Revoking the Charter

My internet connection has been hit-or-miss today. I'm about ready to switch to an ISDN or smoke signals, since the cable service is so unreliable and slow. That and Charter unceremoniously declined to interview me for the position of cable guy. I can take my business someplace else, as long as g-diddy still gets his fix.

It was a very productive day by my standards. I did like four loads of laundry, vacuumed another third of my floors, folded the last three weeks' worth of clean laundry, called all my recruiters and informed them of my incentive program, got my head shrunk, and hit Outback to celebrate my sister's cotton transplanniversary.

Anyway, since I don't have anything exciting to report aside from beating all the songs on Monkey level with a gold DK award (I know you're all proud), I'm gonna paste something else that I wrote for the Tech back in the good ole days before they graduated me.

No, I don’t understand the words that are coming out of your mouth.

Depressed at having missed out on celebrating the coming of 2003 with the Western world, I decided I could redeem myself by ringing in the year of the goat. I attended this year’s Spring Festival thinking at worst I’d lose $3 and a couple of hours, but was pleasantly surprised more than once at the vivacity, creativity, and pride that went in to making the evening a memorable one for all in attendance.

I’ve attended my share of Caltech parties, including events put together by just about every student organization on campus, so I speak with some degree of authority when I say that the Caltech C outdid themselves with this one. Never in my career of twenty Decompressions has the Winnett lounge been so packed, nor so well decorated. Everywhere I looked were shiny orb-looking-deals, huge non-ASCII characters, goats and sheep and a plethora of all things Asiatic. The food was abundant and delicious, although I lack the words (literally) to describe exactly what I was eating. Having arrived early, I had the pleasure of watching a hundred people stand in line as I ate, which made savoring the cuisine even more enjoyable.

The festivities were hosted by emcees Xin’ an (Joane) Xiu and Gang Duan. First year grad student Xiu was dressed in an exquisite red and gold satin dress, decorated with Chinese lettering in what I assume to be a traditional fashion. If it isn’t traditional, it needs to be, starting now. Duan was probably wearing clothes too, but because he was standing next to her your humble reporter failed to notice.

The Southern Chinese Youth Association performed classical tunes in a most professional and euphonic fashion, including a spectacular feature with demonstrations of various traditional (or maybe they were cutting edge—Chinese, in any event) wind instruments. I’ve known scores of wind players, but I can’t say that I’ve ever witnessed anyone who could play half a dozen instruments in a row without compromising musicianship. Actually, it’s not correct to say he played them all in a row, because this soloist (whose name I unfortunately neglected to find out) managed to play two of them at once. In tune. And in harmony. The instruments resembled a much finer version of the plastic recorders children play in school, which are not know for their intonation. This man was wailing.

Opening and closing addresses were given by the head of the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles. I had meant to learn Mandarin on Saturday morning, but I overslept, so I missed out on understanding the finer points of what I’m sure was a delightful speech. Most non-Mandarin speakers would’ve been confused at hearing it full speed without subtitles, but once you’ve survived an ACM 95c lecture, you can make sense out of anything.

Party games were a lively diversion, including several rounds of Charades. The clues and answers were transliterated for the rest of us, but for all practical purposes the game was rigged in favor of those who actually knew how to read all the little pictures. The most popular category seemed to be “idiom,” which generally meant I was hosed.

Later, however, I managed to redeem myself. I used my mad linguistics skills, knowledge of song lyrics, and utter imperviousness to embarrassment to win two door prizes in a later contest involving songs with the word “goat.” You had to be there.

An unexpected highlight came from Eli Jorne, a grad student in applied physics who at first glance doesn’t appear Chinese at all, who gave a passionate rendition of a Chinese (I think) song entitled “Girl, Please Look this Way.” His performance was complimented by at least one listener, who noted his astute proficiency in the finer points of Mandarin. I’m jealous, not because he could make the crowd laugh uproariously, but because he knew what they were laughing at. That and he’s a mighty fine singer to boot.

In addition, I got to hear the finest zither performance I’ve ever encontered, saw other students in musical acts, skits with goats and sheep, and interpretive Tai Chi dancing.

All in all, I’d say the Chinese C has raised the bar for heritage. I know culture isn’t a competitive sport, but I may just be persuaded away from KSA, OASIS, or CLASES in favor of these goat-loving people with the Karaoke machine and all the other traditional Chinese cultural gadgets.