Smogger

Now that my scooter is rounding out its third year of ownership, I get a postcard in the mail that says I need to get a smog test for it. I take it to the Yamaha Service Plaza store I normally get the oil changed at.

I ride in, show them my little smog test summons card, and he motions for me to pull in. He takes a stand and a pipe and hooks up the sensor to my exhaust pipe, and then runs some software on the nearby computer, explaining that these test results are stored immediately using government (standard) software, and then uploaded to the DMV databases later on. I'm impressed at how efficient they've made it!

He looks at the stats for my scooter -- not that old, in pretty good condition, despite my accidents and thrashing it around -- and starts it up, running the diagnostic software. The numbers start going up in each of the three categories: CO, HC, and CO2. Neat.

But he freaks out.

"Whoa, why is it so high?? This is twice the limit!"

He starts rapping frantically at the "Cancel" button, preventing the test from completing and uploading to the government database.

Then he hooks up the sensor to a different computer -- the shop's private machine, not connected to the official one -- and starts tweaking some settings in the engine with a screwdriver, playing around with two different dials until the CO and HC pollution was way, way below the legal limits.

Once he was happy with the results, he hooks it back up to the government system and runs it.

"Oh, I hope it's not too low [that it's not believable]. You can't ride it like this, because it will stall on you all the time."

Well, wouldn't you know it, the scooter passes now with flying colours!

A printout taps out of the printer, my paper evidence in case the government wants to see it.

He hooks the scooter back to the private machine, tweaks all the settings back to the original levels (slightly optimizing while he's at it), and sends me back on my way.

"There you go. Now you may continue polluting the air."

(Yeah, he actually said that, but in a good-humoured manner.)

Clearly, this is not his first time, nor is it beyond his own moral limits. I'll probably have the scooter actually looked at during my next oil change, since it does bother me that my scooter isn't running as smoothly as it should.

Male Pattern

Everyone loses hair.

Men lose hair, and the follicles in very visible parts of their head just give up and quit, leading to male pattern baldness and sometimes slightly affected self-esteem.

Women lose hair, but most of the time, they grow back. And then that lost hair ends up all over the apartment, where it seeds dust bunnies and constantly sticks underfoot. Worse yet, flaunts its existence to the men who have male pattern baldness.

Sometimes, life is unfair that way.

Unfortunate News about March 19, 2008

A lot of you have probably heard this (or figured it out) already, but I have some rather sad news to bear.

With extremely deep regret, I'm very sorry to announce that my mom passed away very suddenly on Wednesday night (March 19, 2008, Pacific time) of a brain aneurism. She was in her peak health: medical and blood tests from a few days prior came back showing near-optimum levels for everything from cholesterol to blood pressure to body alkalinity to everything. But even so, from the first signs of a headache to irreversible brain damage, it was only 30 or 45 minutes. She spent her last moments at home and at Vancouver General Hospital, with my father always by her side, but likely unaware of anything happening around her. It was four hours later when the decision was made to pull the lung support machine, after which it was clear her body was only a body: the spirit had long left on its own.

Thank you all graciously for your support in this emotional time. I can really only muster up two words: too early. The family is obviously very shocked at what's happened -- I was actually at another funeral service in Taiwan when I received the call.

I hope that those of you who have met her and gotten to know her will remember her as the happy, active, loving, and playful person she was. She's a wonderful mother, a loving wife, and a caring friend, a warm person all around who shone positivity wherever she went. At 57, she still had so much love to give, and so much to look forward to with us. It's really just too early. She was very much looking forward to our upcoming events and occasions, and we hope to make her proud by continuing in the spirit of her wishes. (It's strange to refer to her in past tense.)

I didn't really have much to say for days after it happened. All her children returned to Vancouver in early April and will stay through late May, after which further plans will become more definite. There was a service in Vancouver on April 12, and over 300 people came to pay their respects -- we filled up the 220-seat chapel and people had to stand outside to peer in through the open windows.

While still in the shock of this news, I implore you to cherish the relationships with your loved ones. Our time here is short, sometimes much too short. Here's wishing you love and good health.

Clenched

This stress is overwhelming me, and from all sides of life, too. My eyebrows are constantly furrowed into an untrimmed unibrow. My teeth and jaw are sore from being continually clenched tightly these two weeks. I'm getting double-handed b!tchslapped by life right now, and not enjoying it.

Plus, it's raining outside.

Losing It

I really need to start writing sh!t down.

Bubble Boy

Great, yet another sandstorm hailing in from China. It basically means that the already-polluted airs over Taipei will have sand particles thrown into the mix.

I've noticed a rather disturbed downward trend in my health since moving to Taiwan.

When I got really sick last winter (2007), at the lowest point, I could barely walk half a block before my asthma kicked in and I'd have to stop and puff. I started getting allergic reactions to even the slightest foods: a doctor told me to avoid chocolate, seafood, and various types of nuts, while a Chinese doctor give me another whole list of foods to abstain from: beef, certain vegetables, mushrooms, tomatoes, etc.

It was also around then that I started developing a mild allergic reaction to certain metals, but only when my health was in bad shape (i.e., when I had a cold). When I get sick now, I have to remove my watch because my left wrist gets itchy after a while.

And after a bad bout of food poisoning early during my residence here, I discovered (in a most unfortunate way) that I'm very allergic to Tiger Balm.

The latest substance that I seem to be allergic to now is ... essential oils. Like the ones you put in the diffuser with water, and then light a tealight underneath to make your place smell habitable. Yes, I know you're not supposed to put it on you, but there was a mosquito in the place that we couldn't confirm if we killed or not, so the next step was to have the smell of lavender on us so it wouldn't come after me as I slept.

And now, I have rashes on my wrists and ankles.

I swear, it's only a matter of time before I should really just confine myself to a little bubble dome just to stay healthy.

On another note (also somewhat related to bubbles), I've recently taken a turn back to enjoying a regular dose of bubble tea. It's really too bad that, at a hefty 500kcal per 500cc cup serving, it's a craving I'll have to curb quickly.

Stretch and Twist

You know you're getting old(er) and (increasingly) out of shape when, after sitting at your desk for half an hour, you lean back in your chair for a nice big stretch and yawn ... and twist out your back under such incredible physical strain.

33 is a Prime Number

I used to be gym regular back in college, but I hadn't yet learned how to work out properly, so there was a lot of wasted effort. It wasn't until about 2002 or 2003 that I started really doing it right, eating properly, beefing up a bit, all that crap. Man, I can't believe how far (backwards) I've come since those lofty fitness goals!

But now that I'm in Taiwan, and all that has gone out the window! If it's not one thing, it's another: it's frustrating that I can't get to the gym nowadays. That, plus all the cold weather fueling my craving for carbs and sweets and those hot, stick-to-your-ribs foods. That's bad news.

That said, this is a good age to be.
This is the primetime, baby!

I think men in their 30's start to have a clue of what's what. Before that, in their early- to mid-20's, they're still young, full of energy, but without the necessary guidance or direction. And almost definitely without really knowing what they want. (I'd argue that although being firmly planted in my thirties, I still don't truly know what I want, but I'm getting closer to having all the pieces of that puzzle.)

So really, I don't actually miss being younger.

What I miss about being younger is the carefree days of not giving a sh!t about anything with boundless energy! That, and being able to go clubbing all night without feeling bedridden the whole next day.

Bad Habits

Right now, my left knee is recovering since the week-and-a-half-ago, and it's starting to itch like crazy (which I'm told is a telltale sign that it's healing). I'm even able to walk without a visible limp again -- rejoice!

But this scab!

Okay, I'll admit something (again). I have a really bad habit, something I just never seemed to grow out of since childhood, which drives M nuts: I like to pick at my healing wounds.

I'm sorry, okay?
I just can't help it.
I just have to pick at it.

I like to feel like some very visible healing progress is being made -- and we already know how I like to stare at progress bars. And these scabs are nearly falling off on their own already, so what's wrong with offering a little helping hand, right?

Right. So there.
Just you try to stop me.

(At least putting this silicone scar bandage is preventing me from having direct access to it. That helps.)

Distressed

I had another scooter accident: that pushes my running total of scooter incidents up to five now. It's okay, it was just an itty bitty one, really.

This time, it was just with myself.

I was on my way to work, annoyed at this rider who kept coming up on my right, so my attention was on him from the corner of my eye. When I turned my attention back to the front, the originally smooth-going traffic had stopped.

I emergency braked, and my front (disc) brake locked, and the scooter veered, leaned, and slid. Me too. Picked myself up, dusted off as cars detoured around me, and pulled over to the side for a breather as people waiting for the bus peered on half-interested.

All body parts still accounted for, I resumed my commute, punched in at the office, and went to a local drugstore for medical supplies. Back at the office, I emptied my little shopping bag onto my desk -- iodine, antibiotics, cotton swabs, bandages, and tape -- and proceeded to nurse my new wounds in my cubicle. I kind of felt like Mark Wahlberg in Shooter (after he was framed and had to make that getaway), except that his was scripted and all fake: this was the real deal, baby.

Anyway, the wounded include:

- me, in the way of a scraped left forearm and scuffed left knee and a rather bruised ego
- my puffy jacket, which is now losing feathers even faster through the gaping 1-inch hole (yeah, a whole patch of shell missing, not just a slit)
- my new Adidas shoes, where the left toe cap is scraped up
- parts of the left side of my scooter (which now match the right)

What's more, now my new jeans are scraped and torn at the knee as well! Thank goodness for the distressed look, so in a way, the scooter fall actually made my clothing more fashionable.

Rain Filter

I'm riding to work today, and it's pissing rain, but I live up the visor on my helmet anyhow ... and I take a big whiff. It's about the freshest air I've smelled recently (except for a quick weekend trip to Hualien/花蓮).

The rain here acts as a filter for the air, extracting dust and dirt particles (and whatever impurities and terrible free radicals that provoke women to buy those expensive skin care products) out of the air as they fall. It's kind of like the water in a bong, really, which filters out the harsh heat and smoke so it doesn't get to you.

The problem lies in that what you're left with after the high of having fresh air is ... well, the bong water. And in the case of Taipei rain, it's a whole city's worth of city-bong water flowing through the sewers in addition to all the warm garbage smells that waft through the sewer grates.

Fresh air today, horrified nostrils tomorrow.

Sniffing Out the Problem

Remember how I had that nose issue about half a year ago? Well, very mysteriously, it just went away by itself. Maybe it knew I was posting for advice about it, got freaked, and left.

And then decided to move back in again.
I smelled it again just two days ago.
Yesterday, it seemed to fade a bit.
But it smells like it's back again today.

I have a feeling that it's related to my diet, or is a cryptic symptom of my health in some way. My current hypotheses on this are:

1. Sauce.

Three days ago, I had potstickers from a popular joint just around the corner from my work. I have these pretty often, but this time I had it with chili bean sauce (豆瓣醬) -- I used to have this a lot, but some months ago, traded it in for a garlic soy sauce and/or sweet vinegar instead. Lo and behold, the next day, I guess it worked into my system and the nose thing came back!

2. Health.

I've been sick for a while in November and December -- a really nasty virus has pretty much hit everyone I know in some time or another this winter season -- and even now, we're trying hard to shake that last 5% that just won't go away. I don't remember if I was sick back in July 2007, but maybe it's related to my health at the moment.

3. Diet.

A broader generalization, perhaps it's just my diet. Or, maybe the two are related: food and health. When I'm sick or getting sick, my body has cravings for different types of foods (mainly carb-heavy stuff). So perhaps my current diet has a surplus or a deficiency in something, and that's giving me this "reminder" in my olfactory senses?

I dunno. Any thoughts or hints?

Mom was Right

So yesterday, we got around to talking about brainteasers and skill-testing questions, and I looked online and spent the 13 minutes to do an IQ test. And you know what?

Mom was right: I am a genius!

Dear Ben,

Thank you for your interest in the test at IQTest.com.

Your general IQ score is: 143

You may login at ­http://www.iqtest.com/login.html at any time to view your score, purchase your Complete Personal Intelligence Profile or The Consciousness Exercises, or edit your account settings.

Regards,
The Team at IQTest.com

It's no wonder I find that so many people around here are idiots! It's because I'm way ahead of the curve!

---
PS: No, I'd put my money on the IQ test being pretty inaccurate and unreliable as a measure of one's intelligence, just based on my result! Maybe it's set up so that only the real idiots would believe their own score.

Victor's Secret

So on the first day of the year, I bought 3 items from Private Structure (to provide a structure for holding my privates, naturally). I've now added them to my collection of new underwear from Zara, Calvin Klein, and the other ones I recently bought from Private Structure. (I've been on a shopping binge for undies and socks recently, dunno why. Maybe all mine have reached the end of their lifespans.)

Anyway, since I've always been partial to briefs and boxer briefs, the new ones are also the same. (I only wear loose boxers to bed, so that my boys can sleep comfortably too. In the daytime, I like to have my body parts ... kept in place. But that's neither here nor there.)

Now, these new ones are snug and form fitting. But they (from all the brands except CK) seem to have forgotten one vital feature for such an undergarment: a sufficiently-sized "pouch" to hold my goodies.

No, I'm not bragging or anything.
They're somehow really damned tight!

WTF? I almost feel like when I put them on, my eyes will pop out. And no, I'm not wearing a size too small either. Given that they're different brands and of different design/styling -- European, American, and Asian -- they shouldn't all be like that, right?? Something's really wrong. Either that, or present-day men prefer to have their cashews treated like stress balls.

No, really, I'm not bragging.

What am I doing wrong? My undies didn't come with an instruction manual, but is there some technique to ... uh ... product placement when I put them on? Or is there something else I should be paying attention to??

Help!

On a side note, I appreciate Joe Boxers for keeping me warm on such cold days. Thank you, Joe, for cupping me so.

Goldfish

Another great American holiday is come and gone, and in its wake has kickstarted the holiday shopping frenzy, which the United States badly needs to get some kind of money flowing around again, as the world starts to turn its back on their dollar.

We had pumpkin pie (from Costco) on Thursday afternoon as a small tribute to the festivities, and then (in true American fashion) proceeded to stuff myself on Friday, Saturday and Sunday night dinners.

And I mean, stuffed myself.
As if it were going out of style.
As if I'd been starved for a month.
As if I were 8 months pregnant. With quintuplets.

Basically, I just keep eating until my stomach was stretching to the brink of exploding half-digested foods all over the walls. (M suggested I wear a garbage bag in case it did happen, to ease the clean-up. I didn't, because if I did blow up, cleaning up wouldn't be my problem.) I keep eating until the food is gone, without any kind of normal signal from stomach to brain signifying that it's starting to hurt.

I basically eat like a goldfish.

Airborne

Do you think the air in hospitals is cleaner or dirtier (meaning bacteria and viruses) than the air outside?

Golden

Sorry for the silence: haven't felt like blogging recently.

Been jetlagged.
Been sick.
Been on a lot of drugs (due to above).
Been catching up on sleep (due to all of the above).
Been wet and miserable in the rain.

And worse yet, I'm getting another year older pretty soon.

Fourteen Hours

In 14 hours, I'll be at the airport, wrapping up a two-week whirlwind blast through Vancouver.

I didn't get to see some of the people I wanted to, and didn't get to see the people I did see as much as I wanted to. And while I didn't get absolutely everything rolling that I needed to, it was overall a productive trip with positive results to show for it. And aside from a quick drop into Seattle and a whip through Whistler, it hasn't felt like a vacation at all. Hopefully, things will ease off a bit after mid next year, and we can breathe a little easier.

And I'm still coughing like an old geezer who's smoked for most of his life.

All Quiet Except For The Coughing

I'm getting better at typing ok the iPod Touch virtual keyboard, now that I've had a few days to play with this new toy of mine. Otherwise, not a whole lot to report, except that I am sick as a dog. I'm waking up every two hours or so, in a mad coughing fit, and it takes a while before I can calm back down and fall asleep again. Hope the rest of you guys are doing well.

Ancient Chinese Secret

I remember when my grandmother was living with us, she used to collect orange peels after we had oranges/tangerines. She would keep them, carefully wrap them in tissue paper, and dry them out in her room. Then, weeks or even months later, she would use them to make some kind of dark, sludgy and pungent herbal remedy. (All ancient Chinese remedies seem to be dark and sludgy and pungent, don't they?)

Being born and raised in a western world, I always took those recipes with a grain of salt, a dose of skepticism, and a dash of "science didn't prove it so i find it doubtful" attitude. But it turns out, as it always does, that our grandmothers were right: tangerine peels have healing powers.

It's nice to see that western science is finally starting to catch up to thousands of years of Asian medicinal knowledge.