the.LAUNDROMAT

Being dong feng

My grandparents and mom taught me how to play mahjong today. Strange to think that I've probably spent a good part of my childhood around the game, listening to those infernally loud clacking tiles, but never bothered to learn the rules. Good thing I have my grandparents around.

I've learned a bit about how to coax my grandfather into doing things while living in Taiwan. He's the kind of person who, if you ask, "How do you do this?" he'll answer, "It's not worth doing" and then refuse to explain. However, if you tell him your understanding of how something is done, then he'll proceed to explain at length why that is wrong and how it's REALLY done.

I bought a travel mahjong set at a children's toy store (because Taiwan is the kind of place where children can buy lotto tickets and also learn the art of gambling with tiny mahjong tiles) with the intent to bring it back to Kabul and play with my friends. But first I had to learn how myself.

"Grandpa," I said, "you have to show me how to play." Despite being 90, my grandpa occasionally spends hours -- sometimes an entire day -- at friends' homes playing mahjong. My grandma knows how too, but isn't quite as serious about it. I figured it would be nice quality time to spend with them, learning how to play this baffling game that entrances millions of Chinese people.

My grandpa didn't think this was a good idea. "You shouldn't learn mahjong. You'll waste all your time on it and then lose all your money. You should write articles instead." He harrumphed, as only my grandpa knows how, and said he wasn't going to teach me.

Fine then, my mom will.

"Ok, first you have to decide who's the east wind," she starts, picking up the tile that identifies the dealer.

My grandpa jumps in. "No no no, you have to do this!" And then he proceeds to explain the beginning rules of the game.

My grandparents, mom and I played three hands like this, with my mom starting to explain and then my grandpa correcting her. My grandma, leaning over to look at my tiles, would tell me which ones to throw out and which ones to keep. When I would ask why, she'd say, "Ah, 就聽我的！(Just listen to me!)"

In this way, my grandparents taught me how to play mahjong today. It was great!

Happy Year of the Dragon

Happy Chinese New Year from Taipei!

My mom and my brother were coming to celebrate with my grandparents, and it happened to correspond exactly with my R&R cycle. So here I am, feeling rather at home. Taipei was home for a year and a half, after all.

This was the scene at the Longshan Temple earlier today, where it seemed like all of Taipei tried to squeeze themselves into the temple in order to pray for good luck in the coming year. They gave out seven sticks of incense near the entranceway, and people had to navigate around the space to pay their respects to the various deities arrayed around the temple.

The incense burned down, and since we were piled on top of each other, pretty much everyone had ash in their hair and on their coats by the time they left. Here's a photo.

More later. Til then, 新年快樂!

On starting an import/export business

I've been quite unhappy with the color of my bedsheets lately. They are a light, muted green color, something that Calvin Klein no doubt called "seafoam" or "pale moss" on the packaging. I would have been far happier with "oatmeal" or "salmon," frankly. I'd bought these sheets on sale at Century 21 simply because they were the only ones that I could find with matching bedsheet and pillow cases. Thus are the compromises that one must make, shopping at Century 21.

Since I've been decorating my room a bit more -- tossing out the standard-issue hotel furniture for carved Afghan wood shelves and covering up the industrial grey carpet with a rug from a modern Afghan designer -- I've realized that my room is taking on a more reddish and blue motif. Which makes my cursed moss bedsheets all the more distracting.

I've had home furnishings on my mind lately, ever since the other day when I went to the US Embassy for their monthly vendor bazaar. There, you can find handcarved wooden chests and wardrobes for a couple hundred dollars. Footstools upholstered in Afghan rugs for $50. A friend bought a sort of chaise lounge type of bench for $250. Easily something that Pottery Barn would charge for over a thousand dollars.

I often wonder just how difficult it is to import/export things from Central Asia. Surely you wouldn't have to pay too much in bribes, right? And if someone can do furniture from Afghanistan, then they could probably also do torpedo melons from Uzbekistan. Someone should really carve out a niche for themselves as a furniture and melon dealer from Central Asia. Also pomegranates. It'll be hard for me to move back to a country where fresh squeezed pomegranate juice costs more than $1.

Here is my room, with those wretched green sheets.