While in Kending during the last weekend of the Lunar New Year, I witnessed the boldest manifestation yet of that crudest and most-desperate species of the Taiwanese cock-block family: the Brokeback Attack.

Here’s the scenario:

There was a group of guys and girls dancing together, probably a high-school reunion or something. Some Filipino and African guys jump on the dance floor and start to rip it up. These guys are really enjoying themselves and start to dance with the Tai-girls. Not just dancing, but freaking. The guys are digging it, and the girls are enjoying it as well.

So, to protect the girls from the dirty and dangerous immigrant folk, or maybe to protect the girls from themselves and their intended harlotry, the Taiwanese males jump in to save the day, going where no man should go, namely in between the gyrating hips of the colored men and the local girls.

It happened over and over again. I suppose the sailors were used to it, because they played it cool, but the Taiwanese women looked more and more frustrated at their male counterparts. It really surprised me that the whole situation didn’t break down into a fight, because the Taiwanese males were unusually aggressive during the cock-blocking. In addition, the women’s reaction to the interruptions was quite telling: their friends’ “help” was really a good micro-representation of male-female relationships here: being a man is protecting and controlling your woman, who by extension can’t protect or control herself.

I should start this series of posts by first mentioning that I’m not a hater. That said, no matter where you go, some things will piss you off, regardless of how open-minded, PC, assimilation-ready you are. Taiwan’s a great country, but it has its rough patches. Here’s one:

It was a rainy winter day in Taipei today. I wore my work shoes today. Unfortunately, the soles of my shoes aren’t exactly Gore-Tex super grip recycled F1 rubber or anything like that. I say unfortunately because whenever it rains here in Taipei (which is often), I slip on the marble-tiled sidewalks which seem to skirt every bank and post office in town. I’m pretty sure that most salarymen here experience the same, slippery imbalance every rainy day.

Luckily, the designers didn’t totally ignore this seemingly obvious flaw. Most of the marble-tiled footpaths have thin “friction strips,” as I like to call them. They aren’t the polished slip-traps of the marble tile, but are rough and cling to your shoe. They’re like buoys in a vast ocean that I tentatively jump to in order to keep from sliding around and bumping into people, or worse, making myself look foolish. If only there were more of these strips.