bad metaphor

Today, I glanced at my Twitter feed (yes I’m a twat these days) and saw a link to this little news item about three guys being sentenced for a kidnapping last month. I hadn’t heard about the kidnapping, but was a little surprised to see this incident had taken place a block and a half from where I live. (Other Lawrencians: is our town getting more violent these days or is the paper just getting more histrionic?) The kidnappers in question received a very light sentence as they lacked a criminal history. Ah, but that did not necessarily mean that they had no Internet history! Nerd that I am, my first instinct was to google the names of the convicted perpetrators.

No facebook or myspace, but this story from last year, another item from the Journal-World, came up:

On a serendipitous alternate route Monday morning, two Lawrence men happened upon a house fire where they helped lend a hand and gave their coats to the resident.

The men, Jack Proctor and Eli Woodman, happened to drive by a burning house, stopped and rescued someone trapped in the house. Proctor lent the man his coat, since it was a cold day and the fire victim was not properly clothed for the February chill. The fire victim, his family and the nurses at the hospital heralded the two as heroes.

A little over a year after the fire, the Good Samaritans would be convicted of detaining another man in his home at gunpoint, beating and robbing him.

Yowza. I guess a lot can happen in a year! One day you stumble upon a burning house and are the toast of the town, the next day things go so terribly that you wind up in prison for violent armed robbery. It is good to be reminded once in awhile just how terribly and madly complicated human beings can be.

“Where’s mah dinner?!”

Since I’ve lived in Lawrence, anyone who knows me is well aware of my constant bitching and moaning about the lack of decent Asian cuisine here. I save most of my ire for The Orient, because of its claim to serve “Vietnamese” food, but that extends to Chinese food as well. This is a college town, after all, so understandably there are several cheap buffet outlets to choose from. There’s not much to complain about for those who are satisfied – even to the point of actually craving – the mucous, glue-like sugary substance that coats interchangeable faux-Chinese dishes like “chop suey” (more like “slop gooey”) or “General Tso’s chicken” (he must be to intestinal tracts what Sherman was to Georgia). Rarely have I ever eaten at a cheap Chinese buffet without paying the price, later, in the toilet.

When I heard that Panda Garden added a Chinese menu, I was suddenly hopeful despite my skeptic nature. Watching episode after episode of “No Reservations” has made me crave crispy pork so obsessively that it has moved me to actually plan a trip to Asia this summer, just so I can feel that delicately explosive crunch in my mouth (*cough* thatswhatshesaid *cough). E owed me a lunch, so we went there today to scope it out. While driving there E expressed anxieties about requesting the Chinese menu, for some reason. “What do I say? I’d like the real Chinese menu, not the fake one. Won’t they be offended?” Used to this, I was all “pssh, whatever,” but that did little to convince him. Until we walked in and the hostess looked at me and barked: “Chinese menu?” Yes, please! Racial profiling can actually come in handy sometimes.

I spied the line for crispy pork on the “secret” menu and didn’t need to look any further, or so I thought. By now, even though reason told me it would be nothing like the slow-turning, perpetually basted in coconut milk for 24 hours over a steady fire, crispy pork featured in the “Indonesia” episode of No Reservations – or even the less sublime but still absolutely tasty looking samples I’ve had in good Chinese restaurants – I didn’t care if it wasn’t likely to be optimal. I just wanted it. Eli was feeling adventurous enough to order from the Chinese menu, but hedged his bets and ordered a bland sounding vegetarian dish of potatoes. The waiter took our orders and left. A few minutes passed, in which I dreamed blissfully of sinking my teeth into that blazoned rotating boar, making the “crispy pork skin” sound effect they use on NR, which sounds like someone bashing in a car window…

The owner of the restaurant, a stout goodly Chinese matriarch, interrupted my reverie with a tumble of Chinese words. “Sorry, I’m not Chinese,” I admitted bashfully. “Oh, you not? You look Chinese. Well – don’t order this, this crispy pork, it’s not that good, I don’t think you like it.” Oh? “Yeah, not so good. Better get this instead.” She pointed a long nailed finger at the Kung Pao chicken, probably the item on the menu that looked least appealing to me at that point due to lack of crunch factor.

“What about the pork belly?” “Oh, that….okay, but too fatty. This one, this chicken much better.” Now I know full well not to argue when the owner / chef of an establishment so vehemently recommends or dissuades from a particular dish, so I relented, with a lingering bit of sadness. Eli looked appalled. But she was probably right. Nothing would put me in a fouler mood than, after dreaming of my Platonic ideal crisped pork skin, having to chew on a soggy limp facsimile (thatswhatshesaid, reprise).

And she was right! Instead of stringy poultry smothered in a thick brown syrup, as I feared from the name “Kung Pao chicken,” it was a very simple, yet tasty dish of nicely cooked chicken in a light garlicky, gingery sauce. As the two of us chowed down, the matriarch came back and informed us that we would not be getting the potato dish Eli ordered – “because it not that good either, too boring” – but instead a fish entree, which she assured us was “good for brains.” I think this was a catfish cooked in a thick sauce with some mushrooms? It was fine, and probably a lot better than the potato dish would have been, but I preferred the Kung Pao.

Our waiter came back to ask if we were satisfied with our meal, “even though you didn’t get a single thing you’d ordered?” Yes, and I actually would probably be displeased otherwise. If a chef has obvious passion for a certain dish, I think it’s more likely to be better than something slopped on a plate because there was demand for it. Though, this does lead me to ask: why serve something you don’t think is very good? Maybe the answer is that though it might be considered good enough for regular ol’ Americans, who have been deprived of knowing the joys of a properly crisped skin (and who would probably just peel it off anyways, the blasphemy) – we Asians have glimpsed that heaven, and would judge her pale offerings harshly.

If you try it out, and you happen to be Asian, save yourself the trouble of ordering and possibly arguing with the matriarch. Just go ahead and get the Kung Pao chicken! Your tastebuds will thank you. If you are not Asian, umm…just disregard this post. The buffet is great, I’m sure!

Edit: Bonus fortune cookie action :

I love it when fortune cookies are ballsy enough to be specific.

Every now and then, I’ll have a nameless, unfamiliar student walk into the office and just point blank ask for a reference. From me, from my coworkers, from basically anyone who would be willing to write one. This happens with greater frequency during early spring, when applications for just about everything are due. Some professors will flat out tell these students, “I don’t think it would be a good idea to use me as a reference.” (Amazingly, some hapless, desperate individuals will persist after receiving this dire advice.) Others will accept, but then write letters that make it painfully clear that they probably wouldn’t recognize the student if they saw him on the street: “Johnny attended my class almost every other day, and, um, looking at my grade roster, he appears to have performed adequate work. So…sure, why not, just give him the thousand dollar scholarship!” I’m not sure what the students think the poor referrer can write about them, or if they have even thought about the purpose of a reference.

My guess is probably not, because by the time they get around to starting on their application, maybe a day or two hours before the deadline, it is too late. Unreferenced, they are left to drift into the rejection pile, until the next cycle of application deadlines. If you happen to be one of these kids, here’s my advice to you:

1. Seek a reference from someone you know. Preferably, someone who knows you back! Nothing is more annoying and difficult than having to make up positive shit to say about a complete stranger. Natural human tendency in this situation is to be snarky and mean-spirited, and for obvious reasons you do not want to be the target of a cranky sleep-deprived professor’s ire.

2. Be as helpful to your references as possible. Supply the reference with your resume / CV, maybe a (short) personal essay, mention any awards or honors you’ve gotten – give them material to work with!

3. About that material – it’s never too early (or too late) to start being involved in activities that aren’t “Guitar Hero”; try and sign up for a bit of community service or student group involvement. It doesn’t have to be much, just an hour on an occasional weekend or so. With a minimum amount of effort you can do things that will get you recognized, or at the very least make your name appear on Google Search (and not as a frightening / disgusting act defined on urbandictionary.com, even!) You’re going to class most of the time anyways, probably, so just speak up more. You don’t have to be “that guy” who won’t shut his trap about everything – you know who I’m talking about – but try to contribute to class discussions in such a way that the professor will connect your name to your face. Hopefully for your brilliance, and not for your unparalleled stupidity.

4. Stop reading blogs and go work on your applications / homework / mowing the lawn right now, procrastinator!

For some perverse unreason, I am perfectly content to invest the time it takes to knit and stitch together an octopus, or a knitted creature – yet when it comes to photographing these things and posting them to sell on Etsy, it can take me months. Maybe it’s an artist’s reluctance to part with her creation:

This prissy little thing has been sitting on top of our television since last fall, or – gulp – maybe even last summer.

Or maybe it’s just that I have needed to go to the hardware store and get a proper bulb for the lightbox that my boyfriend made for octopus photography purposes, in a rare fit of craftiness one day. Or even just plunk these puppies outside in natural, non-yellowy lighting. Apparently that is more difficult for me than making an octopus or a puff kitty. Ah well, we all have talents and traits, and timeliness is not one of mine.

A blobby thing that could be a bunny or a dog, depending upon which way you want to position the ears. I have deemed it a bunny for taxonomy purposes.

The possibility of another continental jaunt coming up soon has finally moved me to post these critters. And since they have been sitting in inventory for awhile (through no fault of their own, of course), I am selling these for a low low price of $6.50! All are 100% hand made and stitched by yours truly, out of yarn, felt, thread and polyfill. Discriminating buyers will note the lack of “lead” or “salmonella” on that ingredients list. If you need a baby shower gift, a birthday present for a wee tot, a cat toy, a dashboard decoration for a car, something to dangle from the handlebars of your bicycle – etc. – check out these creatures and more at bad metaphor knits!