Old China Town Paradox

Where can you get good Chinese food when you are not in the Chinese soil? China town seems to be the common sense for non Chinese people. However, speaking the truth, I rarely had decent Chinese food in any China town, incluing San Francico, New York, Toronto or Yokohama. The foods are OK, but the sitting area is never comfortable. The decor is always the owner's homegrown taste, lighting is commonly dim (so that dinner cannot spot the soiled table cloth because they were not done professionally but in the owner's home laundry machine). Most restuarants are run by the owner, who picks up the phone taking take out orders then runs to the wok to cook. The shop is basically ran by the couple, one cooks and the other handles the accounting and hospitality department.

Waitrons are either temporary (grad students working night shift to save for next semester's expense), or the owner couple's relatives, who you see year after year. There were 2 types of owner's wives (not to be discriminative, but most chefs were male). One type is the hard working one, who never manages to make herself look more presentable. She sits behind the counter, making sure the money is collected. She would also put on the plastic glove cleaning up the table or dishes when shorthanded. The other type always keeps herself pretty, have the nails meticulously done. She would articulates her Chinese style, almond eyes and so on. Smile flirtatiously to every male customer (she also remembers their names). Never dirty her fingers with kitchen work.

The quality of ingredients is not of the best because the restaurants constant struggle of saving cost. I was told, in New York, the final batch of fish market's sales is scarvengered by Chinese restaurants. The old China town restaurants keep feeding the city with cheap and somewhat authentic food. They are fine to survive but cannot pocket more to rejuvenile the food and service.

There is a Chinese saying goes like "You would know how to eat and dress after being rich for 3 generations". Oversea china town tends to be too seedy and overly Chinese to have comtemporary high quality dinning experience. Of course, there are exceptions, those who insists to do their food the original way for decades.

The best hope to get nice food is to trace those Hong Kong immigrants after 80s.

5 Short Stories (yes, there're 5 of them, thanks Ata)

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess lived in a small village by the sea. One day tsunami hit the shore and the princess was eaten by a shark.
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Alien attacked the earth and human almost wiped out, but when they all work together they defeat the aliens and the earth is safe. Then a big meteor destroys earth.
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The detective concluded the bulter committed the murder of the millionaire. The bulter protested his innocence, suffered a heart attack and died.
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"Work hard and you can achieve your dreams!" The mother told her son. He then became a world class athlete and he won a gold medal in the olympics.
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A father and son exchange bodies after being struck by lightening. A lot of funny stuff happens regarding kids & adults situations. Then they return to normal.
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This ends my series of SMS haiku stories. Hoep you enjoyed these profound engrossing stories in an SMS (160 character maximum) nutshell.

Broken Fingers

Going to the the Kawaguchiko, the town right next to Mount Fuji. I really need to have a fresh breath of air outside of the concrete jungle. I mean, Tokyo is great but after a while you kinda miss the mountains and trees.

We came to the season where all leaves have fallen the week before, the riverside is under on-going renovation, mud and sand were everywhere. Oh well, it is still good to get out of town for a while.

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As a little girl, I spent a lot of time playing with stray dogs. In fact, I collected them, always took home with me a dog with serious skin problems. Stray dogs were suffering from fugus infection or flea bites. They tend to scratch too much which later develop into infection. Of course, no one was treating them, the ill skin turned into smelly wounds. My parents were too busy to notice what I was doing, I did spend a good deal of time after school in the garage.

I started this fugus infection condition on my fingers since grade 3. During the winter time, the skin broke out no matter how much lotion I applied. It is like the fingers refuesed to obsorb any kind of moisturizer. You can see the small porous holes filled with water underneath the skin on my finger tips. And they itched like hell.

It bothered my mom because my hands were so badly chapped it bleeded all the time. She would squeezed time out from her busy schedule to take to doctors. In my memory, I had tried so many different type of medicine. Sometimes the medical lotion was black greasy like asphalt, sometimes it smelled nice like strawberry. But nothing really helped. The sympton would go away for a while then return. The doctors told me not to play sands or touch dirty stuff, but I guess they don't really know I was taking care of the stray dogs. My mom would sometimes hold my hands while walking, always moving her fingers around mines to check if the condition had been relieved but she always sighed.

After I started attending high school, I had no more time with stray dogs, the condition was getting better but still not fully under control. Sometime later, I got a bottle of medicine for skin diease from the vet and I was applying it on my stray dogs, a couple of weeks later, both my dogs' and my fingers' skin were cured.

Sharing Table with the Iron Chef

I met up with Susie on Sunday for our pilgrimage trip to Muji headquarter near Yurakucho station. When being asked for lunch idea, I suggested the yakitori place that I have read on internet (where people refused to go with me because it is too seedy, too old fashion or whatever the reason is). I walked past this grill chicken paradise a number of times but never had enough courage to walk in and order some grilled skewered chicken with my broken Japanese.

We sat down in the small table, the ceiling is literally above my head (this is the small join underneath the Yurakucho JR station, to be exact, right under the railway. You can feel the wall trembling when trains go by). Later the seats next to us was occupied by 3 Japanese men, the older one started to chat us up, offered us food and drink. It was very much pleasant meeting.

It turned out the old man was one of the iron chef challengers, he runs a restaurant in Ginza and the 2 other young men are also in charge of restaurants in Asakusa and Yebisu. Strange Tokyo, people are so snobbish sometimes yet so friendly if you go to the right place.

The very strange thing is that the youngest chef was doing all the service for the iron chef, I mean, he refilled his glasses and ours with much attention but you don't feel annoyed. He even diluted my drink with water when the iron chef insisted to pour me more liqour while I was eyeing him not to. He skillfully made his master happy and not get me drunk at the same time. Whenever the master talks to him, he would grab his ear (he sat next to the young chef) and dragged him over, the young guy looked exactly like the son being submisive to his father. Is this an act or he is doing it out of an habit?

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Party like the Indians do

We had the Indian theme party on Saturday, just the way Susie likes it to be. She invites people over to her places, supply a lot of alcohol and make them cook for her. I, as usual, became the best amature sous chief you can ever dream of in town. I observe and guess the chef's next move, I am like the worm inside the cook's stomach, constantly think ahead of the chef. I know exactly when I should hand over the spatula or clean the cutting board. I also julian cut or dice any veggie given the dimensions (sometimes I visualise how the veggie should look in a dish without asking, amazingly, it always works out fine).

I finally met another woman who can make louder laughing sound than me. Sunary is such a character. A typical New Yorker, American, being trapped in the small oriental girl's body. We had a blast. Suchi, Arif and Semeer were also extraordinary. The Indian lady Suchi drinks wine, eats everything and looked so young as a mother of a 8 year old. I hurried back to Nyngyocho by the last train with 3 huge bags stuffing a small stereo system. Half drunk, but still managed to take it home alright. Gee, I have been partied too hard these days.

How to Make You Day

Though the project room and the office is filled with the politics shit and people are not very nice in general. I try my best to put on my happy face to everyone, I am very calm and gentle to people I meet. Including the security guards in the bank. I always smile at them when coming in or going out.

We were required to flash our badges when passing through the gate. I always smile sweetly to them although I seem to be the only one doing it (yeah, Tokyo people all have the poker faces, can hardly spare a smile to strangers). I think it somehow pays off.

I was ask to bring back another colleague's badge back to the bank after my Japanese lesson in the office. I flashed his badge to the security guard and smiled sweetly as usualy when entering the bank. I was not stopped.

In the Train

The old Chinese saying goes "it take 10 years in your previous life to brew a chance to share the same boat with a him/her in your present life. And it takes 100 years to share the pillow". I am always wondering what I did to deserve the chance to share a subway train ride with my fellow passengers.

The subway train ride in Tokyo is dead. The moment a group of talkative and energetic teens board the train, they go dead silent. No one looks around to spot anything/anyone interesting, everyone is trying to avoid eye contact with strangers. I am often amused by this, so I just look around and try to catch anyone's eye contact when I am in the train.

When Irene came to Tokyo, we were sitting in the train and talked in Mandarin. "The train is really quite" " Yeah, I know". "Can we pretend to have a fight?" "Do you want to get on TV first then be deported to Canada and me to Taiwan?"

So I rested my case and we kept talking while everyone else in the train was so quiet. Suddenly Irene grab my shirt and asked me agressively if I think she is going to get rich one day.

I was genuiely shocked, thus, my facial expression said it all that we were not joking. The act clicked in my mind almost instantly and I took over the sence . I started to shake my head violently and gave this please-do-not-beat-me-up look. (I found that Japanese people are very sensitve in facial expression, they are very good at picking up your emotion in general, perhpas that's the side effect of living in a highly, densely populated area).

The train car is still in dead silence. I stole a glance over the people, no one was trying to look at us but the air was tense, you can feel that people in the car are starting to feel uncomfortable. The oyaji (old-middle-age man) sitting next to me just stood up and walked to the door, although it is not his stop to get off.

We resumed our conversation in normal pace, as if nothing has happened, so did our fellow passengers.

Meeting with Big Boss

Obviously the management starts to feel the heat that the lucrative project is not properly managed (we are billing the bank almost a million quarterly). The big boss came to Tokyo and wanted to have 1 to 1 session with every consultant. We agreed to meet for dinner. When I first joined 2 months ago, still young and naive, I gave him a very good impression that I am very energetic and uplifting. He wanted to take me out for dinner.

We went to the pub next to his hotel, I was trying hard to look professional and confident. But the moment I set foot into the pub, I started my multiple sneezing non stop and also I really needed to use the bathroom. So I grabbed chance between my violent sneezing saying I need to go pee. He looked at me, obviously amused, said that's too much information. I was a bit embarrassed because I didn't use the proper language in front of the big boss (that must be the voilent sneezes), nevertheless, I set out to the toilet.

The toilet located in the corner of the small pub was occupied, I decided to go back to our table and wait for my turn. As I walked, I tripped over the platform right underneath the bar stool. I literally flew and landed on my knee. The semi-full, noisy restaurant turned dead silent for a couple of seconds while I was on the floor. I managed to get up with my last streak of diginity but my shins were hurting like hell.

The big boss was even more amused, kept telling people around that I am more fun when I am really drunk. I am old enough not to feel really embarrassed but my shins were badly bruised and scratched. The big boss asked for ice from the bar, put them on my foot and instructed me not to mention this to HR. The waitress came to take our orders and asked me sympathetically how is my foot.

The bruises went away today but my arm muscles are so sore and tense. I must thrust my arms forward very hard when falling.

We Love to Party

Made to Stick

I was reading "Made to Stick", explaining what makes an event, an story linger in your audience's mind for a couple of hours, months or even years. Just got to the chapter about the "surprising" factor. The author explains that emotion is supposed to help us to survive. For example, when being angry, our brians literally stop thinking process so we can focus on the event and get out of danger quick.

Anger also enforces the belief that we are correct, do you remember last time when you were angry with someone, you cannot rationalize but only understand "I was right, it is not my fault"?

Similarly, surprise, the emotion urges us to note there is a change in our thinking pattens. We tend to be comfortable to contant events. A out-of-blue change is more likely to make us think, wanting to get to the bottom of the sudden turn. Because it is a signal to change our guessing routine, thus, the unexpected sticks to our minds longer.

Young Wife

I was invited to Irene's family gathering when we were both in Taipei for Kaiping's wedding. Irene's family friends, managers working in her father's business attended the dinner. Over the dinner table, there was a young lady who looks younger than Irene and I, talking sweetly and telling me that she lives in ShangHai. I was curious how she was dragged into this crowd but I didn't utter a single word. Later, I figured out that she is the young wife of one of Irene's father's managers, who is, of course, around the same age of Irene's father.

He was sitting next to this young girl, attentively making sure that her plate is full of foods and she is not too bored by people around her, who she barely knows. The manager is a typical middle-age Taiwanese business man, loud, grass rooted and sharp. Speaking Mandarin with thick Taiwense accent and looking at me with accusation eyes when I told him that I don't speak Taiwanese fluently. You can feel the fight between manhood and tenderness when he looked at her with the dreamy eyes. How he divoiced his wife who fought with him over these years for better life and married this young lady from ShangHai? However, you can sense the jokes shoot toward this young ShangHai girl from other managers' middle-age wives are not coming out of no where (are they feeling insecured?).

How is life being fare to the divoiced middle-age wife? Will she be able to find another life after all these years spending on her husband and family, living without herself? She is driven out of the social cicle because of this young kid. What is she now after being ripped of the title of being someone's wife? Is she happier after being single again? However, if the middle-age manager responsible for love being lost between them so that the affair could have the chance to grow? We all have the right to pursue happiness, however, if it costs others' happiness? Would you do it?

One thing we can almost be sure is that the middle-age manager would not have been so lovingly taking care of his company if he's not divoiced his wife and brought her to the dinner.

Line of the Day

Having lunch with other consultants in the office, I bashed about how strange this client is. A number of technical analysts were dismissed from the project because of some strange reasons. M.C. is on the job now, under a lot of stress because the client keeps criticising him. Poor young M.C., I mean, I tried to tell him this is only a job, but he is so stressed that he cannot sleep at night.

The client is painstakingly into details, and clinging to the documentation word by word. Another very good tech consutlant who was dismissed from the bank told me that once the bank asked why the downloaded software was a zip file before and is a jar file tihs time. They demanded to log this as an issue and wanted a 10 page long explanation.

(the java jar files are usually packaged into a zip file to ship)

Preoccupied

I seemed very absent-minded these 2 days, I boarded on the train bound for the wrong direction twice in a row. That might have something to do with the book I am reading. Natsuo Kirino is a female writer living in Japan. "Out" is her first book got translated into English in 1998. She is such as good story teller. First, she tried to hook you in with food because the female protagonist worked night shift at the lunch-box factory. I can smell the grease from deep frying pork cutlet and steam from just cooked rice. The foods turned into such mundane, uninteresting objects, lunch boxes, waiting to be shipped. She is cold, intellegent and lonely. She is 43, her career and family are both screwed. She decided to take the night shift job and spent the hours from midnight to 5am with financial stressed part-time housewives.

One of the housewives strangled the abusive hudsband to death and, being the most sturdy and strong one in the group, she was asked to help out getting rid of the body. She did, cutting her friend's husband into pieces and threw them with household waste. The group of part-time housewives is drawn into this killing and cutting one after another. This is really a page turner, you cannot help but wanting to know what is going to happen to these plain, normal housewives, how can they get out of the mess.

After the body part was found, the Casino owner was the primary suspect of the killing. The author spent a long time describing him, how he became impotent after raping and stabbing a woman 17 years ago. With which her pleasure and pain are his and his hers. He is the lonely soul, trying desperately to find the sexual climax no one ever experienced. I actually find this character more interesting than the cold, intellegent Masako (the protagonist). In fact, my attention was drawn to Sakate, the casino owner, because he is such so much different from the ordinary Japanese men I know. He is a pimp, selling women in his hostess club to whoever is willing to buy them a drink. He dressed very well yet too pronounced. His voice is low and smooth. He has solid, almost stocky body build yet his fingers are delicated and well-manicured. He is scary, in Kabuki-cho, people are experienced enough to get out of his way when he's on the street.

He is looking for another woman who hates him like hating snake yet attracted to him, as anyone can guess, Masako fits. (Don't ask me why, Masako is a mystery in the whole book. The book only vaguely explains that both she and the casino owner have things in common, that is, they are both sick. She wouldn't mind being killed, as long as it is in his hand, and he wants to kill her while making love to her). He met Masako when he found out that she got rid of the body. He also found out Masako has the potential to bring back his widest sexual experience.

Meanwhile, Masako started her own little business, as if she had no choice, she started to cut up bodies in her own bathroom for the Yakuza and earn heafty amount of money for herself and her housewife friends. She sure had choice not to get involved. But I think this comes from her self-destruction. She didn't need the money, she just wanted to see how low she can sink.

I am not going to tell you how the story ended. The plot is happening in the most ordinary, boring neighbourhood yet the clush of personalities isamazing. However, I think the book is a bit weak about Masako and Sakate's motivation.

When the Tree Falls in a Forest without Anyone There

Does it make a sound? That's the most strange question I ever encountered, who the hell want to ask this type of question?

I had very philosophical conversation today. It goes like:

"Why it is not good to think negatively?"
"Because you might potentially lose the benefit of thinking positively"
"Your answer is very positive in a negative way."

What Love Looks Like

I will need to do some shopping today. I literally passed out the whole day, haven't been so sick for years.
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I was reading the Taiwanese movie director's plan to depict Taiwanese men. They are usually shy, don't know how to express themself, care about friends (to be honest, I am not sure there is anything to film about). His next filming plan is more interesting, a love story. He said, when you are young, you fall in love with your own imagination. Everything lovable about her/him came from your own restless thinking. When you are middle age, love is a shit hole, features mortgage, children education funds and endless unexpected expense. When you get old, love is to hold your partner's hand and take a walk.

Want to be a Consultant?

My friend has demonstrated everything bad about being a contractor for the past month. I can understand why permenant employees don't like them because they are getting paid a lot more than we do. Also, if the billable work is taken up by contractor, perm workers would have less chance of getting decent bonus.

Contrary to the monetary reward of being a contractor, the downside is you don't know when you will be told to go home. The bank can turn around and say we don't like the contract we signed a couple months ago because we don't like you now and we are not going to pay you anymore. Holly shit, this can get very emotional and personal. I can see it is taking toll on my friend over this past few weeks. Of course, the off-site work were not made clear to the bank at the beginning is also a reason.

The other not-so-good thing is that a contractor is never belonged to any team. It would help if the hosting officer make some effert to blend the contractors in, what if the environment is contractor-obnoxious? The time and energy to cope with the political upheaval are amazing.

Sitting on the Tin

The day I returned to Tokyo, I wasn't feeling well the whole day because I unwisely drank a super huge craneberry banana smoothie in our breakfast hang out in Lotus Hill. We then had lunch in a restaurant in Taipei city before departing to the airport.

My sister in law, nephew, Grace and my parents were all present. We ordered 4 or 5 dishes which are pretty standard and delicious. I didn't eat much but the rice because the food tasted too salty and I had to stop my parents from having a verbal fight. It is very energy consuming to divert their attention.

Anyhow, my dad became the victim to accompany me to the airport. Strangely my bowl movement clock was messed up and things were fine again after a bathroom visit. As usual, airport is the place where my father likes to get emotional and we had a fight, throwing violent languages back and forth (while lots of people enjoy watching) until I entered the gate.

The next day I got my dad's phone call saying everyone is having the diarrhea or vomitting. I am fine apart from the fact that I didn't feel hungry. A couple of days later, Irene called me saying Aoki and she were also seriously ill after returning back from Taiwan. It turned out it is the stomach flu, which is very contagious. The inflammation is caused by rotavirus rather than food poisoning. My mom and I seemed the lucky few who is strong enough to fend it off so far.

I woke up with sore limps and abdominal pain this morning, yet still thinking eagerly what I am going to do today. However, I have to answer the call of nature number of times even before my morning coffee. My Saturday is ruined.

What Do You Really Need in a New Flat

I think I am very much qualified to write about starter's kit of a new home since this is the 3rd time I moved to a new apartment in the past 2 years (if you really count carefully, I changed home twice in California, twice in New York, twice in London, twice in Beijing).

I moved to a flat with almost everything I need, but there is a little mess up with my luggage, I spent my first night on my bed without bedsheet and blanket (had to wrap myself up with my scarf and put on many jumpers). I didn't have towel to dry myself after shower, I pursed up my lips and dried up my hair with pajama, at least they are made of cotton.

Toilet rolls are of course important, but in Japan, you can always get free packet of tissues on the streets, this can wait. My mouth guard is getting uncomfortable, I needed to use scissors to shape up the plastic piece. I used the nail clipper instead, not the most efficient way but it worked.

I brought my french press and fine coffee powder with me. My day is only starting after the boiling hot water goes into the pop and the wonderful coffee aroma flows in the light, crispy morning air... The first time I feel like to cry after this month's relocation ordeal was when I realised I have no coffee mug and it is impossible to drink it out of the coffee pot.

A Hole in the Wall

Running back to my new apartment from work, I am 20 minutes late because my bag is supposed to get delievered to my flat between 6-9pm tonight. When I got home, I was nevously watching around trying to find the delivery truck. Shit, I might have just missed them for 2 minutes. At the same time, I tried to console myself that the delivery guy might not be that puncture. Anyhow, I got back to my little flat and wait, drown myself with a bottle of cold beer.

I don't really agree with the way the bed was positioned in my small bedroom when I viewed this flat with my agent 2 weeks ago. Under the influence of alcohol and boredom, I think tonight is the night to make my life a whole lot better, by changing the orientation of the bed. I went to the bedroom, removed all excess weight that is going to impede my grand plan of rotating the bed, ready to go. Carefully calculated the space, I decided to lift my double bed side way, rotate it to the position desired and then let it down carefully without damaging the drywall. The bed is surprisingly heavy even after I remove the matrics and supporting woodslabs. I lifted the bed up so it is resting on the side frame. I easily rotated it to the position and the real problem revealed itself to me. It is viturally impossible for me along to lower the side of the heavy bed. Many ideas started to roam in my mind. Disassemble the bed requires screwdriver, which I don't have. Asking the delivery guy to help me with it is too risky, number 1, I don't speak Japanese (he might think I am inviting him to have some fun with me). Number 2, I don't want to invite stranger to my bedroom, either. OK, so I am all by myself, what can I do?

I slowly lower one end of the bed, carefully cushion the leg against the wall with my T-shirt. I then move along to the other side, trying to move the side on the ground inch by inch (the floor is carpetted, friction is huge, very hard to move), so I can adjust the cushion T-shirt inch-by-inch so that I don't damange the wallpaper. As I moved to the lower end of the bed, a strange thinking occured to me, why shouldn't I try to lift the whole bed quickly so both end can be situated in the right position? That saves a lot of time. I naturally went to the weight center, lifted up the bed as hard as I can and then the disaster followed.

The bed has the heavy wooden panel sticked to the head, what I have miscalculated is the bedsite lamp has added the additional weight to one side. The bed was not balanced when I hold the center of hte bed frame, it quickly ducked over to the wall and created a 2x1 inch hole on the wall. I am very much devastated.

Edgy

I went through the emotional rollercoaster ride yesterday. Thinking the apartment contract is finally settling in and I only need to trash Stephen's apartment for a couple of nights, I was only too relieve that this flat hunting nightmare was calling to an end. A phone call from my manager came. He accused me of not being sensitve to the office manager, who was swamped by the apartment application I introduced. Also, the agents I have ever had contact with persistently called her to see if Joey is still looking for a place in Tokyo. I was furious, burning with rage. I wasn't told the apartment rental process in Japan, and I had no idea that the agents I worked with have caused such a dramatic effect on our office manager. I was also repeatedly told that the company can seal the contract for me as long as I can find a flat I like. The reality is far off. I was frustrated, stressed, and constantly worried that I am going to sleep on the street because the company didn't show any sign of sympathizing my situation, thus, my corporate apartment is not going to be extended. Now I was given a lecture of how unsensitive I have been?

I wrote to my manager, clearly indicated that I don't appreciate his phone call and my first month in Tokyo is certainly not the best. His phone call made the lowest of the low. When I clicked the "send" button, I was determined to quit. I cannot imagine working with such a character. What the hack, I can always find a job in Starbucks.

My manager wrote back within half an hour, I cannot be bother to read it. Toward end of the work day, I finally bring it open and found that my manager has agreed to extend my corporate apartment yet alleged I am the key person he wants to keep in his professional service team. OK, my immediate problem is solved (I don't need to slush my luggage with me to Rippongi and move again on Monday when the apartment is ready), a relief. But I am still edgy, feeling humiliated and uncomfortable.