On Sheets, Umbrellas, and Little Green Men

There being a few topics which warrant at least a passing mention in these writings without, perhaps, warranting the dedication of an entire chapter to each topic individually, it occurred to the author that an amalgamation of the aforementioned topics into one such public missive would be a seemly solution to the quandary in which the author found himself, and might, as it were, meet with general approbation among those whose unflagging devotion to the perusal of these posts engenders naught but the most indefatigable efforts in the pursuit of quality of craftsmanship, form, and substance on the part of the author. (I apologize for "the author's" inability to find a place to put a period in his sentences. He don't know how to shut up. I think what he meant by that suffocating sentence was that he was going to throw in a bunch of random topics into one blog. Kind of make a blog salad. I gotta keep writing in italics like this for a bit cause he is gasping on the floor. Still out of breath from that first go at putting together a sentence. Oh, here he is.)

The first topic is that of sheets. Or a sheet. I moved that noun from plural to singular because of the awkward habit Taiwanese bed linen makers have selling packaged sets that consist of one sheet and two pillow cases. In theory, this is not all that bad for all one has to do is buy two sets. One would simply have an excess of pillow cases; a simple inconvenience. That is the problem with theory, though; someone always throws in an unforeseen variable that yanks the whole thing off track. The difficulty is that the only sheets you find in these packages are fitted sheets. Not being "in the know" when it comes to Taiwanese sleeping habits, I am not really sure how all this works out. Maybe all they need are fitted sheets. Maybe they like to get large fitted sheets to sleep under so that the sheets enfold them like a mummy. Maybe it is a class thing, where only those who are of a certain social stratus or have achieved certain major accomplishments are able to go to certain "Higher Achiever Only" stores where they can buy unfitted sheets to their hearts content. Maybe they don't use sheets at all so that they sell them only to foreigners, not knowing that foreigners generally use two sheets, at least one of which is unfitted. Maybe Taiwanese people don't sleep at all. Whatever the case maybe, finding the darn things has proven more difficult than one would think. I have heard rumors to the effect that unfitted sheets do exist for sell in Taipei, so I persevere in my quest. Some might say that I am hindered by my inability to ask for unfitted sheets in stores. This is absurd.

Having spoken of sheets, one's mind naturally turns to the subject of umbrellas. These protective instruments are vital to life in Taiwan. Those who live in the Southern parts of America are accustomed to the regular showers that pop up on summer afternoons. This proves inconvenient to most people as they must wait an extra five minutes before leaving their car to make the long trek across the parking lot to the store. In Taiwan most people walk or bike wherever they go, however, and are unprotected for longer periods of time. Right now we are in the middle of the typhoon season. This means that we don't just get regular showers. Oh no. On a regular basis the fountains of the great deep break up and the windows of heaven are opened releasing great sheets of water upon the earth (I am not sure whether or not these sheets are fitted or unfitted, but it may have something to do with my linen conundrum.). We see, then, that umbrellas are practical things to have around. To stop at protection from rain, though, is to sell the umbrella short. Women here carry them wherever they go, rain or shine. It seems that the highest quality of beauty in a Chinese woman is considered to be the lightness of skin tone. Much money, I am told, is spent on sundry creams and other agents that guarantee to cast a pallor upon a girl, bringing instant beauty and many admirers. Thus, umbrellas are brandished about to ward off the evil darkening rays of the sun. To some degree I understand this use of the umbrella as well. In most cultures people go to certain extremes to make themselves look better. The use of the umbrella I haven't yet come to understand is its use on overcast days and evenings. Since I arrived, most days have been dark and sunless. Clouds seem to be popular here. This lack of rain or sun does not keep the Taiwanese person from lofting the old umbrella. There it is, firmly gripped, flying bravely, warding off nothing. If I had to guess, I would say that the people have gotten so used to holding umbrellas they don't even realize they have it up most of the time. I light of the their ubiquitous nature, I am campaigning for the institution of umbrellas as Taiwan's national tree.

This brings us, quite obviously, to the subject of little green men. They are found at every crosswalk. In most of the places I have visited in the world, pedestrians are told they can cross a street by a little light that generally displays the picture of a man walking. He is always a static stick figure with one leg out in front of the other. He never does any of the work of crossing the road himself; he just informs others that they can cross if they so desire. Not so here in Taiwan. The moment the light changes and the stationary man in red disappears, this little green fellow pops up and starts to chug along. His legs rattle back and forth, his arms swing in time, and his head bobs up and down. No pedestrian need cross the street alone. He is there to gently encourage and guide. This encouragement is most noticeable when time allotted for crossing is running short. When he first appears, the little green man plods along with an amiable stride. As time goes on, however, he picks up the pace. With a few seconds to go, you will find he has worked himself up into a veritable gallop. At this point the pedestrian is encouraged to at least break into a trot. It wouldn't do to let the one who has walked beside you run clear away. Just at the end, the little green man blinks a few times and then disappears. You mustn't fear, though little children, for he sure to reappear soon to lead the next needy group on their way. Everyone loves the little green man.

I end this blog with a note for those who will know what I am talking about (probably just my family). As I type these words I am listening to a mix of classical music online. The song now playing is Anton Rubinstein's Melody in F. It is better known as Welcome Sweet Springtime.