Joshua Samuel Brown's Blog, page 2

Formosa Moon Book Launch Party

Joshua Samuel Brown (Vignettes of Taiwan, Lonely Planet Taiwan) and Stephanie Huffman cordially invite you to a book launch party for their latest book, Formosa Moon, at Taipei's Red Room! Published by Things Asian Press, Formosa Moon is a romantic and geeky cultural journey around Taiwan undertaken by a couple comprised of a seasoned guidebook writer intimately familiar with Taiwan and a first-time visitor who agreed to leave everything behind and relocate to Taiwan sight unseen. Along the way the couple lose themselves in Taoist temples, feast on street food and explore Taiwan’s breathtaking scenery while also engaging in less typical expatriate activities including filming a clandestine puppet show in a hijacked hotel lobby, accidentally taking up chicken farming in their residential Taipei neighborhood, and allowing themselves to be briefly sucked into a local religious cult…all in the name of cultural immersion. Part travelogue, part guidebook, part memoir, Formosa Moon is a dual-voice narrative offering practical travel information about this young and vibrant democracy while commenting hilariously on their often unusual travel experiences around the country, ultimately inspiring readers to explore Taiwan on a deeper level. Join the authors of Formosa Moon for a reading, live reenactments, book signing, food, drinks, puppetry and more at the Red Room on Saturday, October 27, starting at 6pm. Admission is free, and a good time is guaranteed!


What: Formosa Moon Launch PartyWhen: October 27, 2018 - 18:00 - 20:00 (6pm-10pm)Where: The Red Room, Jianguo S. Rd. Sec.1 #177 (1st building on the left, 2F)   建國南路一段177號 （入口左邊第一棟灰色大樓2F),


Can't make the party? Order your copy of Formosa Moon online!

The Red Room is an ever-expanding community exploring and extending the boundaries between audience and performer through events centered around the spoken word, music, visual arts, theater, and family friendly activities, Red Room is a community hub where participants can explore their passion with other artists and creatives.


What people are saying about Formosa Moon

“I don’t know if this is the most exhaustive book ever written in English about Taiwan, but I feel like it might be the coolest and weirdest. It’s definitely a lot of fun.” Freddy Lim, New People’s Party Legislator / Chthonic Lead Singer
“Joshua Samuel Brown and Stephanie Huffman have pulled off something remarkable: A love letter to Taiwan grounded in deep experience and fresh eyes. A beautiful book for the beautiful island. “ Andrew Leonard, Salon.com

“What a delight! Joshua Samuel Brown and Stephanie Huffman offer readers an affectionate, clear-eyed view of Taiwan that highlights its complexities, its eccentricities, and its wonders. A must-read for both returning and first-time visitors to Taiwan.”Shawna Yang Ryan, Author Water Ghosts, Green Island

Rest In Peace Harlan Ellison and Sorry about my Childish Prank Calls so Many Years Ago

Harlan Ellison 1934-2018
Woke up this morning to the news that Harlan Ellison had passed away in his sleep, which isn't such a bad way to go and not such bad news to wake up to compared to most of what we're waking up to these days in the collective nightmare that is the Trump Era, something I'm reasonably sure the man who wrote I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream would agree with in so far as comparative nightmares are concerned, though maybe not, being as Harlan Ellison was a notorious curmudgeon.

More than a great writer, he was a writer of great science fiction (among other genres), and if you've read this far I'll assume you already know this and are, like me, a fan and are thus here to more-or-less share a moment of sadness at his passing, though again, he led a life not just long as these things go but one of objectively insane productivity. There are thousands of virtual wells down which you can dive to see the depth and breadth of Ellison's work.

But this story is mine, unless one of the other characters involved have already told it somewhere else, and if they have I haven't heard about it. I've told it before, but never in writing out of a mixture of respect for and fear of the man at its center, which as the title and timing suggests is Harlan Ellison. Respect, of course, for a writer whose work has always meant a lot to me, and fear, also, in that by the time I was ever in a position to meaningfully put the story to paper or pixel I was already in a position in my career when the last thing I needed to do was to get on Harlan Ellison's shit list, though I suppose there would have been some fleeting thrill in that as well.

You'll forgive me if I don't recall the precise particulars of the story, or if indeed it's altered over the decades from the way it actually happened into some made-for-TV blog post version thereof. What I am sure of is that most of the action in the story, my part of it anyway, happened at a party at someone's house in Western New York State, probably in or around the town of Brockport, where I was doing my undergraduate degree in Creative Writing in the late 1980's, and there was a guy named Dave involved (because there's always a guy named Dave involved), and that one of us, I'm not sure which, had gotten hold of Harlan Ellison's home phone number.

So we were at this party with some other people, Dave and I, and we were probably drunk and stoned, and for whatever reason thought it would be a good and fun thing to call Harlan Ellison to let him know what we thought about his writing, which is one of those things that seems like a good idea to 19 year old kids when they're drunk and stoned but in reality never actually is. I don't remember the name of the kid who hosted the party, but whoever he was, he thought the idea was pretty funny too, so with his blessing we called up the number one of us had gotten by dialing up Los Angeles information, both of us on phones in separate rooms, and now that I think about it, it must have been Dave who spoke first.

"Is this Harlan Ellison?" Dave asked, to which the writer responded "Yeah, who is this" in a tone of voice that indicated general indication, or that this was not the first time some random fan had gotten a hold of his phone number, or perhaps both. Dave then proceeded to launch into a critique of one of Ellison's more famous stories, the aforementioned I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream, not in any particularly meaningful way but in a typically stupid prank call fashion, and Harlan Ellison eventually said something to the nature of go fuck yourself (though again, maybe he didn't) and hung up the phone while Dave and I giggled like idiots, which in hindsight we most certainly were.

So we decided to do it again after a few minute pause, because hey, why not, only this time I spoke and decided to pretend that we were actually on some sort of call in show with Harlan Ellison, to which I was just another caller.

"Mr. Ellison, I totally disagree with the previous caller. I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream stands among the most important science fiction stories of our time, telling as it does the tale of man's enslavement to the very technology that he himself created..."

Or some such nonsense, which Harlan Ellison interrupted somewhere along the way (and rightly so) by either telling me to go fuck myself, threatening to call the police or just slamming down the phone, possibly all three, and again, rightly so.

So Dave and I, having had our fun, or what passed for fun to us at the time, decided to call it quits and after a few more laughs we got bored and went back to our respective homes to sleep it off, and the two of us probably would have forgotten about the whole incident entirely.

Except that the incident did not end there.

A few months later, I ran into Dave.

"Dude, do you remember that party where we prank called Harlan Ellison?" he asked, and I replied, "Vaguely."

He then proceeded to tell me the rest of the story, which was that the kid whose phone we'd made the call from had apparently thought our prank had been the funniest thing he'd ever witnessed, and reminded of the incident by the arrival of the phone bill (on which Harlan Ellison's number, along with what was probably a dollar or two for two quick calls from upstate New York to California), decided to turn the singular evening's prank into a series, this time calling from the home of his parents in Long Island several times over the course of a few weeks on summer break.

Unfortunately for this fellow student, whose name is long forgotten to me (if I ever knew it anyway), Harlan Ellison, having had enough of this tomfoolery,  had called his local police who offered to trace the call, which he did by keeping this fellow student on the line for a couple of minutes by the simple act of not hanging up on him. And so it was that this long-forgotten by me fellow student wound up having the local police visit the home of his mortified parents, having been called upon to do so by whatever law enforcement officials had helped Mr. Harlan Ellison to trace the call in the first place.

It was soon ascertained that indeed the offending calls had come from this fellow student's phone, and the local police assured the student's parents that telephone harassment was a serious crime, and that Harlan Ellison was an important person who would be well within his legal rights to press charges and insist on maximum prosecution to the fullest extent of the law, which would certainly include hefty fines and other even nastier legal ramifications.

"Shit," I said to Dave, wondering if we'd in any way been implicated before realizing that given the circumstances our role in the fiasco was probably, from a legal standpoint minimal. "So what happened?"

"The parents made the kid call up Harlan Ellison and beg him to drop the charges. From what I heard, the kid was scared shitless, crying with snot running out of his nose while Harlan Ellison chewed him a new asshole over the phone. Eventually Ellison said he'd drop the charges, but if he ever got another prank call he'd know who to blame, so the kid had better watch out."

Being not much more mature at this point than I had been a few months earlier, I thought this was funny.

"So should we call Ellison again ourselves from a pay phone, just to really fuck with this kid?" I suggested.

"Nah," Dave answered.  "I called information. He's got an unlisted number now."

~~~
Harlan Ellison was born in 1934, placing him squarely in the middle-age category at the time of this story, which is squarely where I am as I relate it in writing for the first time. I doubt the incident was even vaguely memorable to him, but I guess it is to me.  For what it's worth, Rest In Peace Harlan Ellison and Sorry about my Childish Prank Calls so Many Years Ago.


~~~
Snarky Tofu is now largely orphaned and being used mostly for the occasional political musing and obituary. 
I'm still publishing new articles about Taiwan, Travel and Tourism at Josambro.com.
My Latest book, Formosa Moon, can be purchased through this link.

Anthony Bourdain 1956-2018

Anthony Bourdain 1956-2018
I'm devastated by this.

As a travel writer, as a food lover, as a kid from New York City who was propelled to better things by punk rock and working in kitchens, as a journalist, as a human being.

I never met Anthony Bourdain, but he meant a lot to me. My world is diminished by his sudden absence.

Two short vignettes about Bourdain, one in which our paths almost crossed. 


Singapore, 2007

I was working on one of my Lonely Planet Singapore guides to the city, and was out late having the sort of nighttime adventures to which Singapore lends itself well.

I was wandering with a copy of Kitchen Confidential in my bag, going between Hawker Centers in a neighborhood not much written about in guidebooks. I wasn't on duty, wasn't taking notes. I'd hit a stall, order something and eat while reading a chapter of Kitchen Confidential. Eat, read, repeat. Char Kway Teow, chapter. Hainan Chicken Rice, chapter. Bak Kut Teh, Chapter. Durian...and so forth.

It felt good, good to be out past midnight, good to be involved in the same industry as Anthony Bourdain, good to be reading his work while eating dishes in a city I knew he loved.

~~~
Taipei, 2012

I was in between guidebook projects and basically doing not much of anything in Taipei before heading back to North America. A friend of mine got word from Bourdain's production company that Anthony would be coming to Taipei and was looking for a fixer, and he'd recommended me. They sent me a letter, and I wrote back enthusiastically offering my services. I wound up taking an hour-long call from the production people at one AM, and spent the next couple of days getting ideas together for his Taipei Layover show. The company wound up using about half of my ideas, including going to the Keelung Night Market and taking Anthony to one of those typically Taiwanese catch-and-eat shrimp places. But the fixing gig didn't happen.

Apparently Bourdain hated the catch-and-eat shrimp place. I felt strangely proud for having made the recommendation.

~~~
Two days later, and I'm still devastated. Fuck it, I'm going to eat something. 
~~~
Snarky Tofu is now largely orphaned and being used mostly for the occasional political musing and obituary. 
I'm still publishing new articles about Taiwan, Travel and Tourism at Josambro.com.
My Latest book, Formosa Moon, can be purchased through this link.

The Secret Path is Our Happy Place

Back in December Twilight and I went to Xiao LiuQiu, a small island mysteriously similar in shape (though thankfully, in no other way) to my birthplace of Staten Island.
A tale of two islands. Decide for yourself.We spent three days there, and how much we liked the place should be evident in the title of the article I wound up doing for Taiwan Scene Magazine: Three Days in Xiao Liuqiu (were not enough). So we decided to head back there in February to spend more time, eight days to be exact. We did a lot more exploring of the island's fantastic culture, nature and temple scene (absolutely out of this world), and I'll be doing a few more articles for Taiwan Scene in the next couple of weeks. For the moment, I'll confine myself to raving about the hotel that we stayed at:
The Secret Path B&BThe hotel's Chinese name is 朵小路北歐民宿, but since most readers of Snarky Tofu read English, I'll be calling it by its English Name, the rather poetic (and appropriate) Secret Path Bed and Breakfast.
A week at the Secret Path was kind of like an extended sleep-over with super-cool cousins who'd decided to ditch big city life to be artists on a beautiful island.
This is the Chen family. They speak English, and are excellent hosts. It's safe to say that The Secret Path is their baby.
The Chen FamilyLike myself, the Chen family have their own cartoon alter-egos, which I found particularly cool.
The Chen Family in Cartoon form. (Younger brother not drawn)The Chen's artistic touches are all over the hotel, from the complimentary comic book (featuring the cartoon family's adventures) in the room to the wall art in each room (each individually done). In our room one wall was taken up with a large mural of cartoon turtles posing for selfies.
Another room featured more happy turtles listening to a merman playing a ukulele. On another wall there was a series of drawings which resembled a comic strip. They told the story of a turtle getting a straw stuck in its nose. (Sea turtles are a big thing on Xiao Liuqiu.) The cartoon aesthetic made the message seem poignant and reminded us to use our metal straws and chopsticks during our stay.

The artistic flair continued to the bathroom where a wall of hand-painted tiles greeted us. Tiles featured
owls, spectacles, John Lennon and messages like Love, Truth, and Life is simple when you live simply.
The bathtub was lined with dark stone and big enough to fit two people comfortably (and three people
intimately, if that's your thing).

The VIP room at the Secret Path B&BArt in each room was unique. One room featured a jungle scene with several cats lounging by a river. Even the doors were decorated with green plastic grass, prompting us to pet our room door before entering.
Shaggy was kind enough to let us have a peak at his VIP room which featured a working two person carousel. Quite the sight to behold indeed!


Twilight's favorite piece was the life-size llama statue in the hotel lobby. It had brown fleece with a golden head that wore sunglasses. You can take the elevator to your room but the stairs are a better choice. That path leads you by more fun artwork, including a clock that features various male facial hair like the Chopper or Hustler mustaches. So the place is basically heaven for fans of cool art.


Quirky Art Heaven!
I found the facial hair clock quite inspiring. For a while.





Breakfast was great, usually some artistically prepared combination of eggs, fresh fruit, veggies, toast and jam, with the all-important endless coffee without which no day can properly start. They also do a special kids breakfast, on an elephant shaped wooden tray with a breakfast hamburger dressed up with a flag.


The most important meal of the day. Also, food was served.

Beer
Spirits and libations were also available in the form of a local craft beer, as well as a Taiwanese brand only sold on Xiao Liuqiu called Captain.
Secret Path gets its name from its location, set back from the main drag. Not that the main drag in Xiao Liuqiu is particularly busy, at least not in February. (July is another story). From our balcony we saw the ocean, and heard the occasional light construction noise from a neighborhood temple that was being finished in time for Lunar New Year. (Watch this video for more on that:)
But the island is a small place, and the hotel is a short ride from anywhere on the island. We zipped around the island on electric scooters, and were never bored.
We loved our stay at the place, and are looking forward to returning in November for a massive festival that takes place every three years on the island. If we can make the time, we might return sooner. Because eight days weren't quite enough, either.

I recommend The Secret Path BnB without reservation. Except, you know, that you should probably make reservations before you show up so that the Chen family know you're coming.

The Secret Path BnB
Address in Chinese: 中華民國(台灣) 929屏東縣琉球鄉復興路163之2號
Telephone (From Taiwan): 0988598592
WebsiteShaggy's Facebook Page

The Four Stages of Life (as experienced through Taiwanese cuisine)

A few months back I was asked to contribute an article on Taiwanese cuisine for an excellent business magazine called Topics. I pitched the idea of doing four short vignettes, since this is the sort of writing I enjoy doing the most.  The stages of life (and their culinary counterparts) were Childhood : Night market cuisineMaturity : Business DinnersMiddle Age : Bitter MelonDeath : Coffin Toast
I think the end result was quite good.  Have a look at the first bits of each vignette. If you like them, click on over to Topics Magazine to read the rest.The Four Stages of Life (as experienced through Taiwanese cuisine)Childhood: Consequence-Free Dining at the Night MarketWill was on assignment in Taiwan, one of a group of bloggers, YouTubers, and other influencers invited by the Tourism Bureau to produce millennial-friendly content promoting Taiwan on the internet. It was his first day in town, so I figured the night market was a good place to start.I texted my suggestion. When he replied, “Take me where the locals go,” I knew I was dealing with a fellow travel professional.... Click here to continue reading at Topics Magazine Click here to check out the film of our night market Jaunt. (The night market part starts at 6:30, but the whole film is well worth watching!)
Maturity: The Business DinnerStephanie and I had been awake since before sunrise, and were nearly catatonic by the time we were halfway through the hour-long drive from the Taitung coast to the town of Luye. Hosted by the local tourism bureau as part of the research for an upcoming book, we’d been crammed with activity for three days and were looking forward to a long bath, quick dinner, and lengthy sleep, preferably in that order.Walking through the lobby of the Luminous Hotel, we saw other guests milling about the buffet. We took the elevator up to our room, looking forward to a low-key dinner. The view from the floor to ceiling window of our room, the outline of the central mountain range, was a welcome sight indeed, and the hot spring tub in the center of the bathroom beckoned.I’d just started filling the tub when the phone clanged. It was our handler from the tourism bureau. “The Hotel Manager has invited you to dinner in 15 minutes. He wants to tell you about the hotel.”Our plans for a long soak in the tub would be delayed... 
Click here to continue reading at Topics Magazine
Middle Age: The Bill Comes DueDoctor Yu shook his head as he looked over the results of my recent blood test on the screen in front of him.“Your cholesterol is elevated from your last checkup. Have you cut back on fried foods as I suggested?”“Somewhat,” I answered vaguely.“Cut back more. No more than once a week.”“Do you mean one fried item a week or one day weekly in which I should solely eat fried food?”Dr. Yu was not going to dignify the question with a response. He was a busy man, with two dozen patients yet to see before lunch...Click here to continue reading at Topics Magazine
Death: Embracing Mortality with Coffin Bread“Where’s the best Guancai Ban in town?” I asked my taxi driver. I might as well have handed him a business card reading Tourist, but I didn’t care.“Chi Kan,” he answered “Famous place. You had Guancia Ban before?”I told the driver that I’d had the dish before in Tainan, years ago, and didn’t remember much outside of having liked it. I had also visited one or two spots in Taipei claiming to serve it, but found these to be pale imitations. Some foods – San Francisco Sourdough, Philly Cheese Steak, Brooklyn Egg Creams – are justifiably best sought out in the city for which they’re named, and such is the case with Tainan Coffin Bread...Click here to continue reading at Topics Magazine

Drunk without Wine at Reikei Hot Spring

Exterior of Reikei Hot Spring Resort (Image courtesy of Reikei)


It was past dark when said goodbye to Zhong Hui, our guide from Tainan Tourism. We’d spent the last two days together, exploring on the first day the history and esoteric art scenes of Tainan city and the second a few natural and cultural wonders of the county. These explorations behind us (and soon to be documented in full as part of my responsibility as Editor-in-chief for MyTaiwanTour), it was time to relax.
The bureau had graciously offered to drop us off in the hot spring town of Guanziling, in the far northern reaches of Tainan county. As something of an afficianado of Taiwan’s hot spring scene, Guanziling was one of the few hot spring areas I’d not yet visited, and I’d heard good things about the place, specifically of the deeply relaxing properties of the waters.
The Reiei Hotel LobbyWe were welcomed at the front desk of the Reiki Hot Spring resort by Ms. Chang, manager of the Reiki. Setting down our bags, we took a moment to drink in the lobby’s ambiance. Twilight and I were especially drawn to the man-sized amethyst crystal by the hallway leading to the elevator. We were preparing to head upstairs when Ms. Chang steered us towards the front door.
“You’ll be staying in the Fashion Building,” she told us. We were intrigued.
Manager Chang walked us up the road past the Reiki’s public hot spring. “You may soak there anytime you wish during your stay, but you’ll need to wear swimsuits. Your room, of course, has two private baths.”
Exterior of The Fashion BuildingFrom the outside, the Fashion building seemed, well, less than fashionable. The main distinguishing feature of the long, single story white annex were the beautifully lit golden leaves of a tree that hovered over the building. But stepping inside revealed an absolutely beautiful ambiance.
Our lovely bed
Our room was spacious, minimalist, and in a word, gorgeous. Aside from a cupboard, closet and wall mounted flat screen television, the only furniture was a cloud soft canopy bed at the foot of which was a small divan. Next to the windows was an easy chair (from which I’d soon be unable to rise). Lovely as this was, the best part of the room was yet to come. Through a sliding door, we found ourselves in the marble tiled semi-enclosed bathroom and bathing area about the same size of the room itself. In one corner of the patio sat two square marble tubs.
The larger tub took a full thirty minutes to fill, while the smaller - meant for between soak cold plunges - filled in about ten. And it’s here that the focus of this post needs to switch from decor to biochemical, or at least mineral. 
The tubOne thing that’s always fascinated me about Taiwanese hot springs is their diversity, with waters of different springs having their own particular properties. Guanziling bills its waters as mud springs, which isn’t entirely accurate if you are expecting the thick mud baths of a place like New Mexico’s Ojo Caliente (which we were). Instead, the waters that filled the larger of our two tubs was more of a dark gray.
We settled into the larger tub, watching our bodies disappear into the opaque water, water which had a distinct earthy, almost eucalyptus smell, milder than the pi dan (smelly egg) fragrance of Beitou’s hot springs but more pronounced than the odorless waters of Wulai. The waters of Guanzaling were different in effect as well.
It had been a long day, filled with mountain hikes and temple hopping, but I’m no stranger to ending days of intense activities with a soak (I generally plan all my bike tours around Taiwan to end at a hot spring). But after 45 minutes of soaking in our tub at the Reikei, a soak punctuated with three cold plunges, we both felt like we were floating on clouds of opium smoke.
Ms. Chang had told us that the restaurants on the main drag wouldn’t stay open much past nine, so we dragged ourselves out of the tub at 7:45 and headed into town for dinner of chicken, vegetables and bamboo shoots. The meal was delicious, and though I’d not touched a drop of alcohol, I found myself nearly weaving like a drunkard along the sidewalk back to the hotel. We stopped into a small store selling homemade mochi, and I asked the owner if this was an unusual occurrence. He just smiled.
“Drink more water next time.”
Though we could have both collapsed in our feather-soft bed, the water in the tub was still warm and the thought of soaking beneath the open roof was too tempting. Adding a bit more brought the temperature to hot, and as we both slipped in for a second soak in as many hours we realized that slipping out would be increasingly difficult.
“Is it possible to overdose on hot springs?” I mumbled.
“Don’t think so…” Twilight whispered back. “But you never know.”   This time we drank copious amount of water, but the lithium effects of the dark springs were no less pronounced. It was like soaking in the waters of the fabled river Lethe.
Neither of us went the way of Keith Moon that night, and managed to make it into bed before passing out into a near-dreamless sleep.
The Reikei's public spa area includes four pools. (Not shown: Wet and dry sauna)

The Reiki Hot Spring Resort is in the town of Guanziling in northern Tainan County.  732, Tainan City, Baihe District, 關子嶺61之5號Phone: 06 682 2588 http://www.reikei.com.tw/index https://www.facebook.com/reikeihotspr...

The Matinee Photographer Returns

Photo: Drew Carolan, 1983-ishIn 2008 or so, I got a message through MySpace (ah, those were the days) from a guy named Drew Carolan who wanted to know if a particular photograph he had in his vast collection of photos he'd taken of punk rock kids on the Bowery in the early eighties was me.

This photo, to be exact.

So it was me, and Drew and I struck up a conversation about a project he was working on to take all these photos he'd taken way back when and turn 'em into a book. A few months later I found myself in LA, where Drew had long since migrated, and we wound up meeting up for lunch and another photo shoot, this time of me as I looked then holding the photo in question (of how I looked another then.)


Also DC, Definitely 2009


This was that photo, taken by Drew in 2009.  Anyway, Drew took me out to Trader Joe's as I was heading out for yet another guidebook mission for Lonely Planet...Belize, I think. Anyway, Drew and I kept in contact, this time on Facebook, and every few months I'd ask him how the book was coming along, and he'd reply that it was indeed coming along.














A few months ago Drew announced that, like Frankenstein's Monster, Matinee: All Ages On The Bowery was ALIVE.

The book
I went out and ordered my copy immediately, but since I live in Taiwan I didn't have it sent to me, but to my parents instead so that they could cherish the memories of a bygone era when they shuddered at the sight of me.

A few weeks later, Drew contacted me, again through Facebook (because Facebook rules the universe now) and said that he was being interviewed for a piece on National Public Radio called
The Kids Of Bowery's Hardcore 'Matinee,' Then And Now (that's a link there), and that he'd be mighty grateful if I could take a photo of myself with the book for the "then and now" part, and that, furthermore, he'd mail a copy of MATINEE to me in Taiwan at his expense if I'd go out and take a photograph of myself holding it in some suitably Taiwanese setting.

Of course I agreed, because a) Drew is cool, b) I like having photos of myself taken in suitably Taiwanese settings, and c) free second copy of Matinee.

So the book came, and as Stephanie and I were going out that night to catch Thor: Ragnarok with Tobie Openshaw in Ximending, I figured that we'd head to one of my favorite urban temples in the neighborhood to take a couple of shots for the book. But I forgot to mention it to Tobie, so all I had was my cell phone. We took these pictures


Photos: Tobie Openshaw

Which I think you'll agree are perfectly acceptable, given the circumstances. We then headed out to get some food, and were on our way to a small Thai place to do that before the film when Tobie suddenly bumped into Serene Millicent, a friend of his (and Facebook aquaintence of mine, though I didn't know it at the time), who is carrying around her neck some sort of ungodly expensive camera, just walking around looking for cool stuff to shoot on a Friday night.

Tobie being Tobie just enlists here services then and there, and as time was short, just hustled us all back to the temple without explaining much to me past "Serene is an excellent photographer with an amazing camera who we've just happened to bump into."

Photos: Serene MillicentSo we wound up getting these lovely shots, courtesy of Serene (because Taiwan is magic).
Thor was excellent as well. We never did make it out for Thai food though.

The NPR piece came out a couple of weeks later. My contribution to the article is:

In hindsight, I think that my early adolescent treks from Staten Island to the Bowery to catch the weekly matinee at CBGB's may have been training me to spend my life on the road. After getting out of university I started traveling more seriously, eventually expatriating when I was 24. Since then, I've probably spent half my life living overseas, working mostly as a journalist and travel writer in Taiwan, Hong Kong and China. I have a new book coming out in 2018 — my 14th — titled Formosa Moon and have recently switched from original Star Trek "continuing journey" mode to a more Deep Space Nine mode by hooking up with a Taiwanese travel company that does custom tours around the country. It kind of fits, in a weird way. There's a decent punk scene here, and Beijing calls us a renegade province, so yeah, there's that. (I actually did an interview with NPR a couple of years back about the music scene here.) Currently listening to: Kou Chou Ching, The White Eyes, Frank Zappa, Gentle Giant, Yes, Bad Brains, The Germs, Black Flag, Minor Threat

But you should read the whole article here: The Kids Of Bowery's Hardcore 'Matinee,' Then And Now 

Also, you should definitely purchase Matinee: All Ages on the Bowery so Drew can visit Taiwan with his camera.

The False Deepening

Following up on my last post about one of pitfalls of social media (The Great Shallowing), which came about after reading this excellent article in the Guardian about how our brains are being hacked.

At the risk of being overly Meta, I just spent five minutes looking for the Guardian article online, which lead me down a rabbit hole of checking out a few twitter profiles, sending out a new tweet to promote my own work, and almost sent me to Facebook, since I'd posted it there a week back. It was at that point that I said fuck it, and we're back. Five minutes sacrificed to the gods of social media is nothing in the grand scheme of things.

So in The Great Shallowing I lamented in very broad strokes about how social media is making us all (your humble narrator included) into slack-jawed jerks with the attention spans of fruit-flies and a massive network of acquaintances who we know not as people but as a collection of social media algorithms. And then I suggested that we write more real letters (or at least emails) to people we want to stay in touch instead of communicating through chat boxes. So: Identify problem, offer solution. Caught up? Good?

(But I am going to digress to share something for a moment. Yesterday my Girlfriend was poking around the settings section of Twitter, and came across something under the settings tab that led to a treasure trove of DATA that Twitter had gleaned from her account activity, all in all about a hundred different descriptors, some of which were correct ("female aged 35-45"), others out of date but true once upon a time ("dog owner") and still others hilariously incorrect ("annual income: $250,000") - there was a shit-ton of other minutiae in there, and on mine as well. Twitter allows you to delete it, which we both did. Will keep you posted if this leads to a radically different Twitter experience.)

Back to the now, and one of the likely many corollaries to The Great Shallowing brought about by social media (and here I should probably put for those who easily take umbrage that the opinions expressed in my blog are my own, but if you are indeed taking umbrage do leave a comment below and I will do my best to defend my thinking as long as you're decent about it), The False Deepening.

By this I mean the trend fostered by social media to presume intimacy that has been neither created organically nor requested.

Over the last year or so as my social media community has expanded, I've noticed an increasing number of people in my feed who regularly use the platform to share publicly deeply personal information. One person posted a lengthy essay about their battle with sex addiction. Another, their trials and tribulations with adjusting to life in the country to which they'd expatriated, down to bad dating experiences, deep feelings of culture shock and bouts of sexual frustration.

There are just a couple of examples, and if I'm being a bit vague it's because I don't want to deliberately call anyone out personally (hence the gender neutral pronouns).

Don't get me wrong. My friend Stella posts about everything from sex and personal dating experiences to fisting dos and don'ts and on which date is it appropriate to ask your partner for a golden shower. But Stella is literally a professional sex educator, who travels the country talking about this stuff and writes columns regularly about sex, kink, polyamory and so forth. So when I see on her feed something like

"Last night had date with gender queer millennial; concerned I may have brought up rimming too early" 

I don't find it off-putting because a) that's what I expect to see in the Facebook feed of someone who's also a sex educator, and b) Stella is someone I personally know rather than a random FB acquaintance.

Seeing similar stuff popping up with alarming regularity in the feeds of random acquaintances is weirdly off-putting. So my solution (because Snarky Tofu is all about solutions) has been to start gently unfollowing people I don't really know who continually post way too much personal information.

An even more off-putting manifestation of this False Deepening I've experienced recently has come in the form of lengthy ... can we call them emails if they come through Facebook chats ... from people who I've never personally met (but know of through other friends), written with way too much familiarity given the online acquaintance nature of our knowing each other. This morning I got five hundred words of text about an unusual dating experience, beginning with the words

"Making a good impression on the ladies of Taiwan isn't as easy as it used to be. OMG, I have to tell you a story. It's about me talking ladies into falling in love with me..." 

This came from a person with whom I'd chatted briefly nine months ago after accepting a friend request. We'd exchanged a few texts about the fact that we both lived in Taiwan, and for whatever reason nothing came of it. Probably nothing personal (at least not on my end), life just moves fast. I'd liked and commented on a few things on their FB feed, they'd done the same on mine. But we'd never gotten around to establishing the sort of friendship that would make me an appropriate recipient for a lengthy story about their dating life.

(Again, not mentioning names here - my point is not to embarrass anyone, let alone this person who is probably a fine fellow.)

A month back I found myself muting another person who'd been writing to me regularly. He'd connected with me on FB through a couple of mutual friends, but had never actually met in person. He started writing me regularly, first offering to act as guide should I ever wind up in his town, then giving me suggestions about places I ought to write about at some point. Then things got weird. 

Being a travel writer, I'm usually into hearing from people who have cool travel tips about places I write about, or have given some inclination that I may do so, and if we're friends-of-friends, I generally don't mind getting FB chat messages. But this guy kept writing me through FB chat, 300-400 words at a pop in a super-familiar tone that was a bit weird coming from someone I'd never actually met.

Shortly after muting him (he kept writing me even after I'd stopped responding), I wound up blocking him entirely after I'd posted something generally travel-writer-y on my Facebook feed (having a wonderful time at X hotel in Y town), to which he replied quickly "Oh, you're quite close to where I live...you should stop over" - which, yeah, in the context of someone I'd literally never met nor had any sort of meaningful connection with seemed a) weird, and b) just a few words removed from "oh, you're quite close to where I live...I think I'll stop over" for personal comfort.

Back to the realm of useful solutions. 

There's nothing wrong with reaching out to people you barely know, or don't know at all, based on some sort of shared mutual interest. I have a number of close friendships that started in just that way. But on the internet, especially over social media, the line between friend and friend-of-friend, acquaintance and acquaintance-of-acquaintance and near random stranger gets blurred. 

It's fine to contact people out of the blue with some sort of reason. But anything outside of a few sentences really should come only after some sort of response signifying mutual interest. If it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen.

Before sending off a lengthy message to anyone who you know solely through social media, ask yourself the following questions:

1) Have I already established some sort of a connection with this person outside of mutual liking of Facebook posts?

Unless the answer to this is yes, do not proceed to the next question.

2) Have this person and I already been in correspondence about a subject vaguely similar to that which I am contemplating writing them about now in great length?

Unless the answer to this is yes, do not proceed to the next question.

3) Have I already sent this person several lengthy correspondences (on any subject) to which they have conspicuously not responded?
If the answer to this is "yes", the previous two questions don't really matter.

People are hungry for meaningful connection on many levels, and at its best social media can provide an avenue through which these connections can be made. But it isn't a connection in and of itself. Making that kind of connection takes more than just being connected over social media. It takes time and mutual interest, and most importantly, mutual consent.

Without that, you're basically sending out an unsolicited dick pic, only in essay form.

And that's just creepy.

The Great Shallowing

I started this post three days ago but wound up being distracted by a hundred different things, of which maybe three of them were important. I guess this is appropriate. So here's what I'm going to do. It is 9:15 am in Taiwan, and I'm going to log into work at 10. In between now and then I'm going to finish this thing without switching out of this browser tab, and without looking up anything else. No links, no hey, check this out, nothing. Just words.

Here's how I started this essay three days ago:

Future historians may look back on this period in history as a time they'll call The Great Shallowing, or at least they will if a) there are future historians, and b) there are enough people capable of self-reflection to make such proclamations worthwhile.
It is October, 2017, and with great focus 

And that's as far as I got. Was Twitter the culprit? Facebook? Checking on my characters in Nexus Clash (or is it Nexus Wars?), an obscure little browser-based game that I still play despite its a) being completely dull and b) a game that once sent me on a desperate call to a good friend of mine whining about how addictive it had become?

It doesn't matter. Something distracted me.

Back to the subject. The Great Shallowing. A few days ago Twilight and I were on a train back from an art festival in downtown Taipei. Several stages with bands, a lovely pond surrounded by bamboo, museums left open until midnight. I sent a few tweets, because that's what you do. I Facebook lived (back to that in a moment) a moment when a band came in on a float and began playing psychedelic rock. It was good. Everyone else was doing the same, sharing the experience over social media as we were experiencing the experience.

All experiencing the experience. All "Facebook living" (get it now?)

It's at this point that the marketing person in me is saying let people know that this post won't just be a rant, but will have action steps designed to alleviate the problem you're describing.

So, since time is of the essence, and I know that I'll lose readers unless I offer something tangible (click like!), yes, that thing I just said above. At the end of the article. Skip to it if you must. Now the proclamation.

Social media is causing our individual realities to merge, and negative consequences are becoming increasingly apparent.

Donald Trump is president, and the hijacking of various social media platforms is largely to blame (or to thank, depending on your view of the matter).

We are being overwhelmed with stimuli in such a way that responding to any one particular event in any meaningful way is becoming difficult, sometimes impossible.

Our relationships are becoming increasingly shallow.

All of these points have been made and are currently being made. I just read an excellent article at, I believe, The Guardian. It's been making its way across social media platforms as these things do, and while I could do a quick google search and link it here, I'm going to stick with the program and not. Instead I'll describe it. The article concerns addiction, and how social media and smartphones can hijack our brains (keywords! search terms within!)

You know its happening. I know it's happening. We are focusing less on things and skimming more. We are simultaneously more and less connected than ever. Social media uses our need for connection to set up a maze. As long as we keep inside the maze, we are rewarded, like rats with cheese, or crack. Does it matter what the reward is? Not particularly.

But we are becoming more shallow.

Yes, there are good things (Must be a good journalist here, must show both sides of story; old school training coming through. All is not lost. Or is it?)

Fires are raging through California, and people I love and like and don't even know are using social media to connect, to offer shelter and succor to those most affected.

(Should that be "affected" or "effected" - you can Google that...no, no...let it ride. The perfect is the enemy of the done, and it is 9:40. Editor friends, you have my permission to suspend your inner proof readers.)

Social media may bring about the revolution that sets to right some of the terrible things that are currently happening in the world. Maybe.

Social Media is Soma. It is a drug, it is a tool, and like all drugs and tools (unless you're a zealot or Luddite) social media has uses and abuses.

Enough of that. You can read the article in greater length, or look to your own lives / relationships with social media, smartphones and the internet in general and answer your own questions (and question your own answers if you like, because that sounded clever in the moment. Please click the like button. Thank you for the crack / cheese / positive life affirmation).

With 15 minutes left, solutions. Or rather, ideas. No epiphanies here, those are for kids. These are more along the lines of Traditional Chinese Medicine. Slow and steady.

Relating from the article. Set time away from your phone. Turn it off at various points. Apparently there are apps for this (how ironic).

For myself: In the last few months I've been trying to write actual letters (emails, in some cases, actual letters involving going to the post office and buying stamps - but mostly emails) to friends, old comrades, people who actually mean something to me. To catch up with them, to have them catch up with me, to let them know I'm still kicking, to find out what they're up to BEYOND our personas on social media, the photos we post, the little films, the twitter sentences that we post to create what my ex-wife, in a lighter moment, coined a parody of social interaction. 

Because that connection no longer feeding me. It is cotton candy for the soul. I long for real connection.

Six minutes left. I will continue to use social media. I will post this article on Twitter and Facebook. I will experience a fleeting moment of gladness when people like it, a longer sense of gladness if people share it, and a deeper sense of affirmation if friends engage with me in comment sections.

But I will continue questioning whether the maze is worth the time we're spending in it. And I wish I had a better final line, but with three minutes left to go I think I'll stand up and use it to stretch.

Thank you for your time

Taiwan's Shittiest Restaurant

Pablo at meal's endI originally called this story "My Dinner with Pablo" but figured "Taiwan's Shittiest Restaurant" would be more SEO friendly. 
The article, the sort of gonzo food travel writing I did way more of once upon a time 
As is my usual way with this sort of thing, I'll post a segment of the article with a link to the rest of it at the MyTaiwanTour website.

Passing the colorful interior entrance toilet (placed there perhaps to dissuade any customers who might not be fully committed to the toilet restaurant experience), Pablo and I climb the stairs and are hustled to our seats, brightly colored plastic toilets (with thankfully closed lids) set on either side of a glass table. Sitting beneath the glass are two white porcelain bowls, each with its own neatly formed spiral of fake plastic shit.

A waitress hands us each a menu filled with mostly awful sounding food items, and I note with slight relief that Modern Toilet has added a few new dishes since my last visit, when a brown-sauce chicken curry served in a Keebler elf sized toilet bowl proved nigh-inedible.

Scanning the menu, Pablo looks as if he’s having second thoughts about the experience.

“You can take a few pictures and leave without ordering,” I say hopefully. “They’re used to that here.”

“No, I need to have a full meal. It’s my job.”

Of course I agree. After all, we are professional journalists.

Read more at the MyTaiwanTour Journal