This week’s gossip column inches have been dominated by intrigue and secret love in the Mando-pop world. Teen idol and self-made acrobat Jolin Tsai (蔡依林) grabbed headlines, not for her new album Butterfly (花蝴蝶), but for being an alleged cheater and copycat.
The story goes something like this: a couple of years ago, Tsai’s old flame Jay Chou (周杰倫) implied that celebrated music impresario Chen Tse-shan (陳澤杉) had knowingly manipulated the charts for his clients including Tsai. Now, the diva is bent on revenge.
When preorders of Butterfly broke the 120,000-mark, that is 30,000 more than those for Chou’s Capricorn (魔杰座) last year, the songstress’ label Warner Music (華納音樂) wasted no time in holding a press conference on Sunday, where an attorney was
present to validate the veracity of the figures.
According to Chou’s record company, JVR Music (杰威爾音樂), Warner Music fiddled the figures. “You can’t fool those in the business,” the company’s spokesperson was quoted as saying.
Perhaps what troubles the Mando-pop queen most is the recent accusation that she copied Japanese pop sensation Ayumi Hamasaki. Local media have commented on what they believe are striking similarities between the two stars’ new looks.
As Stefanie Sun (孫燕姿) readies to open her tour with a concert at Taipei Arena (台北巨蛋) next month, the Singaporean singer’s sweetheart of two years, a hitherto well-kept secret, has conveniently surfaced and garnered media attention.
Dubbed “mustache man” (鬍鬚男) by media, 31-year-old Nadim van der Ros is Dutch, a high-ranking manager at Aviva, and what’s more, a hunk and able athlete who caught the star’s eye at a triathlon competition held by his company.
Sun’s is not the only secret to see the light of day. Chu Ko Liang (豬哥亮), who went into hiding after running up a huge gambling debt more than a decade ago, has reportedly irked his old showbiz chums who have tried to help.
Claiming to have plenty of job offers lined up for Chu, entertainer-turned-lawmaker Yu Tian (余天) said he was frustrated that the fugitive funnyman remains elusive and difficult to reach.
Kao Ling-feng (高凌風) says he has an influential friend in Malaysia who is willing to fund a film tailor-made for Chu. The former comedian, however, has shown little interest.
“Chu wants someone to pay off his debt [reportedly upwards of NT$200 million] all at once. But that’s not possible,” Kao was quoted
Chu should look up to Judy Chiang (江蕙) when it comes to gambling troubles. After her older sister, who managed her assets, gambled away all the money and went on the lam earlier this year, the reigning queen of Taiwanese-language music has quietly started again from scratch by releasing the DVD version of her 2008 concert.
Though her sister lost
all her savings, to the tune of more than NT$100 million, Chiang took the blame herself.
“It is all my fault. I should have paid more attention to my sister,” Chiang told the Liberty Times, the Taipei Times’ sister newspaper.
Returning to Ciliwa (唭哩瓦) a couple of weeks ago, it took me a few minutes to get my bearings. This time, I’d approached by a different route. It bypassed the village’s so-called “new community” (新社) and brought me direct to the “old community” (舊社). Outsiders won’t notice many differences between these two settlements in an inland and ruggedly hilly corner of Tainan. Both are a mix of traditional single-story homes and more recent reinforced concrete structures. In the “newer” part of the village as in the “older,” several houses are empty, and it’s obvious nobody is trying to maintain them. The “old
With no way to make money during the outbreak and a developmentally delayed third-grader to raise alone, the only thing Mr Lin (林) can do is pray for vaccines. “I just hope that people can get vaccinated and life can go back to usual soon,” Lin says during a Line interview. “It’s unfortunate that Taiwan’s awkward international status prevents us from getting vaccines.” A foot masseuse catering to tourists in Taipei, Lin’s income already took a hit when the COVID-19 pandemic hit last year. With the latest outbreak shuttering massage parlors across the nation, he is now out of a
Harboring an unrequited love for someone is one thing; following them, secretly taking pictures of them and visiting them at work every day is stalking. Chasing down and confronting their new boyfriend (even though he is a horrible person) in the name of justice, is stalking. There’s not really an excuse, no matter how well-intentioned one is. Such behavior features heavily in My Missing Valentine (消失的情人節), which is available on Netflix after bagging five trophies during last year’s Golden Horse awards, including best feature and best director. It’s a skillfully edited and philosophical tale with a sweet and endearing protagonist
David Eagleman, 50, is an American neuroscientist, bestselling author and presenter of the BBC series The Brain, as well as co-founder and chief executive officer of Neosensory, which develops devices for sensory substitution. His area of specialty is brain plasticity, and that is the subject of his new book, Livewired, which examines how experience refashions the brain, and shows that it is a much more adaptable organ than previously thought. Andrew Anthony: For the past half-century or more the brain has been spoken of in terms of a computer. What are the biggest flaws with that particular model? David Eagleman: It’s a