Check carefully the amount of oil you pour into the wok before stir-frying.
If you neglect to do this, at least do not heat the oil to smoking before stir-frying.
And if you neglect even to do this, please, please, do not carelessly toss in wedges of onion at close range.
It is, at least, interesting to take one's hot shower bath with one arm perpetually in the air: like the Statue of Liberty, or a tiresome schoolgirl who always has the answer to someone else's sum.
29 September 2006
27 September 2006
The First Tradition
I suppose every married couple must have a First Tradition. You know, the ones that spring up in the midst of transition, while you are unpacking boxes, trying to live on apple juice, bagels, and take-out Chinese food, and finding that each of you has a slightly different method for doing everything.
Suddenly, there appears a thing that you do exactly the same way, because you've never done it apart. That's the First Tradition.
Four days after we moved into our apartment, we realised we had an important anniversary to celebrate. August 4, 2004, was the day of that momentous conversation in the park (a week before I left for Cameroon) when Jim first told me he loved me.
Alas, we had not even a table nor any chairs in our dining room on August 4, 2006. So we decided to have a picnic, in honour of our memorable picnic. On the carpet. With an old blanket. And two beautiful Chinese place settings given to us as a wedding present.
Of course, if you use Chinese place settings, you have to cook Chinese food. So we pulled out a wonderful cookbook for the first time, and a wok (both wedding presents also) and tried the recipe for Lo Mein.
The Lo Mein has very quickly become a favourite, along with several other Oriental dishes (and some obligatory jokes about Orientalism, in deference to Jim's time at Fullerton). Although a table and (two to five) chairs now grace our dining room in place of the old blanket, we still use the delicate Chinese dishes and chopsticks every Saturday night. And thus a First Tradition has come about.
Vive la Tradition!
Suddenly, there appears a thing that you do exactly the same way, because you've never done it apart. That's the First Tradition.
Four days after we moved into our apartment, we realised we had an important anniversary to celebrate. August 4, 2004, was the day of that momentous conversation in the park (a week before I left for Cameroon) when Jim first told me he loved me.
Alas, we had not even a table nor any chairs in our dining room on August 4, 2006. So we decided to have a picnic, in honour of our memorable picnic. On the carpet. With an old blanket. And two beautiful Chinese place settings given to us as a wedding present.
Of course, if you use Chinese place settings, you have to cook Chinese food. So we pulled out a wonderful cookbook for the first time, and a wok (both wedding presents also) and tried the recipe for Lo Mein.
The Lo Mein has very quickly become a favourite, along with several other Oriental dishes (and some obligatory jokes about Orientalism, in deference to Jim's time at Fullerton). Although a table and (two to five) chairs now grace our dining room in place of the old blanket, we still use the delicate Chinese dishes and chopsticks every Saturday night. And thus a First Tradition has come about.
Vive la Tradition!
22 September 2006
Feeling garrulous
There's a conversation that happens almost invariably when we meet people here. It goes something like this.
"So, yeah, we just moved to this area about a month ago."
"Oh? Where did you move from?"
"Uh... well..."
It's meant to be small talk, but you see, it's really a difficult question. "We" didn't move from anywhere. The answer usually goes something like this:
"Well, I moved from La Mirada, only I'm from Connecticut originally, and my wife's family is in Fresno, but she's been in Africa for the last two years..."
Then we have to explain that we are newlyweds, because people start looking at us rather strangely for living in two different places.
By this time, people always look a bit bewildered, not of course having expected anything other than a one- or two-word answer (to which they could respond with something conventional like "Oh, that's a beautiful area, I love the mountains!"). It feels a bit like responding to "how are you?" with a recital of the events of the day, when all that was required was "fine."
Except we have not been furnished with an answer that is both short and true.
Maybe, given the Victorian novels we've been reading lately, we could just look mysterious and whisper, "Oh, that's a long story, a very long story indeed..."
"So, yeah, we just moved to this area about a month ago."
"Oh? Where did you move from?"
"Uh... well..."
It's meant to be small talk, but you see, it's really a difficult question. "We" didn't move from anywhere. The answer usually goes something like this:
"Well, I moved from La Mirada, only I'm from Connecticut originally, and my wife's family is in Fresno, but she's been in Africa for the last two years..."
Then we have to explain that we are newlyweds, because people start looking at us rather strangely for living in two different places.
By this time, people always look a bit bewildered, not of course having expected anything other than a one- or two-word answer (to which they could respond with something conventional like "Oh, that's a beautiful area, I love the mountains!"). It feels a bit like responding to "how are you?" with a recital of the events of the day, when all that was required was "fine."
Except we have not been furnished with an answer that is both short and true.
Maybe, given the Victorian novels we've been reading lately, we could just look mysterious and whisper, "Oh, that's a long story, a very long story indeed..."
20 September 2006
Parsimony redeemed by insight
Jim reached for a napkin, to catch his cookie crumbs before they had a chance to pollute the carpet.
"Oh!" I said quickly, "here, use a plate; we don't have to use up a napkin for that."
He looked at me quizzically. "You really don't like using napkins, do you?"
Before I had time to frame a weak excuse, trying to cast my stinginess as thrift, light dawned on his face. Dawned, I might add, before I had any clue to the solution of the riddle.
"You're still operating in Cameroon mode!"
He was right, of course. Napkins in Cameroon (and by that I mean paper serviettes, not the other kind you might encounter in a former British colony) are hard to find, and when you do find them, expensive. They are worthy of only the most festive occasions: birthdays, parties, holidays.
Hence, choosing to wash a plate rather than throw away a napkin.
Someone really needs to remind my subconscious that I can buy paper goods-- of nearly any kind-- at a myriad of stores just minutes away from our apartment... for not much more than half a cent each.
"Oh!" I said quickly, "here, use a plate; we don't have to use up a napkin for that."
He looked at me quizzically. "You really don't like using napkins, do you?"
Before I had time to frame a weak excuse, trying to cast my stinginess as thrift, light dawned on his face. Dawned, I might add, before I had any clue to the solution of the riddle.
"You're still operating in Cameroon mode!"
He was right, of course. Napkins in Cameroon (and by that I mean paper serviettes, not the other kind you might encounter in a former British colony) are hard to find, and when you do find them, expensive. They are worthy of only the most festive occasions: birthdays, parties, holidays.
Hence, choosing to wash a plate rather than throw away a napkin.
Someone really needs to remind my subconscious that I can buy paper goods-- of nearly any kind-- at a myriad of stores just minutes away from our apartment... for not much more than half a cent each.
19 September 2006
We are tolerant! We are culturally aware! We are...
...duped by clever marketing.
With the value our culture currently places on both authenticity and multiculturalism, it's somewhat surprising to find so much inauthenticity in the very merchandise that is supposed to have a cultural flavour. This is trendiness at its best: mass-produced stuff that is neither domestic nor foreign... produced, not because it is actually laudable in itself, but because it gives the elitist impression of being "other."
Having lived overseas, I occasionally find this phenomenon so hilarious as to be overwhelming.
Take the broom that we found by accident the other day, while window-shopping. Of course, it wasn't labelled "broom." But it was a sort of flimsy version of the brooms that schoolchildren make and sell in Big Bekondo to earn pocket-money; a bundle of palm fronds tied at one end with a particularly pliable frond, and quite useful for sweeping dirt floors.
This one, however, was plastic, or some synthetic substance. It was bright green. It was labelled "standing grass bundle." I don't think it would have swept even a linoleum floor. And it was priced accordingly.
Ah yes. We have taken the "other" and-- not made it ours-- but deprived it of any meaning besides "other." To me, this smacks vaguely of a new and more insidious kind of paternalism... Kipling, at least, had the decency to admit the common humanity of what he patronised.
With the value our culture currently places on both authenticity and multiculturalism, it's somewhat surprising to find so much inauthenticity in the very merchandise that is supposed to have a cultural flavour. This is trendiness at its best: mass-produced stuff that is neither domestic nor foreign... produced, not because it is actually laudable in itself, but because it gives the elitist impression of being "other."
Having lived overseas, I occasionally find this phenomenon so hilarious as to be overwhelming.
Take the broom that we found by accident the other day, while window-shopping. Of course, it wasn't labelled "broom." But it was a sort of flimsy version of the brooms that schoolchildren make and sell in Big Bekondo to earn pocket-money; a bundle of palm fronds tied at one end with a particularly pliable frond, and quite useful for sweeping dirt floors.
This one, however, was plastic, or some synthetic substance. It was bright green. It was labelled "standing grass bundle." I don't think it would have swept even a linoleum floor. And it was priced accordingly.
Ah yes. We have taken the "other" and-- not made it ours-- but deprived it of any meaning besides "other." To me, this smacks vaguely of a new and more insidious kind of paternalism... Kipling, at least, had the decency to admit the common humanity of what he patronised.
17 September 2006
16 September 2006
It happened in Bakersfield
(another one from the archives)
Bakersfield has a longstanding aversion to me.
I don't know why. I don't know what aura I emit that happens to annoy this particular municipality. I just know that an absurdly large percentage of my trips through Bakersfield involve broken shifting mechanisms, miscommunications, lost luggage, missed directions, cancelled flights, or smoking, malodorous steering wheels.
Which is why I was skeptical at best when it seemed that we needed to apply for our marriage licence in Bakersfield.
But, there it was. Due to travel schedules, county clerk hours, and the fact that my fiance and I would not be in the same place again until the day before the wedding, we had to stop in Bakersfield that day and try.
Really, the whole process was rather anticlimactically tame. Aside from running into several dead ends, one-way streets, and unprotected lefts in our attempts to get back to the freeway, we didn't even get lost. We applied for a marriage licence, received it, and went on our way rejoicing. We even stopped at the local Bakersfield Starbucks to celebrate.
And thus it is that, in expiation for its many attempts to thwart my plans, delay my progress, and otherwise annoy me... Bakersfield is now the place of residence for a document which may plausibly claim importance over any other document I have ever signed.
Truce?
Bakersfield has a longstanding aversion to me.
I don't know why. I don't know what aura I emit that happens to annoy this particular municipality. I just know that an absurdly large percentage of my trips through Bakersfield involve broken shifting mechanisms, miscommunications, lost luggage, missed directions, cancelled flights, or smoking, malodorous steering wheels.
Which is why I was skeptical at best when it seemed that we needed to apply for our marriage licence in Bakersfield.
But, there it was. Due to travel schedules, county clerk hours, and the fact that my fiance and I would not be in the same place again until the day before the wedding, we had to stop in Bakersfield that day and try.
Really, the whole process was rather anticlimactically tame. Aside from running into several dead ends, one-way streets, and unprotected lefts in our attempts to get back to the freeway, we didn't even get lost. We applied for a marriage licence, received it, and went on our way rejoicing. We even stopped at the local Bakersfield Starbucks to celebrate.
And thus it is that, in expiation for its many attempts to thwart my plans, delay my progress, and otherwise annoy me... Bakersfield is now the place of residence for a document which may plausibly claim importance over any other document I have ever signed.
Truce?
14 September 2006
From the archives
I wrote this before the wedding. For some reason, I didn't post it then. But now that I am out of reach (five hours out of reach, to be precise), I might as well. For the edification of the masses. Or the jollification of the brothers. I forget which.
Having TWO brothers around is fascinating. With one, you get monologue. Maybe even harangue. But two gives you dialogue. Consider:
David: "I think women understand men better than men understand women."
Nat: "Yeah, all you need to do for a guy is give him food and a hammer, and he's happy."
David: "But if you give a woman food and a hammer, she hits you with the hammer."
It's very enlightening, I tell you.
Having TWO brothers around is fascinating. With one, you get monologue. Maybe even harangue. But two gives you dialogue. Consider:
David: "I think women understand men better than men understand women."
Nat: "Yeah, all you need to do for a guy is give him food and a hammer, and he's happy."
David: "But if you give a woman food and a hammer, she hits you with the hammer."
It's very enlightening, I tell you.
12 September 2006
The Silencing of the Son of Timaeus
Did you never wonder, in the dark hours of the night?
--Or never see
The spectre of what may or may not be
And cower from the sight?
To what avail are protestations of incensed shock?
Is doubt a sin,
The which if we are prisoned deep and in,
You lose the key and lock?
Or are you tainted by mere auditing of such,
So that if you
Do not repudiate it through and through
You suffer from its touch?
Panic seems to give the lie to truth. Let truth be bold,
A Knight who takes
All comers, be they gentlemen or rakes
Or blind belief turned cold.
--Or never see
The spectre of what may or may not be
And cower from the sight?
To what avail are protestations of incensed shock?
Is doubt a sin,
The which if we are prisoned deep and in,
You lose the key and lock?
Or are you tainted by mere auditing of such,
So that if you
Do not repudiate it through and through
You suffer from its touch?
Panic seems to give the lie to truth. Let truth be bold,
A Knight who takes
All comers, be they gentlemen or rakes
Or blind belief turned cold.
09 September 2006
An education
One learns many new things during the first month of marriage. As Julie Andrews notes pensively, "Gone are the old ideas of life, the old ideas grow dim..."
Old ideas, for instance, that had no place for
role-playing games,
anime,
comic books,
or
video games...
The advent of a husband (at least a self-identified nerdy one, and I wouldn't have any other kind) seems to require an expanding worldview in these areas.
Much to the consternation of certain of my friends, my working vocabulary now includes the following:
plus-six dragon-slaying sword of doom
Miyazaki
Eight-Bit Theatre
Ogdru Jahad
Trigun
D-10
Grand Theft Auto
skree!
Hellboy
GM
giant worm gollum
I suppose the only way to improve on this education would be through actual experience of the material at hand. Nevertheless, for now I am quite content with the vicarious method. Since my husband happens to be particularly verbal, this is rather effortless...
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