Grandmother

I’m sitting in a cafe, thinking about why I don’t feel worse. Ten minutes ago, during the World Cup 2010 match of Korea versus Uruguay, my mother called to tell me she’s on her way to Taiwan. “There is no hope for grandmother” is what she mumbled in Taiwanese.
My grandmother took care of me when I was very young. I have some spotted memories of that time, but since the age of 8 when my family immigrated to the US, I’ve only seen her a handful of times. What I remember about my grandmother always involved food in some way. When I lived with my grandparents in Tainan, she would often take me to the market on her black bicycle. We would load up with groceries, and I would hold on to her tightly.
I also remember every morning begging her for a couple of dollars ( at $30NT to $1USD, that was probably about 1 nickel ) for breakfast at the street vendor. I loved the steamed rice cups with peanut powder and cilantro. They also included a delicious clear soup.
My grandmother spent hours everyday cooking. My grandfather and my uncles would eat both lunch and dinner at home, and everyday the meals where freshly cooked. We kept chickens in the yard, which was my job to feed them. When we have company, I would watch her grab a chicken, slice its neck and drip the blood in a cup. She would make a sort of rice cake with the blood and butcher the chicken for stew.
Back in those days we had a wood burning boiler. Grandmother would split some wood in the yard and light the boiler with some old newspaper. When the water was hot, she would bathe me using a ladle.
I don’t have any memories of doing fun things with my grandmother. She was a homemaker, 24/7. All of my memories are of her taking care of her family. She liked to complain but she also liked to laugh.
I hope I will remember her laughter for a long time.

Today I thank my grandmother

Dr. Phil?

I’ve been a big fan of Michael Cera since Superbad. I just watched Paper Heart on Netflix, and there is a scene with this kid. Who is this kid? Is he related to Dr. Phil?

Tell me a joke Chuck

Anthony sent me a message today, “Tell me a joke Chuck”. I drew a blank. I used to know lots of jokes. I’ve memorized every punch line. It started when I read a book of jokes collected by a NYC taxi driver. There are all sorts of jokes, from childish, to racist to dirty. Here is one told to me by Andrew C in 7th grade:

A bear and rabbit were squatting next to each other in the woods. The bear asked the rabbit, “Does shit stick to your fur?” The rabbit answered “No.” So the bear pick up the rabbit and….

At this point in the joke, Andrew pretended to wipe his ass with an invisible bunny. Andrew was great at telling these particular types of jokes. He had another favorite about a dead cat but I wont go into details. You’ll have to ask me or Andrew in person.

I love telling stories, unfortunately mine just aren’t funny. I think I’m a funny person and I can usually make my friends laugh. For some strange reason, sitting alone at my computer, I cannot write anything humorous.

Adam Wade, now that’s a funny guy. He won Moth Story Slam 15 times! So enjoy this story by Adam, and I’ll try to think of a funny story.

Today I thank: Anthony, Alita, Adam Wade, Dad, LB, Andrew