If you’re interested in human rights in China, be sure to check out the latest two entries in The Happiest Geek on Earth:
A monthly headache with which I must contend is my depositing my housemate Paul’s rent cheques.
They’re drawn from a U.S. bank in U.S. dollars, so I can’t simply deposit them into the nearest bank machine — I need to stand in line at the nearest branch of my bank, which also happens to be one of the businest: the Royal Bank at Dundas and Spadina, deep in the heart of the downtown Chinatown.
This branch’s services are geared towards the neighbourhood — a lot of the signage is in Chinese, and most of the tellers are fluent in Cantonese and Mandarin. The clientele seems to be made largely of people who own businesses in the area, and naturally, they make heavy use of teller services, spending up to twenty minutes at the teller. The lineups are long; the monotny is broken only by the reading material I usually bring when I go there and the occasional Chinese old lady who says to me “You look like nice Chinese boy. You come to my store, meet my daughter.”
(When they find out I’m Filipino, most say “Ay-yah. Too bad.” Let it be known that “They’re okay, but you wouldn’t want your daughter to marry one of them” isn’t solely the province of the round-eyes.)
I have three problems depositing Paul’s cheques. One is that the Royal Bank has a policy of holding cheques drawn from U.S. banks for twenty-five business days. I’ve had relationships that didn’t last that long!
The second problem is that Paul’s cheques have the name of his bank printed on them. That may seem perfectly natural, but the problem is that his bank has such an embarassingly dorky and incredibly fake-souding name: “The First Internet Bank“. The tellers always do a double-take when they see this, and some have made a phone call just to verify that a bank that sounds like it belongs in a bad sci-fi TV series really exists.
The last problem is cultural. Paul makes out his cheques, quite naturally, to “Joey deVilla”. Of course, my bank account is in my “real” name, Jose Martin deVilla. I never have any trouble depositing cheques made to “Joey” in the ATM, but with the tellers at the nearby branch, it’s another story. Here’s my last encounter with a teller:
Teller: This not your name on the cheque.
Me: Yes, it is.
Teller: No, this say “Joey deVilla”, but account holder name is Jo-say deVilla.
Me: It’s pronounced “Ho-say” [actually, the really proper Spanish/Filipino way is “Hoh-seh”]. It’s Spanish for “Joseph”, and you get my nickname “Joey” from that. “Pepe” or “Pepito” are also acceptable nicknames for Jose in Spanish.
Teller: “Jose” not sound like nickname for “Joey”.
Me: Um….[getting an idea, looking at Teller’s name badge] — Edwin, right? That’s your English name?
Teller: Yes.
Me: What’s your Chinese name?
Teller: Wing Tak.
Me: How do you get “Edwin” from “Wing Tak”?
Teller: It make sense to me. Ed-WIN. WINg Tak.
Me: I think that’s a bit of a stretch.
Teller: It sounds okay to me. But “Jose” and “Joey”? No.
Me: You get the internet on that other terminal there?
Teller: Yeah. That’s just PC.
Me: Could you do me a favour? Do a Google search — use “Jose” “Joseph” and “names” for search terms.
Teller: [Thinking about it] Okay. But only if it make this quick.
The teller Googles and finds this page.
Teller: Ay-yah! “JOSE: Spanish form of Joseph, ‘God increases.'”
Me: So can I deposit the cheque?
Teller: Sure. Let me put note in your file so this problem not happen again.
Me: Thank you.
Teller: You know, this cheque will be held by Royal Bank for…
Me: …twenty-five business days. I know.
Teller: Oh, and tell your housemate to get bank with name that not sound like bullshit.
I just got a PayPal account — I think I’ll have Paul pay me his share of the rent that way.
It’s in my other blog. Check it out.
A couple of people, in addition to exclaiming “you don’t look 35!” have asked me if I feel 35.
I don’t: “You’re only old when your regrets outnumber your dreams.”
I wish I could that say that I came up with that one. Hey, I’d be happy if I could say that it came from a respectable source, say Faulkner, Hemingway, Lao Tzu or perhaps Maya Angelou.
But no, it’s from the TV series Buck Rogers in the 25th Century.
Only fitting, since this weblog’s name is a homage to that wonderfully cheesy sci-fi series, a proto-Knight Rider in space.
This one features my cute lil’ godson, Aidan William deVilla-Choi. We let him blow out a candle so that he wouldn’t feel left out of the fun.
I just noticed this: this Sunday — November 10th — will mark the one-year anniversary of The Adventures of AccordionGuy in the 21st Century.
Yes, folks, it’s the Best Day of the Year once again!
Birthday
The Beatles
You say it’s your birthday
It’s my birthday too–yeah
They say it’s your birthday
We’re gonna have a good time
I’m glad it’s your birthday
Happy birthday to you.
Yes we’re going to a party party
Yes we’re going to a party party
Yes we’re going to a party party.
I would like you to dance–Birthday
Take a cha-cha-cha-chance-Birthday
I would like you to dance–Birthday
Dance
You say it’s your birthday
Well it’s my birthday too–yeah
You say it’s your birthday
We’re gonna have a good time
I’m glad it’s your birthday
Happy birthday to you.
Life’s been nothing short of eventful since I turned 30. The day I turned 30, I wrote an amazing letter of resignation in which I called my boss a “self-serving, self-aggrandizing grifter” and went off to start my own little consulting firm. I went on an amazing trip to Japan just before my 31st birthday. Almost exactly midway between my 31st and 32nd birthdays, I played the accordion in public for the first time, a life-changing event in so many ways. I accidentally made out with a nineteen-year old before my 32nd and had an even more amazing trip to Prague shortly after. I packed a record-breaking number of people at my 33rd birthday party (which came complete with a fireworks display, courtesy of my friend Chris) and moved to San Francisco shortly afterwards. A small but significant number of the wrong girls (wrong in the sense that they were seeing friends of mine, completely nuts, or both) admitted their crushes on me during some awkward (but fun in that perverse sort of way that a guy like me would appreciate) moments during my 34th birthday party.
I’m sure I’ll do some more self-indulgent nattering as the week goes on. Hey, it’s my blog and I can do whatever the hell I want. In the meantime, here are some pieces I found using Google on turning 35:
Before I go, a quick excerpt from a Smash Mouth song, Let’s Rock:
Lately I’ve been thinking about the past
About the good times
And have they all come and gone
And are there more years behind than ahead
Then I say to myself
“Fuck it, let’s rock!”
My sentiments exactly.