Good advice from Taishin Bank.

Play it safe, kids.

Check it out!

I’m editing, among many other things, a book for elementary school students. The first layout just arrived on my desk. Perhaps I have too much on my plate, for look what has slipped past my guard: right on the cover, a kiwi-flavored alien from the planet Condom!

First thought: Gotta change it, or else I’ll have legislator Lee Ching-hua breathing down my neck.

But my memory rushes back to that night sixteen years ago in the university library, where I read a Rolling Stone interview with Prince. When asked about the Lovesexy album cover—which showed the diminutive genius nude upon a lily, the flower’s stamen curled toward him—His Purple Highness spoke words that have stayed with me, and which I have come to recognize as true.

“All that album cover was, was a picture,” quoth he. “If you looked at that picture and some ill come out of your mouth, then that’s what you are—it’s looking right back at you in the mirror.”

So there. The one-eyed monster stays.

Happy Resurrection Day!

Sunday afternoon nap interrupted by firecrackers. Blaring loudspeaker. Drums. Sounds of a parade. But why?

It turns out that last Sunday was Easter—a holiday that has caught me consistently by surprise since I left home at eighteen. I like that in a holiday; not brash and unpleasant, like Christmas or Chinese New Year, neither of which gives you a moment of peace for at least three weeks preceding it. In fact, I’m usually completely unaware of Easter until well after it passes. I’m sure this year would have been the same had I not recently moved to a neighborhood that has a Catholic church. Hence the parade.

They led off with the shock’n’awe...

Free eggs, too!

But the next day, things were back to normal; on city rooftops, old scores were settled by kung fu.

Hu needs Kate.

Woke up long before the alarm clocks this morning. Felt happy and rested. Hardly worried at all that more than 800 ballistic missiles are pointed at Taiwan. Good mood undoubtedly the result of listening to “Sexual Healing” 100 times in a row last night. Who doesn't need Kate Bush?

In the soft light of dawn, walked around the apartment. Disabled eight of my alarm clocks. Carried the ninth back to bed. Mentally drafted a letter to Hu Jintao, advising him to listen to “Sexual Healing.” Maybe I will have a copy sent to him; US$12.99 + shipping is a small price to pay for cross-strait stability.

Woke up half an hour before work. Must have dozed off. Felt crabby and exhausted. Annoyed about the missiles. Life returns to normal.

Please don't procrastinate.

Special delivery arrives for me, bearing the CD single for Kate Bush’s “King of the Mountain.” The B-side is “Sexual Healing.” I heard about the existence of the latter track about five years ago, and I haven’t breathed since. My moment is about to arrive…