Pure Music: Shining Radio

FYI South Magazine March, 2005

I hate North American radio: that stream of shallow, repetitive pop songs that assaults you in every mall, barbershop, and restaurant. College radio too. Every DJ wants to be Howard Stern or Happy Harry Hard-On, they talk too much, and the music sucks. And, in my opinion, there’s only one thing worse than Western Radio. Taiwanese Radio. It’s like one long looped Chinese Christina Aguilera parody.

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Fire Dancing in Tainan

FYI South January, 2005

fireEight hundred years ago a mammoth bird called the Moa roamed the island of New Zealand. The Moa (cousin to the ostrich) could stretch up to 3.5 meters tall and weighed more than a small cow. They were slow, stupid, and tasty and thus rapidly hunted to extinction by the Polynesians (now known as Maori) who settled the island in the 13th century.

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Southern Taiwan’s Live Music Scene

Cover Story, FYI South March, 2005

music_south_taiwanThe title of this article is misleading; it’s a ruse to lure people in – the bait of an insidious reader trap. This article isn’t about southern Taiwan’s whole music scene. It isn’t about most of it, or even half of it. This article contains information pertaining such a small fraction of southern Taiwan’s music scene that such a title is scandalous.

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Brazillian Jiu-jitsu in Taiwan

FYI South, Compass February, 2006

bjjWhen Royce (pronounced ‘Hoyce’) Gracie stepped into the octagonal cage in 1993 at the first ever Ultimate Fighting Championship agianst Ken Shamrock there was no question who would win: the bookies favored Shamrock to take home the gold, Shamrock had wrestled his first opponent into submission is less than two-minutes, and, though they were both 6’0, Shamrock outweighed Gracie by 60 lbs.

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Music Night at the Greek

FYI South November, 2005

greekThe last Tuesday of every month the upstairs of the Greek Restaurant undergoes an incredible metamorphosis—at six o’clock in the evening it’s is the same comfortable, dimly lit dining room as usual, with perhaps, a few Taiwanese diners enjoying a quiet supper. Around eight-thirty the first foreigner climbs the stairs, looks around confusedly at the diners, then at his watch, and, after realizing he’s arrived too early, he leaves. About nine o’clock he returns with a small group of his friends, purposefully enters the room, and sits at a large table in the back. This group sparks a steady stream of foreigners, gradually building to a near stampede of pale faces, khaki shorts and Birkenstock sandals. By ten o’clock a pungent mix of cigarette smoke and Mediterranean spice wafts through the air, the walls vibrate with English chatter, and every table in the room is covered in appetizers, wine, and Coronas.

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