Check it.

Taipei from Grace Yang on Vimeo.

Today I had pho, and the pho had msg. I could tell because I felt like a balloon was squeezed into my esophagus and an invisible octupus had suckered itself to the base of my neck. It wasn’t so bad where my face felt like it was trapped in a vise, but it wasn’t pleasant.

Come on, people. Quality control.

This has nothing to do with the rest of my meandering in the city:

“Mudge smelled like oatmeal”

Tina and I passed an English school in one of the nicer neighborhoods in Taipei, where we found and read some amusing short, page-long stories…

So beautiful.

“Just married” sketchy kewpie dolls tied to a bumper… luxury

Squid ink bread!

Doggone Denim

The most flattering picture of me

I suppose this isn’t really part of the city…

Near Ximen…

Some scholars

And my favorite….

Oh, Taipei Taiwan.

]]> http://www.hearandsay.com/eyelove/escapades/feed/ 0 http://www.hearandsay.com/eyelove/dear-momma/ http://www.hearandsay.com/eyelove/dear-momma/#comments Tue, 09 Nov 2010 07:27:02 +0000 admin http://www.hearandsay.com/?p=1237 Treasures to be had while thrifting!… I was fortunate to strike curious gold with a 2 dollar bag of antique postcards. Some were old as 1910. As I perused the handwritten, snail-sent sentimental appreciations, it was curious to see what what most people wrote in the small, seemingly insignificant space provided. Generative constraints, right? Wrong. Mostly small talk and silly, plain things. Nothing that seriously sparks the fantastic emotive imagination… yet the outlines of a character, a person begin to form nevertheless…

Notice how many of these mail-to addresses don’t have street numbers; just a name and the city + state:

To: Miss Alice Gottfeld in Olympia, Washington.
Sent: September 17th, 6:00 PM 1910 from Chicago, Illinois

1506 La Salle Ave. Flat G.
Chicago, Ill.

Sept, 17, ’10.

Dear Alice:-

I am very sorry I was not home the day you came to see me. I intended to come and say goodbye but we were so busy. We are just getting settled. I start taking lessons next week, and next month the concerts commence that I shall go to. I shall love to hear from you, Your Friend, Vera C.

To: Mrs. M.G. Bramer North Yakima, WA
Sent: Oct 23 12:30 PM 1912 from North Yakima, WA

Nob Hill 10-22-12

Thank you for your kind remembrance of my birthday.

Eva M. Himmelshade

To: Mr. J H. Hovidsgaaid 433 East 7th Street, Portland, Oregon, USA Amerika
Sent: from Denmark

Pinedegade, TO, Hersans, der 3/12/1912.

Glodelig Jul, viljeg “anska Fa-inifiend. Has senak fa Julebdgas Lil faran ag Daugaasd, ag ladef dern adm. lil Edes, i Hakvb arr A L in… etc. etc. (Hey, I tried)

To: Mrs. M. J. Collin 86 Freemont St. Portland Oregon U.S.A
Sent: 1925 from Winnipeg, Manitoba

Does this look very English? Will get some tea. The best there is. Will leave here tomorrow Will write letter when get down to the states and leave my address. Have been going out great deal with my cousin Love from Nel

To: Miss Hadwen Box 461 The Dalles, Oregon
Sent: August 23 10 AM 1935 From Victoria, B.C. CA

Victoria, B.C. 8/23/35

Does this look familiar? Made a short trip over here from Seattle and going back thru the San Juan island group. certainly like this place. Intend to come back for a longer stay. Will let you give me that “Introduction to Governor” then!

-Gus Weigilt

To: Mrs. Chas. Johnson 151 Brookside Dr., Rochester, N.Y.
Sent: Aug. 26 1940 from Washington D.C.

So cold here, also rainy. I’m glad it is cold instead of heat. The little “kerchief” container is so pretty and convenient. Thanks a lot. Shall be moving on to Kentucky tomorrow {Tue.} Hope the horse is growing like the proverbial beanstalk. Love, Linda

To: Mr. Lyle Givein, 1168 S.E. 84th Ave. Portland Ore. U.S.A
Sent: Oct. 31, 1940

Dear Lyle: Thanks for your letter, would write but I am leaving today, so have no chance now  to see Uncle Joe, or I sure would. I liked him. So glad all had dinner with you. & glad your refert (?) from the Dalles was so good– well, hee(?)l uh so good work.  Had a big party last night, after a tea in the afternoon– but will all be glad to after I go these last ten days have been going night and day. Love to you all May.

To: Dean and Mrs. Sander Parkville Missouri
Sent: May 4, 3 P.M 1942 from Arkansas

Saturday Morning

Dear Folks, Had a fine trip yesterday. Are now having breakfast here and then will be on our way Mary & Sara

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Like a telegram, the sentences are fragmented and brief; because there is no room for detail, the topic is usually travel/itinerary/ well-wishes.

More postcards to come! This time, a series from Bob to Lisa Nordberg in 1969…

The road trip lasted an entire week. I jumped on a delayed train down to Portland, land of breweries and friendly, terrible drivers, to meet up with Cara. The train ride was peaceful, quiet, whispers and crackling of chips and seran-wrapped sandwiches narrated sea-side sceneries, stoic farmlands and grey skies…

Skedaddled outta Portland around evening time, then embarked through Grant’s Pass to the coastal 101. Although, the Northwest was in a frenzy of fog and buckets of rain all the way to Crescent City, where we had a slight problem with a gashed tire– but thank the forest rangers! that Wayne was there to save us in his big, sea-foam truck.

Travelling down the 101 was an uneasy epic, slight hydroplaning while the 101 winded and grinded us with curving cliff sides shrouded in fog and exhaling rain; could’ve been worse! we thought as we peered at the cautiously groaning swaying of RV’s and boats trailing Winnebagos trailing trucks. Gorgeous blobs of rock amongst fog; a glimpse of a lagoon, we also spotted magnificent herds of elk grazing. Weaving under the grandeur of red-wood growth, we visited Mr. Paul Bunyan and his Babe, the native american museum, tunneling under the Chandelier tree, whizzing past the kitschy gift stores and quirks of rural-ity (Confusion Hill, anyone? One-log-house?), sometimes swamped by loud stampedes of motorcycle gangs, with their beards and flapping jackets sucking through the wind in an unending gasp of downhill stretches towards and over gorges, valleys, lakes, rivers. Snickering at conspicuous political signs (John Pinches– Cara: “his secretaries?”) and silently gazing at a field of hippies and smelly dreads at the Earthdance roaming road sides, forlornly awaiting the kindness of a stranger given but not deserved.

At that point, we could see the break in the heavy clouds, where the skies were blue and tender with sunlight; finally! after two days of constant glum, by the time we drove out from under them it was nightfall, and dinner-time at KFC was scarfed down without a word. We drove across highway 20 to sneak down the I-5 and save some time, but the 80 miles until then were ominous with dark nightfall and tension as our imagination drew scenarios of smashing into elk or the white truck that had caught up with us since KFC… dissipated slightly with an endless mix of guiltily trashy songs, fond mainstream hits with their silly explicit sexual yearnings fronted with fat beats. Subtle glitter of an expansive lake under moon and starlight gave way to a stretch of farmland, odorous fumes of sour, rotten fruit, and just about the time we neared I-5 a hare almost dies under our newly insuranced front right wheel.

A skip and a hop, up to 3 or 4 hours later, a tired entry into Holiday Inn Express: Westley, the morning breakfast of plastic eggs and watered-down coffee followed by an emergency trip to McDonalds, and we’re driving under the golden sun amongst the golden hills, spotting little dust devils and hot fields– through the San Joaquin Valley to the Fort Tejon State Park, through Pyramid Lake (“Is that faux-pyramid really necessary?”), before we knew it Los Angeles had arrived under our very tires.

And we are lucky enough to have a good friend in this sunny, hot city, who immediately hi-jacked our thoughtlessly boring plan of bearing straight to Anaheim and introduced us once more to real food– Korean wonton soup, beef bowls, purple rice, kim chi…

And the excitement of a real flea-market-swap-meet! Free of the Northwest curse of rainbow knits! Thick with aesthetic pleasures and indulgences, vintage this-and-that, a tiny dress wearing a dog, art, patterns, fresh graphics…

…followed by an evening in and near Korea-town, where she resides. Neon lights, crazy font, and towering palm trees lining streets and dimpling the sky…

…joining some natives for a going-away party; a boy leaving to teach English in Rio– another in glasses, a  hip haircut, and knit turtleneck, the other with a freshly groomed, thick mustache on young baby face. Bad jokes about Morpheus’s daughter, pornography, Star Wars…

…ending the night with a trip to Yogurtland!

Thus concludes part 1.

Graceee

My entire family. In the basement studio downstairs. It is 10:48 AM. My dad had taken a shot of red wine for health’s sake, and settled down with some adhesive gel pads and electrocution therapy; his entire leg is convulsing under his supervision, all in the name of healing. He is pleased and fit to purr.

Vivaldi is floating through the room, riding on the cool current of air; my mom is rocking on a small ottoman meant for a rocking chair, as she and Michael drudge through his Chinese homework. My sister and me are on the couch, on our laptops. Surfing away.

The stock market blinks pink, greens, and greys on the television screen.

So this is what it’s like to spend 2 months in Taiwan with your family. The pelvic pudge that silently waves at me in the mirror when I’m in the shower is the only evidence that time has accumulated… ohh, maybe that was too graphic…

We’d otherwise be the mall rats of Taipei 101. We played the roles well at least thrice last week.Yesterday we got stuck in an elevator of Mainland Chinese men, and got dragged to whatever floor they wanted to go.I would have loved to take a picture of their hairy moles, shared haircut and wardrobe, but the feeling of being cornered and smothered by so many strange bodies so obviously unfamiliar to me in mind and history had me paralyzed.

Anyhowzer: some quick snapshots of whatever it is I’ve been doing…

Some heat exhausted puppies at the Shi Lin nightmarket…

A Dior display mirrored upside down…

Shelves of tasty baked things…

One of many typical Chinese tourists…

A lonely security guard,

Some awesome astro-shoes,

An original helmet design…

and an apparent safety zone

It’s strange how relative height can change so much attitude. I feel so empowered, standing a head above most other girls…

<3

Graceee

]]> http://www.hearandsay.com/uncategorized/graphic-adventures/feed/ 0 http://www.hearandsay.com/angstlifeangst/taipei-i/ http://www.hearandsay.com/angstlifeangst/taipei-i/#comments Wed, 14 Jul 2010 09:04:15 +0000 admin http://www.hearandsay.com/?p=873 Taipei: A General Introduction to General Aspects of General Visiting Experiences, with Several Unecessary Tangents

As far as stereotypes go, I’d say I’m some averagely petite Asian chick, college-educated, college-indebted, and vulnerable to certain (at times silly) aesthetic trends (as girls my age usually are)– participatory fashion being defined by me as wearing something other than Uggs, sweats, or pajamas (a middle-school phase that certainly cramped anyone’s style-history). I’m on the bookish side, though– being terribly cursed in the social department, as I am plagued with alcohol allergy that I bravely, foolishly ignore if the occasion calls– it usually doesn’t end well, and results in a vomit-slick leather-top table (the haunting episode at My House, a bar somewhere in the LA Silverlake area).

I can have vomit-free fun, though: I like Eating (note the capital E, and I assure you my eating habits have nothing to do with regurgitation), reading, writing, drawing; obvious facets of Alone Time, which is why I end up writing overly exaggerated and relatively ignored paragraphs about Who I Am. So maybe not so fun.

But this is just an introduction to locate Where I Am (physically, existentially): physically, I am in Taipei, but existentially, I am in a black hole — no– I am the instantaneously impossible hypocritical and vast un-knowing of the Improbability Factor. Having just graduated from a four-year institution, I now know that five credits times three is fifteen, teachers generally like students sitting close but not too close, and that GPAs are bullshit. But I know nothing more about myself– I know more about other people, and what their limitations are, and what prejudices people might have against them, or how, on a sliding 1-6 Kinsey scale, homosexual or heterosexual they might be.

This is supposed to be about Taipei. Very well, I admit: I digress.

Taipei is the capital of the little island of Taiwan, off the coast of East China. In the early centuries of some important number I should have remembered, the Dutch East Indian Trading Company took the island of Formosa for their own purposes; teaching the aboriginals to burn sea water to create salt, they also traded a variety of other things, like– er– edible plant matter, I guess. Anyway, that’s not important. What’s important is that the Dutch were here way-back-when, beautiful, tall white people who had too much decency to dress down their many layers of petticoats in order to survive these sweltering hot summers (I can imagine their charming reactions to our beloved tropical insects). Then came the Japanese. And the moral of my story is, Taiwan has always been a very important port in the economic history of the world, even if we’re mostly pronounced as a mere (but vital!)  “stepping stone” into Pacific waters.

Taipei itself is quite the international darling; the shopping vacation spot for Japanese and Chinese tourists alike, taxis run amok doing as they wish, traffic laws aren’t as unenforced as Rome, but lanes are more like guidelines, and the hoards of zippy motorcyclists do as they damn well please. Ah, of course, the sign that a city is truly a city: there are coffeeshops everywhere. More specifically, Starbucks has marked its territory on select street corners (more often competitively across the street from Dante’s, a rival coffee chain) and amazingly enough, the Taiwanese people are just as in love with the white-marked-green cups of coffee-experience as America. Maybe more: every Starbucks I’ve passed in Taipei is alway crowded with the hip and young, or those wishing they were hip and young, or those who want to be seen “doing work”.

There is also the curious popularity of “afternoon tea”– amidst the wealth and luxury  of department stores, the experience of being wealthy and luxurious is frosting on a hard day’s work of designer-brand shopping. The prices aren’t bad on the standards of the U.S. dollar; they’re pretty much the usual, where a nicely glazed croissant (just the right size for two girls with low-self esteem to share and not feel guilty) sits with a stale gleam of European appeal in the overly decorated display case. Risotto and small petite plates of pasta and a collection of cute cakes may also be whimsically ordered and gracefully consumed with your very authentically European-traditional coffee or tea.

Maybe I’m being too snide: let me supplicate this seething attitude with another cultural tid-bit: Asians are obsessed with being white.

Cue surprise. Who hasn’t seen the crews of Asian boys and girls, overtaking study halls with their tinkling cell-phone ornaments, outbursts of undecipherable conversation peppered with strange intonations? People dub them “FOBS”– fresh off the boats– and while that is quite offensive, I’m going to assume that dear and few readers endure stereotypes of their own, and that none if it should really matter to you. If it does, than you’re probably one of those people pushing a small delicate croissant away with a pained and horrified face or petitioning for Harry Potter to be placed on a blacklist for references to the Divvil.

So what’s the deal? Asians in America are *so Asian* while Asians in Asia would die to be white. Maybe not die, but they pour an ample amount of time into skin whiteners (lotions and pills), lasering freckles out from their epidermis (my dear, fashionable cuz), and glorifying Abercrombie and Fitch. Pasty is the new black. It means you’re wealthy enough not to work in the sun (and sunlight is a mighty tricky thing to evade on this island) because there are the poor and desolate who cannot avoid but to slave away in the hot exhausting hours of the day. Air-conditioning still exists as a luxury to them.

If I haven’t bored you enough with this subjective and possibly irrelevant analysis of Who I Am and Where, let me marry my previous two subjects in a matrimony of conflict that may as well end in a messy divorce. I obviously place my own values and culture as perpendicular to the people I am currently surrounded with, but then again, my culture and values has a history on a different plane than those who have been raised and live in Taipei, Taiwan. In the compulsive and unending mission to find Who I Am throughout this snap of a lifetime, I cannot help but compare and point out the obvious differences (i.e. I like the tan look). I also have a lot in common, even if these commonalities are more difficult to distinguish– after all, I am a first-generation to grow up and be schooled in America, so my parents were first-rate Asians to the max  (my dad opened a Mr. Eggroll in Springfield, Illinois. He had built the place to be shaped like a take-out box, and it stands there to this day as a historical spectacle), so  some customs are hard to shake (eating EVERYTHING on your plate, you ungrateful bastard).

On a contradictory note, who cares, right? Because everything in life seems so fluid and hypocritical; the only dependent, reliable, and the fact becomes “it is what it is” or “it isn’t what it is not”, rather than “this is what it’s supposed to be”. The Internet has shrunk the world and made scramble out of our black-and-white morals, as we are more likely to see the radically different lives of others, and the comparison of information becomes way too overwhelming. In Taipei, I can walk down the commercially rich street, encrusted with SoGo department stores boasting dolled up woman batting their 100% fake eyelashes (making sure the white foundation doesn’t glaze their inch-long feathers of pornish sex appeal) while a man with three limbs bellies up and bangs his head against the sidewalk outside to beg for money. The four square feet his weathered body grinds against is of more value in this society than the entirety of his being.

I don’t think I can ever survive a suburb. It’s too safe, too unreal for me; a white picket fence would only serve to keep me in and keep the world out. I feel like I need these worldly contradictions in order to feel alive; I need these challenges of moral conflicts to keep my blood pumping; and that’s something the Taipei I know has discovered within me. Call me out in ten years.

Graceee

calls for some gelato

gelaattooooo

YUM TIME
G

ps i miss u tara

Got back from Amsterdam– from this weekend– a little crazy–

But this weekend, I’m going to Berlin. Jam with some Germans.

Here’s some pix to summarize Europe so far…

Get told in Copenhagen

It snew

Fontana de Treviii licious

Awkward pictures are the best

Keep up kidsterrrz

<3

Gracious

Filthy sik.

I will try very hard not to look like this

To my dear family and roommates: do not fear, for I have tattooed my face into the insides of your eyelids. You will never forget the asymmetry of my face.

To my dear friends and/or co-workers: I will return 100 fold stronger and greater than ever before; but also 100 times as merciful. Be excited. Be wary. But be excited.

To my facebook friends: I will be deleting some of you soon. 2010 calls for a purge.

To Elliott Smith, Michael Cera, endearingly awkward darlings, and Seattle:  I love you–! Marry me!

Love,

Gracious

PS: keep u posted