MAD ABOUT BOOKS
Volume 7, Issue 11
October 19, 2004
Coming to you from Shaoxing, China
TABLE OF CONTENTS:
Madness and Bombast
Book Review -- Who Moved My Rice? by Michael LaRocca
Competition #69
An American Redneck in Hong Kong
MADNESS AND BOMBAST
Copyright 2004, Michael LaRocca
I was genuinely saddened when Ralph Wiley died in June, but I
haven't commented on it before. Instead, I ordered one of his
books. WHY BLACK PEOPLE TEND TO SHOUT - Cold Facts and Wry
Views From A Black Man's World. Here's a cold fact for you.
Dying helps you sell books.
I suspect that Ralph Wiley sneaked up on me and became my
favorite author. He only seemed to shout. In fact, his subtle
understatement is a marvel to behold. It matters not one bit
what he wrote about. He wrote on a higher plane, a place I've
been trying to write for ages. Yep, my role model, and I didn't
even realize it until now. His writing is challenging, sneaky,
devious, utterly perceptive.
I don't feel the need to review his book. Instead, visit
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/archive?columnist=wiley_ralph&root=page2
Don't let the fact that it's a sports site deter you. I told you,
it matters not one bit what he wrote about. Read a few columns.
Feel the man's style. You'll want more. So swing by a bookstore
of the real or virtual type and read the blurbs. They're all
true. I know I'll reread this book many times, and probably get
some more.
I read this book on the bus to Hangzhou, on the bus back, and for
quite a few hours at the Radisson in between. I had to tune out
shouting Chinese to do it. It occurred to me that if I sent this
book to my uber-student Kapa, currently doing post-graduate
studies at the University of Edinburgh. he'd write WHY CHINESE
PEOPLE TEND TO SHOUT. His blog has a photo of Sir Sean Connery
waving to him. http://k-a-p-a.blog-city.com/
One of my Shaoxing students loaned me two books from the school
library. LU XUN, SELECTED WORKS, Volumes 1 and 2. The first
contains some of Lu Xun's short stories and the second contains
more of his essays. Volumes 3 and 4, coming when I finish these,
contain more essays. There is no doubt in my mind that the
greatest writer ever to come out of Shaoxing is Lu Xun. I'll
just have to settle for second place, which seems to be the
story of my career.
Lu Xun has been rightfully called the father of modern Chinese
literature. He believed that words were weapons, and he valued
brevity. I share these ideals. Lu Xun wrote against the corrupt
imperial system, since that's what was in power during his
lifetime. He supported the Communists, so that's why they hold
him up as a role model. But I'd never reduce him to "a Communist
author," and I don't mean to denigrate Communism when I say that.
Lu Xun was far more than a mere political author. He was a
thinking reader's author, and I'm going to review him at great
length in an upcoming issue of this rag. For now, I'm just saying
he's the real deal, and if you're of a mind to research him,
you'll be amply rewarded.
Great writing transcends time, place, race and politics to
examine the human condition. It dares you to change your life.
Ralph Wiley wrote like that, and Lu Xun wrote like that.
On a lighter note, I need some help from the west. Someone
told me that Midol PMS contains the following warning:
"Do not take this product, unless directed by a doctor, if
you have difficulty in urination due to enlargement of the
prostate gland."
If you have some Midol PMS handy, look at the label now. Does
it really say this? I mean, someone with prostate problems is
a guy, and I can think of no reason for a guy to be taking PMS
medication. Has the U.S. changed that much since I left? Should
I include more references to THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW to
keep up with you?
Let's Do The Time Warp Again!
That site also turned Queen's classic "Bohemian Rhapsody" into
"Political Rhapsody" with lots of Dubyas singing a la Freddie
Mercury, who perhaps used Midol PMS. (Not that there's anything
wrong with that...) I laughed at the animation. But I figured
anyone who hasn't bookmarked MadBlast by now probably doesn't
care, so I forgot to mention it.
My Indonesian e-friend brought me much Vegemite, which I am
eating now. Even better than I remembered, despite memories
colored by such nostalgic longing as to have been less than
reliable. It's wonderful.
Januar asked me what Vegemite tastes like. "Like nothing you've
ever known." Really. If you've ever eaten Vegemite, find me the
words. I can say "yeast and rock salt," since that's what it is,
but that never gets the message across.
If, on the other hand, you are part of the world's deprived
majority, meaning those who have not eaten Vegemite, try not to
cry too long.
{Anyone who says, "Vegemite tastes a bit like Marmite, doesn't
it?" deserves to be shot.}
To say "Australian Vegemite" is to repeat myself. No other nation
on Earth makes Vegemite. I'm eating it as I listen to Scottish
music (the Battlefield Band) on a CD which is one of the few
possessions I still have from the U.S., on a CD player we brought
from Hong Kong, whilst a very special Calico cat from Hong Kong
reclines on a cushion I found in Shaoxing. Beer from Tsingdao,
of course.
My lovely wife, from Australia, is in Hangzhou at the moment as
I write this, though she'll be back before I click send, and
with that I justify my wordiness. We write in order to defy our
mortality. If you've ever been visited by Eros, you are at your
most mortal when your wife is not with you. Otherwise, dump her
and keep looking because you're wasting both her time and yours.
I'm gonna end with something I should have explained to you long
ago. The rules of this newsletter.
1) Don't hit REPLY. I don't get your message that way. My web-
master does. The guy who provides this service for me, solely
from the kindness of his cold black heart. He's a busy guy,
with a life of his own. He might forward your message to me
the next day, or he might actually have something more
important to do, in which case it could be three days. But
if it lands in my mailbox when I'm having a bad day and can't
find my Midol PMS, I'll probably delete it. Especially if it's
abusive. Write to me directly and I'll probably answer no
matter how nasty it is. I'm at [email protected] I've
been here 8 months. If you still can't find me, ask Google.
2) You can't attack me for something I didn't write. One person
complained that I called Dubya evil and another complained
that I called Attila the Hun evil. (Surprisingly, it wasn't
the same guy.) I don't know what #1 was talking about. He
didn't say. #2 was replying to something I reprinted, with
attribution, by the prolific "anonymous." (Actually it was
Rubin at The Lemon Basket, who got it from someone else.)
Sometimes I provide a forum for ideas that aren't mine. Read
the byline before you jump the gun.
3) Authors who never give you something to disagree with never
give you anything to think about. In fact, we need a new word
for them. They don't deserve to be called authors. If your
goal is to only read newsletters that don't challenge you in
some way, we have unsubscribe directions at the bottom. If
your goal is to only read books that don't challenge you in
some way, you damn sure don't want to click on one of my
titles, so I don't care if you unsubscribe.
4) Anybody left? Wow. If you both vote for this Ezine at the
Cumuli Ezine Finder, I'll be grateful. The URL is, as always,
http://www.cumuli.com/ezines/vte.html?ez=bookso
5) You didn't unsubscribe AND you voted? Wow, you deserve free
gifts. http://freereads.topcities.com/freebooksonthenet.html
6) If you think this is awful, wait'll you see my Halloween
issue.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This newsletter is copyright (c) 2004 Michael LaRocca. It may be
reprinted freely, in whole or in part, if a credit to
http://freereads.topcities.com/archive.html is included. To use
columns by guest contributors, please ask them for permission.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
WHO MOVED MY RICE? by Michael LaRocca
Reviewed by John Harrington Burns
Author of HIDDEN TREASURES, FIRST BITE & LITTLE LENNY NIGHTLIGHT
In every turn of every road Michael LaRocca finds a new surprise
and a new experience in China. Once you open "Who Moved My Rice"
you accompany LaRocca as he stops to admire the beauty of China
and the gentleness of the Chinese people he encounters in this
beautiful tapestry woven with syllables and sentences.
I truly felt the pace and tempo of Hong Kong and Hangzhou.
Michael you have the magic to transport me and whoever opens
your book from our doldrums to heights of uncharted imagination.
ISBN 1-59201-031-8
http://www.booksunbound.com/bsmr.html
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
COMPETITION #69
MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA'S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE
NUMBER 70
OCTOBER 2004
Copyright 2004 Francis DiMenno
Blog: http://dimenno.blog-city.com
RESULTS OF COMPETITION NUMBER 69. Don't you hate it when people
say 'liberry' or 'prolly' or 'ax'? Name a few more regrettable
grammatical, syntactical or conversational grievances
*1 heather wagner
well, between you and I, I would of never thought about it if
you wouldn't have brought it up but I guess I would like to
really send a nucular missile on it's way to the next person
who says "drawring". but for all intensive purposes, it's not
something you come acrossed alot.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AN AMERICAN REDNECK IN HONG KONG
Copyright Michael LaRocca
Chapter One (continued)
As a Jellyroll employee, I was free to go drink water and use the
toilet as often as necessary. I was pretty adept at sneaking
newspapers and cigarettes into the Shiro area. It was the night
shift, after all, where we were just a bit more relaxed. As for
the newspaper, there were dead times of two minutes here and
five minutes there, waiting for the test equipment to finish
running something or other. I figured, why not read? Buck Ball,
the guy who'd told Harry about my electronics degree, trained me.
He was hoping that, at some point, I'd replace him so he could
quit. He loved describing his vasectomy in graphic detail. (My
own was years away.) He used this as a pickup line in the bars,
and I've seen it work. "Hey honey, wanna hear about my
vasectomy?"
I worked the night shift, 4 to 12, the shift I loved anyway. I
was quickly in the upper echelon of Quality Control techs, as it
was very easy to measure how many units a tech tested in an hour
or a shift or whatever. This caused a little hostility with my
lazier co-workers, but there were only a dozen of them. At the
guard desk, I'd enjoyed the hostility of hundreds.
Every Friday night after work, we went to a local bar called
Kasey's Kove. Buck didn't know it, but there was always a betting
pool going about what time he'd be thrown out. Usually the person
who chose the earliest time won.
Harry always asked the musician to play something by Gene Autry,
but the musician didn't know any songs by Gene Autry. But without
fail, before Buck was thrown out, he'd help Harry and me convince
the musician to play our official lay-off theme song, "Don't
Worry, Be Happy" by Bobby McFerrin.
Three months later, I was temporarily laid off. Most of the
employees drew unemployment during the layoff, but I don't
believe that people who can work should do that. I returned to
Urban for a month.
I was one of the few temps to return from the layoff. Shiro was a
fifteen-year-old project that was due to expire soon, so more
layoffs and terminations were coming. We all knew that. Luther
and Harry had both warned me that my initial hiring might only
last three months, but I'd defied the odds and made it back to
work.
Meanwhile, Jellyroll had terminated Luther. Someone wanted to
give Luther's job to Harry, but Dick Balla had vetoed that and
downgraded Harry to my equal.
"We call him D.B.," Harry told me. "Do you know what that stands
for?"
"Dick Breath."
"No, Dead Brain."
D.B. came to stand for both names after that. We decided they
both fit.
Geoff Kato had been at least two notches above Luther before the
terminations, and he was scheduled for termination as well.
Instead, he took a voluntary demotion to Luther's old job.
In theory, Harry was demoted. In practice, nothing changed. Geoff
ran the day shift and Harry ran the night shift. All that changed
was Harry's "official" job description and his pay rate. And
Geoff's voluntary demotion, of course. But as my Daddy used to
say, it beats a kick in the butt with a frozen boot.
Geoff called me into his office. On his desk were a cigarette and
a wood match inside a glass case. The label, as you can probably
guess, said "Break Glass In Case Of Emergency." An ex-smoker.
Meaning he'd start enforcing the no-smoking rule in Shiro.
Geoff and Harry told me that Tom Fisher hadn't made it back from
the layoffs. He was the only man who repaired and calibrated our
test equipment. Geoff had looked over my numbers and spoken with
Harry, and he'd decided that I was entirely too good to get lost
in the next layoff. Thus, he gave me Tom Fisher's old job,
thereby giving me the "indispensable" tag. If I was the only one
repairing and calibrating test equipment, Geoff thought, it just
might work. It didn't work for Tom Fisher, but that's because he
wasn't exactly competent.
Geoff was a very professional, very competent Korean-American
manager who had been in the military. He pronounced his name --
Kato -- with a short a. But as he was an Oriental and a captain,
everyone called him Captain Kato, with a long a, like the Bruce
Lee character on The Green Hornet. He didn't mind.
As the Test Equipment Repair guru, I was no longer tied to a
single shift. I was free to change my hours as they suited me.
I preferred the second and third shifts, as the first had too
many bosses. I don't mind being watched while I work, but when
chiefs outnumber Indians it's hard to get any work done.
Besides, I spent my days working for Mom's cleaning business.
Once in a while I'd work two double-shifts at Jellyroll,
followed by a single shift, and take four days off to work
for Mom. As long as it equalled 40 hours per week, nobody
cared.
Harry often found life as a Military Electronics Specialist (my
job title as well) boring. When an article appeared in the
newspaper about my formation of the local chapter of American
Atheists, he promptly tacked it onto the bulletin board just to
annoy the fundamentalist Christians among us. The same ones who
were already annoyed because my productivity made them look bad.
Thanks, Harry.
When the controversy died down, Harry dubbed me Reverend LaRocca.
This was because, upon repairing some test equipment, I'd boom,
"It's HEEE-ALED-uh!"
After sufficient complaints from the fundamentalists, Geoff
called me into his office and told me that I wasn't allowed to
say "It's healed" anymore. He forgot to ban Harry from yelling,
"Heal me Reverend LaRocca, heal me!" But after all, we couldn't
have Harry getting bored, now could we?
We seemed to have two types back in Quality Control -- the
fundamentalists and the insane. Harry and I were only mildly
insane. Buck was quite insane. Patrick Belaire was our weekend
warrior, the most insane of all but also the most productive. He
sang bizarre songs of his own composition while he worked, and in
fact I was imitating the punch line of one of his jokes when I
HEEE-ALED-uh!
Roy Mize was also insane. One evening he and Harry went to
Kasey's Kove. Harry told Roy, "If you'll drink that whole bottle
of Tabasco sauce, I'll buy you any drink you want." Roy promptly
downed the bottle. Harry was worried, as he didn't have much
money, so he began drinking a bottle. He thought that might get
him off the hook. He was about halfway through when Roy stopped
him. "I only want a cheap drink."
Harry stopped, relieved, and bought Roy his cheap drink. He
bought himself a beer to put out the fire in his mouth. Harry was
happy and Roy was happy. But on "the morning after," Harry told
me a few days later, he'd gone to the toilet and thought his
butthole was on fire.
A few months down the road, the second round of layoffs hit. Half
the crew for six weeks, the other half for the other six, all
temps for the full twelve. I filled the time working for Mom,
going back to school for a free refresher course, working for
Urban Security again as a lieutenant at a site that was closing
down right before my layoff ended, and doing some computer
programming and collections for my best friend Tom's copier
business.
During my third and final tour of duty, I was still the repair-
man. However, there wasn't 40 hours worth of repair to do, so I
also returned to testing the Shiro products. This time around,
Harry stressed to me, the numbers would be scrutinized more
closely than ever. Shiro only had six months to live, and if
somebody ran out of work, he was gone.
Buck had quit during the first layoff, but he attempted a return
after the second. Unfortunately, there was no place for him
because of my competence. Competence I learned from him. Sorry,
Buck, but nobody ever told you to quit in the first place.
As the work began to run out, Harry sat down beside my test
station and explained something to me. He'd had an idea for quite
a while, one that he wanted to submit for Employee Suggestion Of
The Month. However, he was still classified as management, so he
wasn't eligible. He wanted me to submit the idea. It'd help
Shiro, and building it would keep me busy.
In the fifteen-plus year history of Shiro, the procedure was the
same. One department soldered the circuit boards and slipped them
into the chassis. My department ran them through a series of
computer-controlled tests that anyone could do. If the device
failed, it went to the troubleshooting department. They also
followed a computer by-the-numbers program to tell them which
circuit board was faulty. They replaced the faulty board(s) and
sent the device back to us.
Once in a blue moon, a device would fail again. Troubleshooting
would replace the same board, and it'd fail a third time. They'd
tag the device MD and put it to the side. Nobody remembers what
MD really stands for -- perhaps Multiple Defects -- but we dubbed
them Mad Dogs.
Harry had devised a way to isolate the problems in the Mad Dogs,
one that didn't involve using a schematic. We weren't allowed to
see the schematics, as they were Top Secret. Harry's device
involved isolating inputs and outputs between a known good unit
and a Mad Dog.
Given the incredible size of our pile of Mad Dogs -- over fifteen
years' worth -- I drew a schematic and started building Harry's
device. We gave it some impressive-sounding name like Shiro
Input/Output Test Equipment Isolator. The end result was an ugly
blob of wires, switches and lights that worked like a dream.
I submitted the device for Employee Suggestion Of The Month. Then
Harry informed me that the evaluators would want to see the
device.
I scrounged around for a way to enclose its ugliness. Finally I
found a plastic board-carrier and bolted my contraption to the
lid. The "lid" of the box was the bottom of my contraption. I
melted some holes in the plastic with a soldering iron --
nothing stinks quite like melting plastic -- and put that over
the thing. I ran four probes from out the side, and a bank of
switches and lights ran along the top. It wasn't pretty, but it
was adequate.
If I won, I'd receive $1000 and the best parking spot for the
entire month. My suggestion came in second. First prize went to
someone who said:
"In Receiving, they throw away Styrofoam packing peanuts. In
Shipping, they buy Styrofoam packing peanuts. We'd save a lot of
money if Receiving gave the Styrofoam packing peanuts to
Shipping."
If I'd entered against anyone else, I'd have surely won. I don't
fault the winner. I'm only a little mad at myself for having
noticed the same thing over a year ago, guarding Shipping and
Receiving, and forgetting to tell someone at Jellyroll. Yes, I'd
told Urban, but their reaction was, "So what?" It wasn't a
security issue, just a case of stupidity, and we had more of
those than we knew what to do with.
The previous month's winner, incidentally, won for writing a
poem. "This advice we all must heed; Turn off lights when not in
need."
Geoff and Harry called me into Geoff's office. Geoff presented me
with a burgundy windbreaker, emblazoned with the Jellyroll logo.
This was my consolation prize. But, they explained, I could never
wear it on company property. We had a lot of employees, mainly
those fundamentalists Harry had antagonized so much, who'd
entered losing suggestions and not received a jacket. Thus they'd
be jealous, thus they couldn't know I had a jacket.
Meanwhile, Mark Roche had confiscated the gizmo I'd built. We had
an employee named Joe Roche, and he pronounced his last name
"roach." Mark, on the other hand, pronounced his name "roh-shay."
Elsewhere we also had a Jerry Roach, but never mind.
We also had an employee named Ronald Colon. I only heard one
person say his last name, and she insisted on pronouncing it
Cologne.
Oh, and one of the most offended fundamentalists was named
Michael Ball. No relation to Buck Ball. Michael Ball named his
new daughter Chrystal. We thought he was joking, but nope.
Chrystal Ball. If you see her, tell her I said hello and ask her
what are my lotto numbers.
I was a lowly tech, but Mark Roche was an engineer. Thus he was
able to requisition some materials and build a gorgeous cover for
my gizmo. It looked like what it was, a fine bit of test equip-
ment. Inside the guts were all the same -- stuff I'd scrounged
from assembly and rubbish bins -- but it was a work of art now.
Mark was able to ride out the next layoff by using this gizmo to
test Mad Dogs. He successfully identified the problems with every
one of them, generating much revenue for Jellyroll and much work
for himself. More revenue than Mr. Styrofoam, in fact. I'm glad
it turned out that way, because I liked Mark. He was the one who
taught me how to repair the test equipment.
During my third and final layoff, somebody realized that Jelly-
roll now had a lot of Quality Control Technician departments,
most consisting of two or three employees and a supervisor. They
decided to let all those supervisors go except one. The one they
kept was not Geoff Kato. That's when I knew I wasn't returning.
I was working for Tom as a full-time copier repairman when Geoff
threw his going-away party at Kasey's Kove. I showed up late, in
time to see Geoff totally drunk. He was challenging people to a
hot wing-eating contest, pouring heaps of Tabasco sauce on his
chicken wings, and sucking the meat off the bones like nothing
I've ever seen.
Geoff laughed, he hugged me, he asked me to HEEE-AL-uh him.
Beneath the professional exterior, unknown to any of us, was a
wild party animal. I guess, as I said before, that goes to show
that we only had two types. The fundamentalists and the insane.
Geoff was not a fundamentalist, so he finally showed us all that
he was insane. I like that in a person.
One day soon after, Jellyroll sent registered letters to 60% of
the workforce. It was a copy of the Confidentiality Agreements
we'd signed to get the job. I signed my copy of the note saying
that yes, I understood that I could never divulge what happened
there, and mailed it back. With that, I was terminated.
In keeping with that agreement, all the names in this story have
been changed, except for that of Chrystal Ball. The events
described are 100% true. I still miss the place.
ISBN 1-59105-011-1 / 1-59105-036-7
http://www.booksurge.com/product.php3?bookID=NBIP00001-00046
(Paperback)
http://www.ebookad.com/eb.php3?ebookid=14362
(E-book)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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