Adventures in Babysitting Small Asian Grandmas

A High School acquaintance of mine introduced me to a book that amounted to a young woman’s modern etiquette guide.  I believe it was called something like, 50 Things Every Girl Should Know.  Or, Our Bodies, Our Manners, Ourselves.  Or, Well-Mannered Girls Who Run with the Wolves.  But no matter.  It was filled with useful tidbits such as: “Ladies, if we all simply sat on toilet seats instead of squatting and spraying we would never have to deal with dirty toilets, and the world would be a better place.  So let’s all agree to sit.”  On writing* to someone after neglecting a correspondence: “Ladies, you know it was rude not to write.  Your friend knows it was rude.  Don’t belabor the point.  Apologize once, and then pick up where you left off.”  Gentle readers, I aspire to become a cutting-edge, cultivated lady.  Therefore, I’m sorry.  Now let’s say nothing more about the three month blog gap.  Let’s just pick up where we left off. 

Dumplings can only take a girl so far.  At some point her soul needs sustenance as well.  (Besides, at this point the dumplings are giving me the skin and body of a 16 year old.  And by that, I mean my 16 year old skin and body.  This is not a good thing.)  I’ve now been removed from the hotbed of cultural activity that is New York City for about five months.  Of course, as I’m still living in an international city, my current creative dry spell is really for want of trying more than anything else.  Attempts to remedy the situation are currently underway.  First stop: the Verdi Requiem at the National Concert Hall.  What a perfect introduction to Taipei’s classical arts scene.  The hall itself is stunning, all rich burgundy velvet and ivory marble, with an organ surrounded by intricate wooden carvings.  It expertly walks the East/West divide.  What really stands out about the hall, however, is the acoustic.  It is bright.  I’m talking tangerine-lemon-sunshine bright.  Like much of my generation, I’ve been predisposed by the modern recording industry to appreciate just such a sound, and appreciate it I do.  The acoustic worked well for the soloists, who generally had a covered technique which might have been lost in a duller hall.  It did no favors for the choir, unfortunately.  The sopranos had a rather thin sound which the hall highlighted.  But the real musical marriage was between the Hall and the National Symphony Orchestra.  The orchestra was tight, with an enveloping, burnished sound that filled the hall confidently.

The highlight of the evening took place offstage, however.  As in the US, much of the audience was well past retirement age.  Seated behind me was a withered nonagenarian who was reacting to the performance in a rather…aggressive manner.  True, the NSO does have a superb percussion section.  But I found it a bit distracting when the Small Asian Grandma stomped her feet in time with the music during every climactic moment.  Luckily, the old lady’s daughter realized that this wasn’t entirely appropriate, so she attempted to shush the venerable aged woman.  But Small Asian Grandma was having none of it, and responded by hauling off and smacking her daughter’s arm.  Rather violently.  And loudly.  Repeatedly.  I took this in stride until the Libera me.  This is a fiendishly difficult movement for the soprano, filled with sudden dynamic shifts, and requiring supreme control.  When the first floating high note was marred by the sound of familial violence I could restrain myself no longer.  I turned around and gave Small Asian Grandma “the look”.  You know the one.  The one that says, “Hey, in case you forgot, there’s a live performance going on here, and I’d prefer to listen to it without the accompaniment of your stomping and slapping.  Thanks.”  This may have been a tactical error.  Small Asian Grandma leaned forward in her seat, craned her neck, and glared at me.  I, in turn, leaned forward in terror, convinced that I was about to become a featured player in this domestic tragedy.  I could see the headlines: Saucy Waiguoren Assaulted by 110 Year Old Asian Midget at Sparsely Attended Classical Concert.  I was spared the likely concussion by the quick-witted daughter, who jerked her mother back before impact.  Alas, the daughter thus incurred a veritable barrage of kicking, slapping, and punching.  This built to a rollicking crescendo matched by the percussion, driving us forward until the final moments of the piece echoed throughout the hall:

BA dum BA dum BA dum BA dum

*stomp stomp stomp stomp*

Libera me!

*thwack*

Final chord

Truly, this woman had remarkable timing.

So what did I learn, dear reader?  First, I will have to pursue art more diligently and deliberately while here in Taipei.  I may have to fight for it.  And second, I’ll have to wear protective gear when I see Renee perform in May.  And perhaps bring weaponry.  Now would be a good time to hone those ninja skills. 

* When I was in High School people wrote letters.  Yes, I am old.