Typhoon

At first, I think it might be the hum of a truck passing by on the street below. But after a few seconds, the roar has grown louder. The only trucks that drive that slow here are the garbage trucks, and I don't hear that ice-cream jolly jingle that accompanies them, so that's out. Besides, it's not 9:45 – not trash time, anyway. I don't need to look out the window to know what's going on, but a curiosity about what that much water falling from the sky looks like draws me in.

I pull my face back from the cracked window of my bedroom, as stinging bullets of rain barrel through, onto the cold tiled floor. It's hard to say what the downpour looks like – there's too much water flying in my face to make anything out. My glasses are in need of wipers after a moment's glance.

Still, what's outside is not what my mental image of a typhoon might have been, had I ever taken the time to form one. Palm trees sway with long trunks that improbably refuse to break against winds that propel water to the earth in bladed drops, like a giant window in the sky has been shattered. But, it's not so bad. Just a lot of water.

Anyway, I have everything I need. That's not saying much – a bag of rice, a jar of raspberry jam, raw strips of beef, enough mushrooms, and those little baby corns that come from huge seeds, to pass as a meal, and a six pack of black tea juice boxes. Enough to last me a few days. And some bug spray, too. I haven't needed it in a month, but the torrents of rain have brought back the nightly tickling of my legs under my desk, by mosquitoes eager to cause me about a half-hour's worth of mild skin irritation, followed by an inconsequential red-pink bump that will persist for three to four days.

Hours pass; rain falls. Sometimes, waves stream down my window. Other times, the fall quiets into a trickle that feels for a second like the norm – how the world should be.

More hours pass. There are books I need to read, some work I need to get done.

More hours pass. Okay. So, maybe this is getting a little old. I look outside. It is not raining. Startled, I almost jump, turning around and reaching for the first long shirt I see. I don't even know where I'm going – probably nowhere. At least to the exit of my complex.

There's no telling how long this will last. The streets of Kaohsiung only occasionally offer shelter from rain, in the form of uneven awnings of maybe a block or two of buildings. Get caught in the wrong place, at the wrong time and – sorry – you're soaked and chattering, even in the heat of summer.

I start walking, outside. Where, where, where? The Hanshin Department Store. I can get more food there, from the supermarket on the lowest level. There's a bakery there, too. Maybe I can get some ramen in the food court. Rain trickles down.

Shit, shit, shit. See, Chance, this was a terrible idea. This is why you always get caught out in typhoons here. You see dark clouds, and you're like, yeah, whatever, and then nature shows you what a tool you were being. This has happened what, three, four times now? You get soaked every time. You've been caught out in every typhoon that has made landfall since you've been here. But do you learn? No, of course not.

By the time I'm done berating myself, I'm at the department store, a towering ten story monument to high quality consumer goods at high quality consumer prices. Also, there's a great cookie stand on the bottom floor. Wonderful little chocolate brownie things, you can get a bag of them for about a few bucks. The rain is still just trickling down. I'm not soaked.

Ramen is had. The bakery is out of French bread, which was the main reason I had wanted to go there. I think about getting something else, but everything looks bland and unappetizing when you can't find the one thing you're craving. There's no real replacement.

Okay. Return trip. Maybe it's not raining. Okay, that's dumb, it's probably raining. But maybe it isn't raining that hard. It wasn't when you came in. Maybe it came down really hard while you were inside, and cycled back, and now it's light rain again. I step outside. It is not raining.

Eyes widen. My pace is quick. A golden opportunity, but you need to move fast. I mind my steps when I reach tiled, smooth storefronts. You'll slip on them even without rain. Like John Wooden said, 'Be quick, but don't hurry.'

So I quickly, without hurrying, head down the street back toward my apartment. Rain trickles down. Okay, you've got some leeway. But you know it could start pissing down rain any second now, so maybe you need to move. But I don't run. Something about running in public when you don't have a pair of gym shorts or jogging pants and a t-shirt on just doesn't look right. Like you've made a grave, public mistake, and you can feel the mockery and scorn emanating from everyone around you like radiation waves. Or maybe I'm just imagining things.

Back at my complex, key's already in my hand. Made it, no sweat. Just a few raindrops. Back to reading. Time stops mattering, so I don't know how long it was before the roaring started again. Thunder shook the night air, and my window, as I drifted off to sleep. The second night of a three-day weekend, held prisoner by a single-minded, unfeeling warden who is, fortunately, prone to the odd irresponsible nap while on duty.

I wake up. More roaring, more sheets of water crashing to the earth. The warden doesn't sleep today. But still, for something with such a foreboding name – typhoon – it's not so bad. I censure myself. Obviously, there have been worse typhoons. This one is probably not hitting Taiwan head-on. These storms have caused floods, cost lives. But this one, this one's not so bad. Not worth complaining about.

Hours pass, the warden watches. I sometimes look through my window, through the off-white bars that enclose it. I take my glasses off first, now. Books are read, work is done. Okay, so this is getting a little old. But still, it's not that bad. Could be worse.

Spaghetti with Chuck Roast

I threw this together a while back, and I liked it.

1 lb chuck roast
2 16 oz cans plain tomato sauce
1 8 oz can tomato paste
5-6 cloves of garlic
1 tsp parsley
1 1/2 tsp basil
1 1/2 tsp oregano
Handful of salt
Dash of ground black pepper
3 tbsp olive oil
1 cup red wine
1 1/2 tsp dried rosemary
Any kind of pasta you prefer

Prepare the sauce first, by heating 1 tbsp of olive oil in a medium-sized pot. Add 5-6 cloves of minced garlic and the parsley, stirring contents while heating. Once the garlic becomes golden, add the tomato sauce, tomato paste, basil, oregano, salt, ground black pepper, and red wine. Stir well. If you are using fresh basil or oregano, add it in later, for a stronger taste. Bring sauce to a boil, then cover and let simmer for a half hour.

Chop up the chuck roast into chunks. Season lightly with salt and pepper to taste. Pour 2 tbsp olive oil into a frying pan and heat. You can heat a couple cloves of garlic in the oil, too, if you want. Add chuck roast and rosemary, and cook for a few minutes over medium-high heat. Pour contents of frying pan into the sauce, reserving and discarding some oil. Stir well, and let the sauce continue to simmer for another twenty minutes.

Prepare pasta, and serve.