Chicks dig guys with bikes...

... or so I've been told. Last night, I bought my primary form of transportation for the next x years: a bicycle. It's a silver Giant S165 (hold the applause), 18-speed, front wheel suspension, equipped with a lock, a small bike pump, a red flashing rear light, a bottle holder, and a gay silver basket on the front. It's my speedster. It's my salvation. ... but getting it into the elevator at home was hell. It took a few tries before I realized it wouldn't contort properly going head-first, but rather had to be backed up. Yes, back that thang up. On the way to work this morning, I learned how difficult it was to tilt the bike upright to get it through a winding Tetris-block-shaped gate into the Science Park. This bike definitely isn't one you'd go cross country in. You'd break your back just carrying it on your shoulder.

Remember how I mentioned burping two blogs ago? I did a quick count, and between arriving at 9:02am and 11:03am, I counted 9 burps. Probably 16+ over the course of the day, and mostly executed by the same guy. He's a winner.

Some mornings, on my way to work, I pass a 1-level building with a bunch of old women just outside of the entrance. And each time I pass them, their slouching backs, their dark skin, and wrinkles remind me of the Worms in Men In Black. I have a strange imagination.

Today ends my first week in Hsinchu and my first week of work. It's been a good week, and everyone at the office has been really friendly. I'm not yet sure what I'll do this weekend, but there's a good chance I'll take my Speedster out for a cruise to familiarize myself with the neighbourhood. I'll put the top down so the wind can blow through my hair. And with my shades on, my right hand on the steering wheel, I'll lean back and wave as attract a continuous line of gasps, applauds, and "oh my god, there he is!"'s. Chick dig guys with bikes.