April has always been an uneasy month for some reason or another. Early on, years and years, decades ago, it was existential, neurotic, psychological stuff or something. That's all faded away with age, mindfulness practice and ultimately no one caring, but April still seems the time when ripples occur. Now that just means minor disruptions in days that are otherwise all mine to decide what to do, defined only by my neurotic impulse to impose some structure on my daily routine.

April last year, the disruption was being called to Kaohsiung for some family business, and that was the first time out of Taipei for me since my father died in November 2016. Since then I haven't ventured outside of Taipei except for a couple of instances when my mother passed through town and I went to meet her for a couple hours near the airport, the maximum amount of time we can stand being with each other.

Earlier this month, it was my sister-in-law's older sister who came into town. For some unknown reason, she asked me if I wanted anything from the States. Twice. We're not that close. We never were. Well, we were cordial which would justify the offer, but we've been totally out of contact for quite some time, including unanswered emails, which could be construed as less than cordial. I ignored the offer the first time thinking she was just being cordial and just responded favorably to her visit and my willingness to be available, but after the second time I wondered maybe if I shouldn't ask for some things to communicate that we're good to the point that I could ask for things. Without the second offer, I definitely wouldn't have asked for anything.

So I made a few modest requests that were intentionally aimed to be of no, that is to say ZERO, inconvenience to her. Things that I didn't need at all, but brands that are personal preferences that I don't have here, and she wouldn't really even notice in her luggage. Rite-Aid lens cleaner, Q-tip brand cotton swabs, Advil, a box of Velveeta Shells and Cheese. She asked what size for those items and I low-ended the sizes so they wouldn't take up room in her luggage. And I also suggested that she could ask her sister, with whom I'm much closer, to pick them up during a Target run, since I think she goes pretty often since she has four kids and all.

Where it started going wrong is when she asked me to meet her at the airport hotel in the morning after her arrival just to pick up the stuff, before she and her dad were to catch the 10:30 High Speed Rail to southern Taiwan. We had an exchange of short, increasingly tense emails over the course of a few days where we clearly were not having a meeting of minds. She would state times and places to meet, and I would respond with the unlikelihood of my being able to meet her demanded time frames. There was never any sense of 'OK great, I'll see you there'. In my last email before I turned off my computer the night before, after she had already landed and was at her hotel, I told her I would go and try to get there in time before her 10:30 HSR. I had already done my best to convey the unlikely-to-impossible scenario of my getting there in time in hopes that she would just concede and say I could get the stuff when she arrived in Taipei a week later.

It irked me because she was making me travel three hours round-trip to the Taoyuan HSR station for a hand-over of a small package that I knew was not likely to happen. She never mentioned willingness to take a later train, which at most was an hour later, for a train ride that would take only about an hour anyway.

As it happened, I arrived at the HSR station at precisely 10:34, but I wandered about for 20 minutes looking for her in hopes that something changed in her plans or she decided to take a later train. I think we were probably both incensed. I couldn't believe she took her train even though she knew I was coming all that way, and she couldn't believe I couldn't get there in time (despite my constant reservations that I would be able to).

What she didn't communicate at any point until it was too late was that it wasn't a small package, and that's why she wanted to get it off her hands. In my last email, in which I was hoping to convey frustration at her insistence that I go against all odds that we would be able to meet, I think I asked, almost sarcastically, how big was the package anyway? I assumed it was small, because that's what I intended.

It turns out that she did ask her sister to pick up the stuff. But as generous as my sister-in-law is to me, she got jumbo-size everything! Sizes of Advil and Q-tips that I've never bought for myself before, and a 5-pack of Velveeta which is what took the most room. It was only after I got home and checked my email that she mentioned the package was the size of a small backpack. And it wasn't until a week later that I received it and saw it really was not a small package she could ignore in her luggage.

Still, if it was such an inconvenience for her to carry that around, why couldn't she just wait for me to arrive and catch a slightly later train? That was her decision. I think she may not have known that just across the Airport MRT station from the HSR station was a huge outlet mall where we could've done some browsing and shopping and I could've bought her and her dad coffee and croissants. I don't know why and didn't ask subsequently why her schedule was so inflexible that she couldn't call someone and tell them she was arriving an hour later. I don't know why she didn't communicate earlier that the package was a significant burden which may have been incentive for me to get there in time. I did calculations later and I would've had to have left at least a half an hour earlier for even the possibility to get there on time, or in the alternative I could have taken the HSR myself from Taipei Main Station to Taoyuan HSR instead of the Airport MRT. It would've been a lot more money, but I would've done it if I knew I would otherwise be burdening someone who was doing me a favor.

When we did meet in Taipei for dinner the next week, it was very cool and formal, and clear that was the only time we would be meeting while she was here. We were passive pissed at each other. My Mandarin teacher, the one I get together with every once in a while, came because she met my sister-in-law and her sister when she was in the U.S. for a year teaching Mandarin at an Ohio university. When she told me she was traveling to New York, I put them in touch and they've stayed on each other's radar. In fact, my sister-in-law's sister's husband, a professional jazz musician is coming to Taipei in June, and we've earmarked the date to go.

I don't think my Mandarin teacher noticed any tension. The dinner wasn't about us and it was superficially perfectly appropriate discourse considering the company. But when parting after dinner, my teacher asked me if I wanted to get shaved ice at a famous place just a block away, and I was like 'why not?', there's nothing cool or formal between us. It was then I was able to inspect the package my sister-in-law's sister brought me and I could see the full extent of the inconvenience. But it was funny when I described the sizes I asked for and the sizes my sister-in-law got for me. What's great about getting together with my teacher is that we can kvetch and bitch about things to each other, but then offer perspective and get catharsis as a result.

I emailed my sister-in-law's sister a final apology before she left and she said fuggedaboudit. We're not good, but we know now not to even try to make it good. She won't offer any favors and I'll never ask for any. That's not fact, mind you. She might not think anything about it aside from unfortunate circumstances, and not some grand karmic incompatibility. She might have let it go as soon as she heard that I did go but failed to get there in time. If she were to read this, she might just as easily say, 'no, that's not it at all'. She's a federal judge, so being reasonable is her profession. And her family are much better, positive people, as opposed to the negativity-drenched, passive-aggressive shit storm chaos that is mine.

And if she ever asked me for a favor, I would do my damned best to make it happen.

After Phil Collins mentioned his friendship with Eric Clapton in his book, I thought I'd revisit Clapton's autobiography in the library, maybe in a more favorable light. Nöpe. What a prick. What a twat. He can literally go fuck himself. Obviously I'm biased, so what I have to say has zero credibility. I'm not trying to convince anyone to dislike him, nor dissing anyone who is a fan. Since he's a rock legend, I'm not gonna dis his music. I just never liked enough to become a fan, but really I never thought any of it was bad. Unlike Nickelback or Hootie, never did I turn it off because it was Eric Clapton. Just not my cup of vodka. For the record, he does appear on my "every year of my life" mix CDs ("Layla" (1970), "I Can't Stand It" (1981), "Can't Find My Way Home" (1969), "The Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking" (1984), and he may have been on "My Sweet Lord" (1970) on a background acoustic guitar). That is to say as much as I dislike him, I can't deny him.

The funny thing is I didn't particularly like him before, but now I know why I don't like him. Just not an impressive personality. Maybe it's a matter of "camps"; as to likes and dislikes, we would be in opposite camps. He likes killing animals for sport, I only kill insects when I can't get past karmic obscurations that make me find them unacceptable in my personal space. He disses Genesis and Led Zeppelin, two of my top five fave bands of all time, where zero acts he's associated with even ranks. He's into and takes pride in fashion, I'm anti-fashion. Clothes weep when forced to be worn by me. If we met as peers, we wouldn't connect or would rub each other the wrong way. Maybe it's self-fulfilling prophecy – who reads a rock bio of someone they don't even like? I tried reading his book before and stopped because it turns out he's the kind of a man who likes to pull the hooks out of fish. I should have left it at that.

That's actually a good point. Without being a fan of his music to back him up, all I read were his numerous, egregious character flaws. It didn't help that some of his character flaws are painfully similar to ones I see in myself; things about me that disgust myself. If not a fan of Steven Tyler, Keith Richards, Phil Collins, Pete Townshend, Sting, Kim Gordon, Ozzy Osbourne, etc., would their books have impressed? And I shouldn't wonder that a rabid Eric Clapton fan, one with rabies that is, would love his book, despite him coming across as weak, arrogant, cowardly, judgmental, privileged, abusive, selfish and an overall weeny. Oops.

Oh wait, Sting's book didn't impress me, but I pretty much expected that. I was just surprised by what it was that didn't impress. I expected to not be impressed by his arrogance and pomposity, but on the other hand I also expected intelligent, well-written, witty and insightful writing. I was totally surprised at how bland and boring the book was. And I got into Sonic Youth (Kim Gordon) way too late to consider myself a fan, even though I would've been if I had been exposed to them earlier (Versus, one of my fave 90s indie bands was clearly influenced by them. When I first heard Sonic Youth, it took a few seconds to realize it was Versus that sounded like Sonic Youth, not the other way around), but Kim Gordon's book, Girl in a Band, is a must-read for a woman's view in the male-dominated world of rock bios. By the time I read her book, I did have many, if not most, Sonic Youth albums in my collection and a healthy respect for them. Although by the end of the book, not so much for Thurston Moore. Fuckwad. 

I don't want this to devolve into a Clapton diss-fest, so the last thing I'll comment on is the death of his four-year old son, Conor, that made headline news when it happened. I interpret the way Clapton describes that horrible moment in time as him interpreting Conor as an angel who was sent to him. The way I imagine it is that it wasn't Conor playing near an open window 49 floors up unsupervised and then accidentally falling out of it in a moment of carelessness, but it was a condo with floor to ceiling  (at least very large) windows that happened to be open for cleaning, and in Conor's playful, four-year old running around flung himself out the window. No one could've prevented it, it wasn't about no supervision. If there were a camera in the room, it may have looked like Conor just hurled himself out the window. Realistically it must have been horrible for the little boy and his last moments terrifying not knowing intellectually what he had done as he plunged to his death. But spiritually, for Eric, it was recognition of being touched by an angel, having had an angel in his life. Conor didn't fling himself out the window and plunge to his death, but flew up with grace, sacrificing himself, to teach Clapton something about his own miserable life. If there's anything redeeming about Eric Clapton, and there is actually quite a lot, it's Conor. Stevie Ray Vaughan, a blessed spirit in his own right by my estimation, obviously didn't do it.

One of the benefits of not having a phone is that my mother can no longer call. After my father died, it became even more clear that we don't understand nor like each other and we can't communicate without insulting each other, both intentionally and unintentionally, and phone calls would at best be barely civil and would always be frustrating and negative. They would revert back to the days when they were overtly strained and awkward and didn't last long because I had nothing to say to them and no interest in what they said. It was a fortunate coincidence that just a few months after my father died, Taiwan ended 2G phone service and I simply refused to upgrade because I didn't need nor cared to.

On my part, I would be perfectly content to never hear from her again. I can't speak for her part, but for whatever reason (habit? investment?), she feels compelled to try to remain in touch, and that, unfortunately, has led her to start sending emails. Early on, I overreacted to an overture to go on a cruise, but I learned quickly if I just ignore them, that's taken as a response and there's no follow-up. Now when I get an email, I typically glance at it just to get the gist and immediately delete it. Sometimes she sends photos of my brothers' families, but if they don't send photos themselves, obviously they don't care if I have photos of them or not and they get deleted after I see how the kids are growing.

There was one photo she sent not long ago of the monument that she had made for my father, and since it is quite large, I think she has it in mind that this is a family . . . thing. As family members die off, they and their dates get added to the monument. The concept was mentioned when I was last there when my father died in November 2016, and I was horrified by the thought of some attachment to them for all eternity.

If I had my druthers, I would just disappear without a trace and I wouldn't care whatever they put on the monument. It has nothing to do with me. I don't care what name they use, and the end date would only be the year since an exact date couldn't be pinpointed. What I would want, though, is the URL of this blog under my name and dates. I wonder how many tombstones have internet URLs on them. I'm sure it's been done.

The question for me, though, is how do I get this URL on the fucking monument. If I leave a note mentioning that's what I want, that would direct people to this blog, which I don't want to do. I'm not hiding it, I do assume it will be found, but I want it to be found without my having to direct people to it. I'm being totally neurotic. And once they find it, they'll find this last willful testament that I want this URL on any marker they insist on making for me, and they'll have to do it or else it will be a clear diss at me in my afterlife and all of eternity! You want that on you?

Actually, if they find this blog, they'll have an exact end date. Or, like Kurt Cobain, close enough.