PROM

NOTES FROM TAIWAN #9

JUNE 8th, 2008
PROM

So there I was, lying on the floor of my hotel room, curled underneath a chair, and feeling as if I had been chucked in front of a train, obliterated, and then reassembled by a drunken monkey. The previous night had had its way with me, to say the least.

I pulled myself out of the dignity-destroying position I had found myself in and crawled onto the bed. During this endeavor, I feel that I experienced a living rigor mortis, as my joints and muscles had turned to jelly. After an excruciating climb, I placed myself into bed, pulled up the blanket and went back to sleep, still just as drunk as when I had passed out some hours before.

I was awakened later by my room phone. Clearing my throat as best I could, so as to sound like I had been making the most of my day so far, I answered and found Ben on the other line. After ensuring that I was in fact still alive after opting to blaze my own trail last night, he asked if I wanted to get something to eat. Knowing that the hotel we were staying at served breakfast from 7:30 to 9:00, I inquired as to whether we had missed it or not. After chuckling to himself, been informed me that it was currently 12:30pm. No no no, I wasn’t hungover at all.

A few of us USC people gathered in the lobby downstairs in what we had come to call the confessional room. Complete with a couch and curtain, this had become the surrogate therapy room for our Real World Taipei family. I would have to find some other day to profess my hatred for my roommates and cry in front of the camera, as our tired and hungover bodies needed nourishment.

Knowing there was only one thing that could make me right with the world again, I made a beeline for the fried chicken that we had sampled on our first day in Taipei. As I ate the delicious fried morsels of goodness, I felt my hangover melt away. And after a liter of silky smooth milk tea from our 7/11, I was ready for round two.

Today was the day that Chris, one of our NTU friends would be graduating. So we hopped on a bus and made our way to the NTU campus. Walking through the grounds past the brick buildings, dorms, and lecture halls, I felt echoes of USC (minus the countless douchebags that USC has amassed in its many years). We passed by throngs of happy families taking graduation pictures. I had thought I knew the definition of adorable after seeing all of the tiny Taiwanese babies stumbling around the grass on campus. But they have nothing on the indescribable cuteness of the Taiwanese grandparents that had congregated on the NTU campus that day. Big smiles permanently etched on their faces as their grandchildren took pictures of them wearing graduation caps, happy to have their family together to celebrate this big day. I was tempted to grab a few and take them home with me, as just being around them made me a happy man. If there’s one thing I want to be when I get old, it’s to be as happy and content as these elders looked.

Chris received his diploma, which we missed seeing, as the NTU graduation was more of a mass of people huddled around a few stairs as degrees were dolled out as if they were coming from a pitching machine (apparently the big formal ceremony had taken place in the morning). As we left, a few stares were thrown our way, understandable considering how out of place we were.

But that out of place had nothing on what would happen next. See, the NTU graduation day was to be capped of with a prom. And yes, when I say prom, I mean formal dance. And Chris had (possibly unwisely) invited his new wild American friends to attend. So we showed up outside of the NTU arena, dressed in club-appropriate clothing (I had chosen to douche it up this night, wearing my favorite black button down, sans a few of the top buttons). Everyone else, all several hundred other Taiwanese prom attendees, was dressed in their sharpest, slickest formal clothing. I’m talking suits, tuxes, dresses, jewelry, makeup, the whole shebang. I though my senior year prom in high school was awkward. Oh no, not like this.

After waiting outside for a while, we were allowed entrance into the foggy, dimly lit arena. The dance floor was left completely vacant as prommers got food and sat on the surrounding benches. Unsuccessful at finding the rumored free booze, we sat down to munch on some rice cakes and pudding, awaiting whatever would happen next.

And then, from the gigantic black speakers that adorned the walls, a grand symphony sounded. It was as if the troops were being summoned to battle. Epic is a good word to describe this sound, which had shattered the awkward silence in the arena and replaced it with a sweeping score right out of Gladiator. I stood up, scanning the room, straining to see what had prompted such a symphonic explosion. And then I saw it: in a circular carriage right out of Cinderella, sat a woman and a boy waving to the adoring crowd, as they were pulled across the dance floor by a man in a bicycle at a speed that just barely exceeded an idle. Roused by the call to arms blasting over the speakers, the pleased crowd applauded, as the battle chariot made its slow way across the dance floor. I could never describe how random this was. When I first heard the epic music, I had expected to turn around see armed gladiators hacking each other to pieces as asteroids cascaded down around them and giant robots break danced in the background. Instead there was a bicycle drawn Cinderella carriage. This must be what taking acid is like.

After the several minutes it took them to cross the floor, they ascended the stage and roused the crowd into an excited fervor. I don’t know what they said, but they got the kids ready to dance. Then, after the hosts said what must have been Chinese for “DJ, spin that shit!” the music started. Except instead of the hip hop and dance music that you would expect to find at a dance of twenty-somethings, the musack for the evening was something more at home at a sock hop, mixed with a little early 90s Top 40. The classics, such as Chubby Checker’s “Let’s Twist Again”, Ritchie Valens’s “La Bamba”, and Chuck Berry’s “Johnny B. Goode” followed such infectious pop hits as the Matchbox 20’s pairing with Santana “Smooth”, sung of course by the hosts in broken English. This eclectic mix would be interrupted by Chinese power ballads, where a dozen men of the most flamboyant nature would line up at the front of the dance floor and display an impressive coordinated salsa routine. Flamboyant times 100 is more like it. You think you’ve seen salsa? Just wait until you see what these effeminate Taiwanese men can do with it. Seriously, they did things with their hips that I didn’t think possible by the human body, male or female. Their pressed dress shirts hung open, exposing their hairless chests as their legs moved in a shocking display of candor and “grace”. It seems that in Taiwan, salsa has been sprinkled with a little something extra, stripped of any heterosexual implications, and dressed up in black pleather pants.

Though it was initially a little hard to get into music at first, eventually we were all on the dance floor for the second night in a row. And just like the previous night, we amassed a crowd of Taiwanese fans. They would stare in wonder at the way we dance, and then would try to imitate it themselves. We pulled as many of them into our circle as we could and gave them a lesson in American dance. It was a funny situation, being at a prom in Taipei, Taiwan, dancing with dozens of Taiwanese students to songs my parents might have danced to at their proms decades ago. These things just have a way of happening to us here.

When our dance circle, located at the front of the room right by the stage, would grow a little too big for certain people’s liking, the flamboyant salsa dancers would cut right through the heart of our group with a savage strut and swing of the hips. Our group was broken up into smaller fragments, left only to giggle at the exuberance of the dancers. We had crossed into their turf, dangerous territory. They had to keep our undignified dancing in check with their suave and grace. With a flip of some perfectly jelled hair, we new that we needed to watch ourselves. It was like West Side Story 2: East Meets West. Taiwanese Salsa vs. American Bump ‘n Grind. David vs. Goliath. Bloods vs. Cripps. Kanye vs. 50 Cent. An epic battle of song and dance was waged that night.

After a few hours of dancing, someone in our group started The Worm, or as I like to call it, The Gravy Train. Hands placed on shoulders, kicking right or left every third step, we started weaving through the crowd. Though initially left shocked by such a sight, the Taiwanese students, one by one, joined. After just a few short minutes, our train had amassed most of the patrons at the dance. The Worm got so large that it weaved back onto itself, and I could see the students laughing hysterically as we jumped around the arena (I don’t think anyone had ever initiated them into this magical dance ritual). The spotlight in the back of the auditorium was pointed right at us, and I looked up to see us displayed on the two jumbo screens in the front of the room. I don’t think they’ll be forgetting us anytime soon.

Eventually the Train got so big that it collided into itself and disintegrated leaving hundreds of sweaty, giggling Taiwanese and a few sweaty, giggling Americans. Needless to say, this would have been a good note to end the night on, but there was more. A few songs later, the music stopped and the crowd directed its attention to the stage. There the announcer said some things in Chinese, and then spotted us standing on the floor. She asked Ben, the tallest of us, if he was an NTU student. Well of course he was, so he was brought up onto stage to demonstrate the Bunny Hop, a tradition at NTU. (just imagine the Can-Can for people who can’t bend their knees). But Ben needed some backup dancers, so the hostess called Helen and myself to the stage. I don’t know why out of all the NTU graduates the three of us were chosen to perform the schools signature dance at their graduation prom. They cued the music, we lined up, and hopped the Bunny Hop. I looked out onto the crowd and realized for the second time this weekend, were dancing on stage in front of hundreds of young Taiwanese.

Following our lead, every single person in the crowd joined together for this ritual. By the end of the song, which sped up as it went along, everyone was hopping around in a rabid fervor, which looked a little funny to say the least. With a round of applause, we exited the stage, still unable to comprehend how we had managed to do what we did two nights in a row. Sweaty and tired we left the prom, satisfied with another night of dancing.

On our way out, Craig and I got our picture taken with a Taiwanese celebrity (I have no idea what she was in). Looking at the picture later, we couldn’t help but laugh, as the poor girl was sandwiched between the two of us (gross with sweat) with a look of panic, uneasiness, and creeped out on her face. We know how to charm them.

As we walked out into the pouring rain, we stumbled across one of the holiest grails known to man: free beer. Corona at that. Cases and cases of the stuff were stacked up behind a counter, and the bartenders would hand out bottles to anyone pining for a drink. Most people would take a bottle or two, maybe a six-pack if they were with a big group. But we, having never seen such a beautiful bounty in our lives, managed to acquire a couple six packs each. We found some steps to sit down on, and proceeded to enjoy. For some reason, beer just tastes better when it’s free.

We covered an entire flight of stairs in empty bottles and six-pack cartons. Though our bodies had had their fill our bags had not. So we made another stop at El Dorado, and took as much as we could before the bartenders realized that they were dealing with livers of oxen, and told us to leave. Our bags were stuffed to maximum capacity, and we boarded our bus home, clinking at every step. I think it was pretty obvious to everyone else on the bus that it wasn’t sets of china in our bags that were making those sounds.

This weekend (still only half over) had been a good one. Several fridges full of free Corona, two nights of dancing onstage in front of masses of people, and one very interesting cab later, my first full week in Taiwan had concluded. And there were still seven more.