Evil washing machine in Taipei

Okay, I love Taipei, but this evil washer/dryer has been torturing me for over four hours. Evil, evil, evil incarnate. 

Below is the translation of the message on the machine. 

Small Steps (Part 5) - Pala Pizza

 

Pala, you have been ever reliable, like the star in my farang food solar system.  I don't eat farang often, but when I do, you are the first one I think of. 

Rivals have come (think Massilia or Peppina), but you continue to stand head and shoulders above them. You may not have the prettiest space, but you are down to earth in attitude and the art of food. You know that good pizza relies on a few key things being done right - namely crust and sauce.  And you do them right every time. 

In the many small steps of leaving this place I love, I thank you for being there like an old and dear friend. 

First Small Steps (Part 7)

Easing our way out of Thailand, George Town was like a dear friend. 

Guess he's not a cat person. 

First Small Steps (Part 6) - Thip Samai

Leaving a place you love usually happens over a long period of time.  In the process, you inevitably make lists of the places you love that you have to visit one more time and the places that you have always wanted to visit but never have.

Pad Thai Thip Samai (ผัดไทยทิพย์สมัย) is one of the latter.  It's been on my list of places to go for a long time, but I just hadn't made it until recently.  Pad thai is good, but it's not one of my favourite dishes.  Plus there are other places near Thip Samai that I know I love, so it's always remained on the 'to-do' list.

With our upcoming departure, it finally made it to the top of that list and off we went.  It's just as busy as one would expect from reading about the place.  The lines start immediately upon opening; table service and takeaway are crazy busy.  The food comes pretty quickly, and it is indeed really good pad thai.

After the visit, I decided to look up some reviews for fun.  It was interesting because they ranged from the raving 'best pad thai ever' variety to 'yuck, don't go'.  The majority were very positive, but I think I know where the bad reviews are coming from.

So many of us have been trained by the thousands of Thai restaurants around the world to expect something very different from what pad thai really is.  For some people visiting Thailand, pad thai is a real disappointment because it doesn't match those expectations.

Thip Samai is kind of an extreme version of that.  Their version is delicious (seriously), but it's also quite shrimpy.  For someone 'trained' in the peanutty, sweet, and light version of pad thai some common around the world, this would be a very, very different pad thai.  So, if you go, be prepared.

Anyway, Thip Samai, thanks for the fine meal, and thank you very much for being one of the small steps in my long and love-filled goodbye to a place that I love.

The line, minutes after opening.

Signature style, wrapped in egg.

The Way Through Doors by Jesse Ball (a review, this time)

A few days ago I wrote something of an homage to The Way Through Doors by Jesse Ball.  [The Jesse Ball link there is about as enigmatic as the book, so if you want more of the straight story on his career, click here.]

The book is homage-worthy.  This is one of those books where, as a reader, you pause at times to contemplate just where the story came from.  It springs seemingly from some dream-like state in which everything is possible.  Ball was not bound by the traditional narrative form.  Links between ideas and characters can seem ephemeral, yet they are beautiful.

This is not a book for everyone.  I can think of many people who would dislike it (intensely), but it is a rare gift of imagination for anyone who is willing to immerse him/herself in the gauze of Ball's creation.  I paused often while reading to try and visualise the world I had entered.  In doing so, the image that first came to mind was a map of the 'world' in some video games.  In some of them you can cut to a map that shows the levels or worlds, explored and unexplored.

In some that I have played (and it's been a very long time since I have), the map resembles ant tunnels underground.  Usually there is only one connection between the levels/worlds, like a gate or a door.  Within the levels, it feels like a self-contained and independent place in that each has an environment and characters.  To wake up in one of these worlds, it would seem like the world, but having played/worked to get there, one realises that it is only part of the puzzle.  By playing through, one sees the connections and feels a sense of completeness.

Reading The Way Through Doors feels something like that map.  The parts of the novel fit together to form a beautifully hallucinatory whole; the connections between them are delicate whimsy things that a careless reader could almost miss (just like getting lost in a level of a video game).  Reading through connects and completes the journey.

I have thought a lot about how to best appreciate The Way Through Doors (especially since I am encouraging several people to read it).  I alluded to this in my first post, but Doors should ideally be read in one sitting.  To sit down and suspend one's connection to daily life means being able to take off the leaden shoes of our expectations and let our minds float along with Ball's.  Putting the book down means having to re-enter and reorient oneself to the story.

With no pagination, no chapters, and only a fascinating system of line-numbering, that re-immersion is not as easy as with other novels.  So take my word for it - find a comfortable chair, start in the morning when your head is still a bit fuzzy and follow Selah Morse and his guess artist friend through the doors.  You might not finish until the evening, but you'll see and remember those magical doors and remember how you got from one room to another.

That is when the novel is at its most beautiful.

The Way Through Doors by Jesse Ball (In pale imitation but with great respect)

He rose from the ashes and sprinkled water all about.  The day was proving to be one of great potential with birds suddenly chirping their approval of the rising sun.

"Yes, you're right.  Today does indeed look promising," Adam agreed with his avian companions. "We should visit the bookstore for today we will surely find just the right book."

Adam strode away, looking back only to be sure that the fire was indeed out.  The last thing he wanted was for his carelessness to cause a conflagration that would ruin the promising day dawning for his feathered neighbours.  Passing his local news stand, Adam stopped to buy a package of his favourite smoked fish flavoured candy.  He planned to save it for later, knowing full well that his winged neighbours would be greatly offended if he did not share when he got home.  Somehow they had a way of sniffing out any unshared meals or snacks and expressed their displeasure in one of two ways.  If it was minor, they would simply begin their morning chirping extra early to wake him up.  Since every moment of slumber counted in his line of work, this was an effective form of reprimand.

In serious cases - and he believed that the smoked fish candy would count as one of those - they would swoop down over the ashes of his fire.  The result would be a great cloud of dust that got into everything you could imagine - his hair, clothes, and eyes among them.  Worse yet, when they were really mad, they would time their swooping to coincide with his meals leaving all his food covered in thick grey ash.

Yes, indeed, it was better to wait and share when he returned to the ashes from which he had risen.

The newsagent cheerily rang up his purchase and announced, "That will be $2.35, Adam."  He paused then, cocking his head to the side to regard him.  "I can see from the twinkle in your eye, Adam, that you are off to buy a book.  And, given this wondrous sun-filled sky, I believe you will find just the right book.

"That is indeed my plan!" said Adam.

"If that is the case, then may I recommend this fine literary supplement from our city's daily paper?  They have a special section on choosing just the right book."

"Oh, that sounds perfect.  I will take one.  How much is it?"

"For you, young sir, take it as a gift.  Think of it as my way of furthering arts and culture in our fine city."

Adam continued down the street, happier than ever and now fully convinced that he would find just the right book.  Passing the park on the way to the bookstore, he suddenly heard a friendly shout.

"Adam, please, come join me for a moment."  It was his friend Mariana.  She wasn't much of a reader but she had a natural talent for numbers.

Adam sat down and told Mariana about his day and his quest for the perfect book.  She was curious but had no recommendations to give.  After all, she wasn't much of a reader.  "I will say, however, that the square root of the number of pages in your literary supplement is 9.  Given that today is the third anniversary of my graduation, it seems prudent to multiply 9 x 3.  Hmmm.  Yes, exactly, go to page 27 in your supplement."  At that, Mariana rose to leave.  As it was her graduation anniversary she had a speech to prepare.

Adam, now comfortably settled on a park bench on a fine sunny day, turned to page 27 and began to read.

"The Way Through Doors is the perfect book for this wondrous sunny day.  After rising early from the ashes and buying some fish candy, nothing will be better than to settle yourself on a park bench and read.  

Having started this wondrous day early, you will have time to read The Way Through Doors in one delirious sitting, the way it was meant to be read.  Yes, you may stop to stare up at the sky now and then through the leafy canopy of the park, but otherwise, you can follow the heroic adventures of Selah Morse, pamphleteer and city inspector, and his guess artist friend.  

They follow a sinuous path of storytelling to dizzying depths and mythical heights.  

In short, this is the perfect book for you. 

First Small Steps (Part 4)

There are so many things I am going to miss about you, dear Thailand.  Some are obvious - others not so much.

Take these two, for example.

In public parks, small patches of open sidewalk, or even under overpasses, there are free public exercise sessions each night at 6 p.m.  They are usually attended primarily by women, but the range in age is fantastic.  While we often view exercise as private if it doesn't take place on a team, this is shared and somehow beautiful

The second photo is rather innocuous but also very Thai.  Near Saochingcha in the old part of Bangkok fairly close to the palace, there are a number of stores that make and sell Buddha images ranging in size from something you would put on a table or altar to many times larger than life size.  Walking down the sidewalk, one often sees them on display or be loaded onto trucks for transport to wats.  Often they are wrapped in beautiful orange cloths like the robes worn be real monks.

This shot, however, is something much more mundane but also something that belies the nature of the stores even late at night when they are closed.  The sidewalk tiles there are multiple colours, but there are also swirls of gold.  They form the outline of the statues when they are brought out into the street for painting.  

Beautiful clues to Thai life.

First Small Steps (Part 3)

Leaving is hard, dear กรุงเทพฯ

These are just some visuals of what I'll miss. 

Penang (Part 1?): Ren I Tang

Okay, let's get something out of the way - I loved George Town in Penang.  Period.

Part of falling in love with Penang/George Town was staying at Ren I Tang.  This was, to put it simply one of the best places I have ever stayed.  The former Chinese medicine hall was restored and converted to a hotel by a group of incredibly talented women from Kuala Lumpur.  If you get a chance to talk to them about the restoration, two things will likely happen.

1. You will be in awe of the dedication and vision that was required to turn the building into what it is today.  Doing things like adding bathrooms and finding sewer lines while also keeping the beauty and style of the original building was a monumental undertaking.
2. You will likely think twice about ever buying an old home and fixing it up.  I love the idea in a 'romanticised ideal' sort of way, but I also know that the reality would be a mountain of headaches.  I will count myself lucky that Karen and company from Ren I Tang do it so well.

When we decided to go to Penang, we basically went to do an eating festival (more on that later).  We wanted to stay in a nice place, but what we got was a gorgeous spot run by an amazing staff.  The people who work there seem to love the hotel and the city, so if you share any of those interests, they will share tons of information with you.  They love food, too, and will help point you in some new and unexpected directions. 

The location in Little India (yes, even though the building was a Chinese medicine hall) is fantastic.  Walking, nothing in the old part of town was more than twenty minutes away.  With so many places to stop and eat or look, those walks sometimes took a lot longer, but they certainly were not tiring.  Coming back to the hotel at the end of a segment of the eating festival was the perfect interlude to relax, cool down, and build up an appetite all over again.  The only bad part of the location is that there is an incredible noodle stall right across the street (in direct view from our room).  It was often so tempting that it interrupted some of our eating plans.  How do you turn down freshly cooked noodles to start the day?  Especially when you see people lining up to get them?

All I can say is that I have my fingers crossed to go back.

An Experiment in Feminine Hygiene (from the archives in honour of @CDNMenstruators)

[I wrote this article in 1994.  It’s hard to say what exactly prompted me to write it and run the little experiment.  The years in high school hearing guys make jokes about friends ‘being on the rag’ when they got mad, and my lame attempts to say ‘maybe you’re just being a dick’ must have had something to do with it.  But it also had something to do with seeing women I knew feel like they had to discreetly head off to the bathroom with pads or tampons was a factor as I got a bit older.  

It was a mystery with contradictions.  I always wondered why some women I knew in college left pads and tampons out in plain sight while others must have been hiding them.  I mean, they all had them somewhere as there were no menopausal women in my circle of friends at the time.

I decided to revisit this piece now because of the inspiring and successful #notaxontampons/I’m Essential campaign launched by @CDNMenstruators.  Their incredible grass-roots campaign worked to remove the Goods and Services Tax (GST) on pads and tampons, pointing out that essential goods are exempt from GST.  The absurdity of the tax code came to light through their pointed, hilarious, and intelligent work.  I wanted to update this and send it out into the universe at the height of their campaign but did not have time until now.

The writing is old, and I hope I am a better writer now, but the sentiment was there.  My updated comments appear in brackets and bold.]

Most men have witnessed the discomfort and pain women experience during

their periods.  Whether it was their mother, sister, friend or lover maybe

some of them have tried to show sympathy as well.  But no matter how many

cups of tea we brew, no matter how many heating pads we apply, and no

matter how many massages we give, we, as men, never really know what it's

all about.

From what I had seen and heard of menstruation I was pretty sure that I

didn't want to find out too much either.  It somehow has always seemed a

lot easier to be sympathetic than to deal with the bloating, cramping and

bleeding.  For some women periods can be nightmares; for others they can be

a monthly cleansing.  For most it's probably something in between.

Regardless, no man I know has ever envied a woman her period.  What most

men forget when, if ever, they think about periods is that there is a

strong social stigma attached to menstruation.  So, though all women

menstruate at some time during their lives, somehow it's still considered

dirty.

------------------------------------------------------------------

When I was a kid of five or six, I remember my mother wearing these huge

belted pads.  She used to curse them and I was always mystified by this big

white diaper thing that came with an elastic belt.  Today's pad technology

is somewhat improved and women in 1995 don't have to wear a harness every

time they have their period.  Now we have Dry-Weave, Wings and Sure Fit.

But it's not just the comfort and design of pads that has changed.  Today,

in a somewhat roundabout way, feminine hygiene has come out in the open.  

[As a teacher, I have seen some really interesting developments in this ‘openness’.  In a recent ‘personal narrative’ unit with middle school students, a student wrote an amazing piece on the first time she got her period.  When I praised her for taking such a risk, she didn’t see it as a big deal.  I have had current and former students speak openly in front of me (a male teacher and occasionally in front of male students about having their period.  This seems to vary tremendously based in local and school culture.  A former student who came to visit mentioned that she was shocked at the stony silence of students in her new high school when she mentioned having her period.  It was clearly NOT a subject raised publicly. 

At the same time that my current school is fairly open, it’s not all good.  The week before our yearly 3 day field trip, I always talk to all the girls about the fact that there is a good chance that one of them will get her period on the trip, perhaps for the first time.  Remember, this is middle school.  I reassure them, however, that each teacher will have a supply of pads just in case.  Their reaction, though hilarious to watch, make me feel sad, too.  Some of them can’t handle the mention of ‘periods’ or pads.  This year, the night before the trip, I went to buy said supply of pads at the local grocery store.  A bunch of students buying snacks for the trip saw me and came up to say hello.  When they saw what was in my cart, about 10 packs of pads, several of them blanched and were speechless.  Again, funny but sad.  

Similarly, the other teachers I work with are often VERY uncomfortable having the same talk with their students.  Some have said they don’t want to raise the issue with their students.  I know from my students that quite a few girls on the trip only know about the availability of pads because they told them about it after hearing it from me.]

Advertising has probably been one of the major factors in this development

as manufacturers compete in every media for women's hard earned tampon and

pad budget.  Even the environmental impact of menstruation is debated these

days.  Recently while listening to one such discussion regarding the

advantages and disadvantages of reusable versus disposable pads a friend

casually remarked that I "should try wearing one of these things."  Thus an

experiment was born.

For the next three days, I  tried different brands of feminine hygiene

products, or sanitary napkins. Now I know that the average period is longer

than three days and that I could never really know what it felt like to

have a period, but I could find out what it was like to wear pads for a

while, just to experience one aspect of what women so rightfully complain

about when it's their time of the month.  For reasons of anatomy tampons

were out, but with the help of my friend I chose Always Long for moderate

to heavy flow, Always Regular Maxi and Lightdays Contour panty liners.

From the very first moment this was to be an experience full of surprises.

You see these commercials all your life showing these great Wings that lock

your pad in place.  It seems easy, but just what place?  Especially when

you have a penis, how do you know where to put the thing?  And Wings and

boxers just simply don't mix.  For these things to be at all effective

you've got to wear tight underwear, and loose pants or shorts.  At least

for me white was still all right because, as you know, it wasn't really my

time.  No chance of those embarrassing blue leaks.

Now the people who invented Always Long knew what they were doing when they chose the name.  When I unwrapped it I was quite literally overwhelmed.  It

was like that joke about men with big penises where they say "he's seven

inches" and they measure off from their hand to their elbow.  Talk about a gift for

understatement.

These things are more like diapers than pads.  You get the eerie feeling

that you're riding some sort of super absorbent flying carpet when you wear

one.  When I finally got mine on it stretched all the way from my scrotum

and half way up my bum.

Now I didn't fly but I did ride my bike around town.  The monster between

my legs (and I sure don't mean my penis) seemed to be growing, and it felt

like I was sitting on a booster chair.   Unfortunately, my pad experiment

coincided with a late Toronto Hydro utility bill which had to be paid in

person.  I locked up my bike and went straight to the office without

stopping to adjust my pad in the bathroom. Big mistake.

Walking through the lobby I seriously could not shake the feeling that

everyone was staring at me.  I felt like I had a load of poop in my pants

and I was sure that the crinkly sound of the pad was echoing to the

farthest reaches of the office.  When my friend suggested wearing pads I

thought about how it could be embarrassing, but it was nothing like this.

This is probably how they wanted Hester Prynne to feel with that scarlet

letter A.  I just imagined the whispers after I paid at the counter: "Did

that man shit himself or is he wearing a pad?"  As I walked away from the

counter I had to fight the urge to bolt out the door.

At work I found myself sitting down a lot to avoid the possibility of

people looking at me and, while seated, I almost forgot about the thing

strapped to my underwear.  But as soon as I stood up that crinkly sound

would bring me back to reality.  The children I work with could be

extremely observant and tended to zero in on anything out of the ordinary.

A zit could be a topic of conversation for a whole afternoon so I was

dreading the mere idea of them realizing I was wearing a pad.  What would

happen if they went home to mom and said, "James was wearing a pad today."

I envisioned being branded a social deviant by some overreacting parents

and banned from ever working with children again.

[For our end of the year trip, we went to a water park for a few hours.  When discussing it with students, a girl asked, “What if we can’t swim because we have our periods?”

Another girls immediately responded, “Just wear a tampon.”

So I was incredibly proud in that moment.  I was proud of the girls who discussed it openly in a room with boys.  I was proud of the boys for having grown up enough this year that they did not groan, moan, roll their eyes.  I was proud of them all for seeing it as normal part of life.  When I mentioned it to a colleague, however, s/he was surprised that I would have the discussion in class and not ask the student who asked to talk to me privately.  Sigh.

Oh, by the way, my response to the original question was, “No one is going to make you swim, but yes M______ is right, you can always wear a tampon if you want to.”]

For women there is a very real possibility of leakage (and not that blue

stuff).  For me there was just a silly fear that someone would think my ass

looked puffy.  Leaking can be embarrassing but what comes after can be

worse.  I remember in Grade 7 this girl named Melissa got her period and

some blood leaked on her skirt.  She was utterly humiliated and from then

on people would remember her as "the girl who leaked."  I can just imagine

how she dreaded it ever happening again.  I think all the other girls

shared her fear, though they still enjoyed talking about Melissa, "the girl

who leaked.”

[This still happens.  I haven’t had it happen in my classroom, but I have had students tell me that there were ‘early adopters’ who got their periods in Grade 5 and were unprepared.  Their peers remember.]

Sleeping was uncomfortable but uneventful.  When I woke up the next day I

made the big switch to Always Regular Maxi which were a much more

manageable size.  I had already gotten better at putting them in and the

little pink envelopes made disposal very discreet.  It really wasn't fair

to wear a dry pad for 72 hours when that rarely happens with women, so to

simulate the feeling of walking around with a damp pad all day long I

decided to wet my Maxi every hour.  That blue liquid that women menstruate

in all the T.V. commercials was hard to find so I had to use water.  It

generally absorbed quickly and evenly but occasionally ran down my leg.

Unlike blood, it wasn't sticky.

Being damp quickly got on my nerves though.  Like putting on a wet bathing

suit or wearing really nice clothes on a humid day, I just felt constantly

uncomfortable.  My crotch never seemed to be completely dry.  At times I

needed to reach down my pants and adjust things or scratch but you can't do

that.  A woman (and least of all me) cannot get fed up and say, "This pad

is driving me nuts, I've got to move it."  People definitely do not want to

hear this sort of thing.  And you have to ask yourself why.

Every media carries ads for pads and tampons so the concept of menstruation

is out there for everyone to see.  But if we take a look, what do we see?

Instead of blood we see this innocuous blue stuff that looks like the water

in the toilet bowls of people who are really uptight about potentially offensive odours.  In the ads half the time there's a woman in white paranoid about leaking in public.  Whatever the brand, the message is:  "Choose us and no one will have to know that you menstruate.”

[This seems to have changed somewhat.  Advertisements for menstrual products seem to be a bit more upfront than before, but I have to say that living overseas, I don’t get full exposure to advertising.]

For Day 3 of my experiment, I made the leap to Lightdays.  Now this was

comfort!  It really is the closest thing to wearing nothing at all.

Unfortunately, they aren't very absorbent and when you're dealing with

blood and not the occasional dose of water I'm sure this is a big drawback.

But as far as the comfort of having something between ones legs, Lightdays

are about as unobtrusive as you can get.  They stick to your underwear,

hopefully do what they are supposed to and you don't even really notice

them.

And so it went.  Wearing pads was in some ways far worse than I expected

and in some ways easier.  In terms of the actual sensation of wearing a

pad, at times I almost forgot that I even had one on (except for those huge

long ones).  What never ever went away was the idea that someone might

notice either the lumpiness in my underwear, hear the crinkly noise, or,

worst possible outcome, the water I was dosing my pad with would leak and

someone would see a huge wet spot in my pants.  And this paranoia was a

constant sensation.

This must be one of the worst parts of menstruation.  It's not enough to

have to try and deal with cramping and bloating; advertisers seem to want

to make women afraid to stand up. Our society tries to make women paranoid

about their periods.  Witness all the commercials about leaking in a white

skirt.  Menstruation is so bad they have to use some mysterious blue liquid

that looks like a melted popsicle to simulate blood.

And this is where the true power of the taboo over menstruation comes into

play.  Not only are women supposed to worry about leakage twenty four hours

a day, somehow they must prevent it while keeping it hidden because supposedly no one should know about this awful secret.  If you're a woman you're not supposed to whip out a tampon in the middle of the office.  It's somehow better to hide them.  They've even invented those neat little envelopes so no one has to look at a pad with blood on it in the garbage.

What men should also remember, besides the fact that pads are

uncomfortable, is that feminine hygiene products are expensive.  My supply

of pads, for example, broke down as follows:  $2.99 for 24 Lightdays; $3.99

for 16 of the Always Regular; and $4.59 for 20 Always Long.  According to

my sources, you use up about a box of tampons and a box of pads each

period.  The Longs and the Maxis would last for one average period and the

Lightdays would last for up to three periods.  That comes out to about

$10.00 minimum per month, plus pain killers and anything else that women

need during menstruation.

[These are 1994 prices.  I don’t know what they would be in North America now.  With the ubiquity of places like Costco, though, you can buy family sized packages that might last until menopause.  

Most importantly on the issue of price, @CDNMenstruators has successfully campaigned to remove the tax on these essential products.]

One fine day, women will hopefully win the right to free or subsidized

tampons and pads.  A lot of people may balk at such a proposal but before

you do, remember that there is no single product that men have to buy

(besides toilet paper).  Women need tampons and/or pads and this requires

that they spend a significant amount of money, especially if you add it up

over the course of a lifetime.

Until then, I'll settle for the day when all women can pull out their pad

or tampon in the middle of a crowded room and stride nonchalantly to the

washroom to change it. That day will indeed be a time for rejoicing.

First Small Steps (part 2)

There seems to be no better way to kick off a new era than with a celebration of good food. One of the highlights...

Hameed Pata makes these special mee with chile and squid.  

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie: An Important Accomplishment

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian is Sherman Alexie's young adult novel about a high school age boy, Arnold Spirit, Junior, who risks his identity, family and community ties, and humiliation for the chance to hope for a better life.  It's a beautiful story accompanied by great illustrations, but that's not what makes it a great teachable book. 

I have worked for part of my career with low income students and the other part with mostly upper-middle class to wealthy students.  This latter group, even when they are the most empathetic, caring young people you could ever hope to encounter, has tremendous difficulty understanding some of the pernicious effects of poverty.  They understand the symptoms - things like access to health care, graduation rates, and income disparities - but not the effects a life of poverty can have on people.  And that makes sense; It's hard to understand the ways in which a life of poverty can change a person. 

Data and statistics are effective ways to show people why addressing societal problems is important, and I have students who volunteer, donate, and write passionately about these issues because they study this data.  Most of them have a fairly developed sense of fairness and social justice.  Nevertheless, for many of my young students (but I believe for many people in general), when it comes to individuals, they often believe that 'if s/he just tried a little harder/set aside a little bit of money/didn't drink', s/he could change his/her life.  Is it true?  Yeah, to a point.  Is it extremely difficult and rare?  Yes.  Understanding why it's hard is often elusive. 

What Alexie shows through The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian is why it's so difficult.  Junior is a heroic protagonist because he takes such an enormous risk to escape the culture of poverty he has grown up in.  Alexie shows how a culture of dreams denied can not just rob people of opportunity but also of hope.  And he doesn't do it by making the reader pity Junior; he does it by showing us how hard he must fight - and how much he must risk - to change his life. 

This is the power of stories and of literature, to allow us to see perspectives and feel empathy towards those whose lives are not our own. In The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian Alexie has put that power to great use and possibly changed the lives (or at least the minds) of many young readers. With this novel he has created a powerful tool for teachers and students everywhere. 

First Small Steps

To new things. 

Carry Me Down by M.J. Hyland: 4.5 of 5

Carry Me Down by M.J. Hyland is my first book in what seems like a long time.  Looking back at the date of my last book post (21 May), it hasn't been that long, but the craziness of the end of the school year and moving make that last book seem very far away.  

Carry Me Down was a great return to reading with another author I've never encountered before.  Her main character, John Egan, is one of those characters you wonder about long after reading the novel.  Did Hyland invent him from scratch?  Is he an amalgam of people she has known?  Or is he somehow inspired by her own life?  Like Dawn from Welcome to the Dollhouse, Todd Haynes's film, John Egan lingers, indeed tingles, in my mind still (though for totally different reasons than Dawn).  

Hyland reveals a suffering pre-adolescent, unusually tall and physically mature for his age but with all the insecurities that arise unbidden from the well of puberty.  Somewhere in all this, John comes to believe that he can detect lies.  With his feet in both the world of his childhood and of adulthood, he fails to see that some lies are actually far easier to live with than the truths they cover.  As he navigates these increasingly muddy waters, his fairly comfortable world seems to unravel. 

The unraveling is more compelling for its contrast to the opening scene of (seeming) simple domestic tranquility.  John's family lives with truths ignored or lies unconfronted, but reality invades.  As it invades, we are left to ponder whether John is falling apart (understandably so) or manifesting the first signs of mental illness.  

Are these the normal struggles of someone figuring out his/her sexuality while also trying to find friends?  Are his coping mechanisms perhaps a bit self-destructive but temporary?  We all spend a lot of time in our own heads at that age - part of the reason early adolescence can be overwhelming.  Those things that trouble us can seem inescapable.  John's behaviour is erratic, but we are left to wonder whether it's temporary or the beginning of something worse. 

Days after reading the book, I am still thinking of John Egan, hoping that these were just 'bad' times and his behaviour just a phase. 

That I'm still worried must mean that Hyland got it right when she wrote Carry Me Down.  Be well, John Egan. 

Mixed Feelings มากๆ

It's hard to describe how I'm feeling right now. It's absolutely thrilling to think about what we are starting but sad to think about leaving this place we love so very much. 

I'm glad we're starting the leaving with baby steps. 

Portrait of Jean: A Dad Story

My dad had always had a desire to learn how to draw faces.  Even when I was a young child I remember him talking about it.  He loved the way someone could capture an expression or a facial feature and really define someone.  He had done a ton of sketching in his professional life, but it was all straight lines - pipes, assembly lines, building specs.  People and the curves that go with them had eluded him. 

In his retired life, my dad took pretty full advantage of what life had to offer.  He travelled with me all over the place, sometimes in comfort but oftentimes getting closer to the 'roughing it' edge of travel comfort.  He never complained.  

He moved halfway across the planet after selling or giving away everything he owned.  Once there, he made new friends, built new routines,  and even got kind of buff actually.  He stayed well-informed about politics and world issues and often wrote insightful posts or emails about important topics.  Along the way, he signed up for a blog, facebook, twitter...I sometimes gave him a hard time about his tech 'mistakes' but really, he was quite adept at navigating the clutter of the digital world.

Dad's last drawing - Jean

In the last couple of years of his life I persuaded him to try drawing.  He checked out some books from the library, watched a ton of videos online, and finally took some lessons with a friend.  He got a lot better, though the results sometimes fell a bit shy of the mark.  He pulled off some really good ones and created some memorably comic ones.  

The week he died, a dear friend of ours, Jean,  invited all three of us over to her house for dinner.  While we were talking at the table, my dad grabbed a pencil and paper and sketched this beauty.  Let's just say that it (thankfully) looks nothing like her; Jean doesn't look like a man with a bowl cut. Better yet, let's say that Jean was a really good sport about this 'portrait' and continues to laugh about it to this day.  

This was the probably the last drawing my dad did.  It was certainly no masterpiece, but I like to think of it as just one more thing my dad was willing to try even as an old man.  I hope I'm doing the same thing.  

Fond Memories