday weekend (because sometimes life is just rough, you know?), and so our teacher recruited some of her other students, a group of French guys, to help us sing our song.
Yeah...that did not go so smoothly.
The thing is, they knew the chorus of the song, but that was about it. Not that we were too much better--we had our lyrics sheets in hand--but we had at least practiced it; knew what we were doing and had agreed weeks in advance to standing in front of a crowd and singing this particular song. (I blogged about it clear back in the beginning of October.)
So here's what ended up happening: the four of us who had prepared stood on one side of the stage, intermittently singing and laughing at ourselves, with a single microphone pointed, not at any of our mouths, but at a generalized point in the middle. I'm fairly certain no one could hear us.
On the other side of the stage stood the French guys, leading the crowd in clapping (clapping??? For Wode Bao Bei???) and chiming in whenever the chorus rolled around. And did I mention they had their own mike?
Fortunately, as I mentioned, we were still laughing. A few audience members laughed, too, which was more a relief than anything else. Because what else could we expect from that scenario? As Lydia said while we were leaving, in that sort of situation you have to be either completely amazing, or completely sucky and able to laugh at yourselves. I'd say we probably fell into the latter category.
Nonetheless, We'll be back out on the baseball field tomorrow, singing our hearts out for an international audience: proof that talent matters infinitely less than tenacity and happening to be one of the only Americans in Kaohsiung. And, as this 100th post attests, I have no talent but the talent of staying constant, whether to blogging, to being American, or to singing--poorly.
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