Sometimes fate provides the best illustrations of the topic at hand. Tonight, for example, as I was nearing my flat, I passed a regular panhandler seeking the usual “money for food, sir?” He probably could use food, truth be told; he’s skinny, has an unpleasant complexion, and wears early-eighties Bill Gates goggles replete with the chunkiest of lenses.

I have the “no” head-shake down so well now that I can even do it from behind. Which I did. Question stopped. Alas, it took Goggles less than half a second to shout to a compatriot across the street asking if he could get a “pipe for a dollar fifty?” I honestly have no idea if that’s in any way realistic. But that’s not the point.

What Goggles did was to demonstrate the importance of just doing something in order to kick-start the Ultimate Success® machine. The first attempt doesn’t have to be successful, as long as you’re focused on the near-term goal — research, planning, and organization will just flow naturally from there.

Goggles will get his pipe. You bet.

Step 6 – Do Stuff

On the outskirts of Taichung City there were fields and fields of muddy, flooded rice paddies bordered by sloppily-paved embankments that farmers, and their vehicles, used to get around.

I’d lived in Taiwan for about two years before one day noticing that a car had just exited one of these paddy roads at the foothills near my house (the island is mostly mountains). That meant that there had to be something on the other side!

I should point out that these weren’t really roads – the driver of the car I’d noticed advanced very carefully. He had about half a foot separating him and a hilarious dip into the short-grain Chinese staple on either side. And, although a car could barely fit, farmers insisted on taking farm vehicles on these embankments. Okay, the tractors and trucks were smaller than North American ones, but still bigger than a car. Serious business atop tarred and dilapidated concrete slabs, let me tell you.

I should mention that, although it’s probably since improved, traffic priority in the country was based on size and aggressiveness. On a motor scooter, you generally gave way to cars. Cars gave way to mini-trucks. Mini-trucks gave way to farm vehicles. So on. Red lights were a suggestion, sidewalks were simply another place to drive. Just about every cabby flashed a gloriously red Betel nut smile, usually while spitting joyfully red sludge on the sidewalk.

The floor-cleaner-tasting nut (of course I tried it!), created a short-lived intoxication not unlike alcohol. I believe a certain level of actual alcohol was considered to be a stimulant, but that could’ve been a y-guo myth (why-guo-ren: foreigner). Despite that story, the cabbies drove around at a very controlled level of intoxication, that much was certain, so I’m sure there was some acceptable limit. I’d often be offered Betel nut (with a courtesy spitting cup), and a can of beer when hitching a cab. Just requested to keep it low.

Cabbies thought that the farmers were crazy drivers. Not in a bad way, they were just Hakka, proud, salt-of-the-earth folk – darker, stouter, and more lascivious than the expatriated mainlanders. Fun bunch. Their farms and homes peppered the hills and people definitely didn’t stop for anything on their roads or in their fields. I think everyone just knew that. I knew two other things that I could offer up in a Hakka tussle, “pie say” (excuse me), and “dou shia knee” (thank you) — not 100% sure about the second one. Failing that, I’d throw a little Mandarin in there. If that didn’t go down, I’d lift up the visor on my helmet and point to my face: See? Whitey!? Her Majesty’s loyal subject!? I’gnant!

You’d be surprised how often that worked. And I figured I could ditch into the rice if the hammer came down out there on that skinny road. And it did, of course.

I was halfway over the paddy when the tractor appeared on the opposite end, rolling toward me at a good clip. He was on the wall before I even had a thought. Remember the bridge-crossing scene in Stand by Me? Yeah. But with a tractor instead of the train and a puttering, two-stroke engine facing the wrong way instead of a screaming fat kid. I screamed a little in my helmet also.

The deeply tanned gentleman at the wheel wasn’t intentionally trying to kill me, I believe. He was simply hammered. He didn’t seem to be looking up most of the time, definitely not concerned about rolling his ride. I had to make a quick decision so I engaged in a heart-stopping game of chicken as I gunned it for a shallower patch of mud at his end of the field. I would’ve been smushed by the time I got my trusty 90 c.c. Kymco Sniper halfway turned around. Five feet above the paddy at that point. Pretty sure old Snipey wouldn’t have survived that.

The look on the farmer’s face as he rolled to a stop to look back at my splayed form … what the fuck are you doing in my rice, y-guo? Then he suddenly broke out into a bubbly bellyful of laughter (I think he was even holding a can of affordable Taiwan Beer), and rolled on outta there. I pulled Snipey out of the mud, resolute to finish what I’d started. Not like I was gonna follow that guy.

Pretty soon I’d made it through the paddies and onto a dirt road, through a neato bamboo forest, past some awesome traditional Chinese houses, and ended up at the base of Dah-Kun, a fantastic hiking trail. It terminated deep in the hills on a terrace that overlooked the city, on which stood a gold and white temple dedicated to Guan Yin, the goddess of mercy. Seven-minute scooter ride from my front door – if I could make it past the gauntlet of rice.

Since you’re reading this now, you can assume that I spent considerably more time studying the habits of the farmer my second time there. The third time, I greeted that fucker good morning in my best Mandarin as we passed on the dirt road. He was surprisingly punctual — I was early. I won!

After that, I discovered a back road that led even deeper into the mountains. Well, I won’t bore you with the details of some of the stuff I found there, but you can see how that first leap — and I did kinda jump from my bike — was almost necessary. I’m sure it’ll work just as well for you. And, you know, you’ll probably survive, but I take absolutely no responsibility.

And for the audio book version of this series, I’d like to take this moment, as you’re driving to wherever you’re driving, to invite you to take a stretch, take a deep breath, refresh yourself an…KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD!!

Continued in next part…

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I then typically follow up by popping open a browser (this is usually at work), hitting TCL, and showing them last year’s thing. “Wow, you’d never catch me out there freezing my ass off”, is typically the next statement. “Well, you keep warm by virtue of shared body heat. That’s what makes the evening so magical; improper touching”, I try to sell it. But that’s usually not enough. After revelations that there’s no booze and that the place is swarming with kids, the conversation just peters off into other subjects, “So … Toronto City Life … what is that, a government website?” “Yup.” “Not very interesting.” “Yeah.” ”Have lunch yet?” “Nope.”

People are too jaded. Perhaps because they’re hungry. The Cavalcade of Lights, with this year’s record lack of snow, didn’t really classify as a winter event, so all that hoopla about buttocks falling of in the cold were for naught. The kids were there, but you couldn’t hear them over the din of the show and any ones caught underfoot were pretty much fair game so that problem wasn’t overly daunting. I managed to get up to the front of the crowd with barely any resistance:

The alcohol prohibition thing is also a bit of a moot point. I was not once searched even though I carried a bag big enough to conceal a small keg. A mickey stolen away in a coat pocket would most certainly have gone unnoticed, or you could do as any self-respecting adult would and simply go already lubricated. Essentially, sobriety is for children, the infirm, and stupid people.

But I don’t want to get hung up on methods of smuggling drinks in because with the kind of cover you get in both the scenery and the crowd, you can pretty much set up a temporary shelter where you and your junkie friends can shoot up in complete privacy. Drinking? Please, the cops have bigger things to worry about. Like heroin addicts. Or those guys that sell all that light-up crap that the kids use once before it explodes toxically in the car on the way home. Domestic-quality Chinese products are always hit-and-miss:

The best way to avoid these shuckers of mens’ wallets is to simply avoid them. Look for the guys with the craziest head gear — dead giveaway — and beeline it in the other direction. If you have children with you, a) Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Hehe! Hahaha! *wipe tear* Oh man. Why would you do something like that? and b) Avert their gaze from crazy hat guy. If nothing else, at least save yourself some cash.

I managed to avoid most of the vendors by pushing my through the thickest part of the crowd, mostly elderly and children — easy!

I don’t know what it is with Citytv but every year they choose the dorkiest personalities they have to introduce the acts. Seriously, the weather guy?

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against Michael Kuss; nothing for him either. He is adequate in his role to deliver the weather report in a timely manner. That is all.

For something exceptional, we need only look beyond Michael’s adequate head to see City Hall looming expectantly, waiting to be lit up like some kind of incendiary device:

To me, this is the real reason to go; a grand fireworks display that goes off way too close to City Hall. I know that immaculate planning goes into this thing, but who can predict that one unexpected gust of wind, or that one errant firework that’s just a little too far off course? Now you’ve got the holiday display of the season!

There were no showers of jagged glass or flaming audience members so, sadly, the errant firework didn’t happen this year. But the explosions packed a good wallop and this scared the kids, so it was satisfactory. Also, the Christmas tree at City Hall was unveiled during the show and this is more the official tree of Toronto I was thinking of. It’s a massive beast of a white spruce, about 18 meters (60 feet) tall and laden with an indecent amount of decoration. Hard to miss. Unfortunately, it makes for a difficult photo but while I work at it you can get a sense of the tree in the background here:

Even though the celebration’s over, the skating rink remains open until spring so there’s plenty of opportunity to watch people hurt themselves. Say what you will about City Hall, it can occasionally be very entertaining. Even in the cold.

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I’m always a little surprised to hear someone say that they don’t. To me, the dislike inevitably always boils down to poor management, doesn’t matter the back story.

What do you see when you look at the following picture?

Do you see a brightly decorated foyer with a festively blue wreath above the door, or is that a translucently hot sun about to go supernova and tear you and your family limb from limb? I’m going to suggest that both are possible depending on how you look at it. This can either be the prelude to an idyllic Christmas, or it can the foreshadowing of utter bloody terror. What’s the difference? I believe the answer is expectations.

In the first scenario, the only expectation is that you’ll be home, happy with your family, and hopefully you’ll get to enjoy some relaxing time off and a couple of good meals. Pretty simple, easy to fulfill. In the next scenario, well, I don’t have enough space here for the lists, recipes, schedules, budgets, planning, planning, and more planning that needs to takes place. And that show really needs to hit the road ASAP if it’s going to get some traction by December.

The first scenario has fairly low expectations. The second’s are in the stratosphere. So the trick is to simply bring those expectations down. Manage them.

Part of that is letting everyone know you want to keep it as simple as possible this year:

Take a page from the people in the business district, they didn’t dick around. “Throw a string of shit on that tree and let’s get the fuck outta here, we’ve got money to make”, is most probably how it went down. The essence of pragmatism.

But the idea is to take a page and not the whole book, because otherwise you start getting stuff like this:

Okay, it’s certainly better than barf on the windows, but it seems a little cold. Guess I’m more of a traditional Christmas kinda guy; gimme a fireplace, a mug full of booze, and a comely lass on the knee. Trees are also nice. I probably wouldn’t choose to put giant, blood-red impalement pyramids in the entrance to my place. I think it gives off the wrong message.

Bay Street sure likes it’s Christmas angular and abstract. But that’s okay, I don’t expect any more than that.

I did, however, expect the Eaton Centre’s decorations to be a little more involved. On Thursday evening they jammed the mall to unveil the Swarovski Crystal Tree so I had to delay getting a good look at it. Either that or elbow kids in wheelchairs to get to the front of the crowd during the ceremony. That didn’t seem very Christmasy. But today I got to sip an apple-carrot juice in peace and stare at a whole bunch of crystal hanging on a tree, hardly having to put any elbows into kids’ faces:

Something like this should’ve gone into Yonge-Dundas Square. It’s big, it’s loud; it’s a man’s tree. Even with all the glitter on it. If it means having armed guards around if it goes outside, so be it. That’s the price of fame.

But back to the Christmas and expectations thing, the Eaton Centre met mine well enough with the tree. But I also know that they hang a bunch of stuff from the rafters that’s usually pretty busy and fun to look at:

The more I look at that, the more I become convinced it’s a Christmas tree blasting off into deep space. That I didn’t expect. There’s also an unexpected scenario happening at the north end of the mall:

It’s difficult to see, but that sleigh has no passenger. The reindeer are in full gallop, dashing towards the stars (on a collision course with the tree!), and Santa’s plummeting down head-first somewhere in the background. In my mind. Also not expected, and quite an amusing tableau.

Expectations, managed.

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