On Bunnies

No, my ex-Playboy working neighbor, not the UK band from the early 80’s that will forever be remembered for their Killing Moon contribution to alternative pop music. By the way ... who leaves a gig at Playboy? Anyway, I refer to the New Year. Lunar new year to be a little more accurate.

So, there are these signs popping up all over The Island: “Gong Xi Fa Cai”.

Now just so you understand, it is hard for a feller that was learned on simple words like “12 gauge”, “Ford”, “truck”, “pick up”, “still”, and “quick now son – take the dynamite out of the pick up truck and blow up the Still – that siren’s the Sherriff comin’ down Dustywamp Trail an’ he’s gonna be here faster than a fart in a wind storm.”

Making up words to country music songs for 30 years does not in anyway assist with pronunciation of Mandarin phrases. And I’ve been told the correct pronunciation is not “Going She Fat Cow”. And apparently also not “Gong She F*ck You”. It is something closer to Gong Si Far Cry.

So, as opposed to the western holiday season, which is sponsored by Toys-R-Us, in which where we celebrate the birth of a carpenter-turned-magician that lived a couple thousand years ago ... and then we proceed to consume extraordinary amounts of liquor followed by trying to blow up the neighbor's fence with a roman candle to usher in the new day on the Gregorian calendar, the Chinese New Year seems to be sponsored by a Safeway or Woolworths.

The giving, offering, and sharing of food seems to be a big part of Gong Hey Fat Choy celebration. (Yes, I’m learning Cantonese as well ... they don’t seem to have a word for “pick up truck” or “whiskey still”).

Plenty of food being kindly offered on The Island at the minute.

I’ve plenty of culturing still to go though. I’m still not able to accept the generous offer of a slice of spicy Indonesian rubber cake at 7:45 in the morning. I’ve got a bagel. Thanks anyway.

So it seems fitting, given all the food preparations and offerings, that 2011 will be the year of the Rabbit. (Stew anyone?) That’s right, step aside Tiger, and sit tight for 12 months Dragon – it’s the year of the Bunny.

I should be just fine.

And so should the good folk of Artesina (apparently near Italy). That’s right – zoom in ... and it is what you suspect it is.

Mind you, I don’t think the year of Cottontail is going to be prosperous for everyone. Take the folks over at the redneck version of Facebook for instance:


They may be able to survive the year exploiting other talents though. I noted in the Huntin’ Swap section that Max from Michigan shared that one of his Beagles took out 7th in the UKC Eliminator. Now, I couldn't actually find Max's Beagle in the competition results, but a drag racing beagle is surely a path to prosperity.

Even more impressive is Eddie from Kentucky who is (optimistically) Offering Up: Beagles. In Exchange For: Land. Now, I wish I could find out how that played out. Not sure much land 3 beagles affords a feller in Kentucky … but I’m now looking for beagles on eBay, because I reckon’ I could trade 3 or 4 of them for a good chunk of The Island.

In The Library

In a fit of madness my Senior sent me as cultural attaché from The Island to the Larger Island up north. (I was duped - I thought it was to share my Dwight Yoakam and Johnny Cash collection with the Japanese ... but it turned out to be for a work project).

There are so many sights and sounds to share from the land of the rising sum, er sun. But I’ll have to set aside those areas on which I’m really not entitled to comment:
- Fashion (Ugg Boots and Short Shorts anyone?)
- Music (J-Pop anyone? How about “Bump of Chicken” or “Chatmonkey”?)
- Food (I spent the entire time in an Irish pub, occasionally venturing out to McDonald’s)

So moving on to topics on which I feel I’m licensed sufficiently to comment ... let’s talk about Size.

In the trailer park where I grew up (Hey Jeb!), we spent our time making everything as big as possible: guitar noise, meals, trucks, houses and of course – hooters. But clearly on the Larger Island miniaturization of all things mechanical is the strong suit of their culture. Heck they can make a work van that looks smaller than the stroller we had for our kid.

Of course we less-cultured Westerners have tried our hands at the shrinky thing. And to give you an idea of how good we are at it, well you just have to watch that tremendous Top Gear segment on the Peel P50.

We’d better stick to making stuff big.


And on the only other topic on which I feel sufficiently licensed to comment, I can’t help noticing that one of the few items that is not miniaturized in Nippon: the facilities in The Library (for those not familiar with the terminology refer to the reference material that I prepared earlier).

Make no mistake, they have certainly added technology and otherwise made it incredibly complicated. I’ve never seen a Dunny with more buttons than my remote control (all five of them). And that button with the fountain symbol next to it just seems to compel your index finger ... well, I won’t spoil it for those yet to experience Nipponese Toilet Tech.

The Can in my hotel had a detachable remote.

I’m still puzzled. (I mean there have been times when I’ve wished I could be outside the Small Room as I flushed ... but that’s another Latrine story for another time.)

Mind you, I was a little disappointed that my Lav didn't come with a hostie.


But there was one Loo (in a restaurant in Chinatown of all places) that has truly embraced the iTart technology of today – it had a touch screen. As I was rather lit from a couple (few) Asahi and Sapporo beverages, I was eagerly testing all of the cute applets and images on the screen to see what would happen at the porcelain side ... until my inner O.C.D. Clean Freak swam past the Nagano hops and politely tapped on the front of my consciousness: Bathroom. Toilet. Touch screen. Blech.