On Saturday night Savage Kitten and I retired shortly after dinner. We were both wide awake. Now, a normal person would probably be single-mindedly overjoyed to have an unclothed silky-skinned Cantonese-American female lying next to him...... young, fresh, inviting......
I, however, made the mistake of committing small talk. One of the things I mentioned was the blood-relation several generations ago who threw pork chops at his wife.
This novel information fascinated her. She promptly asked me for details that I did not have (even if I knew the details, I wasn't really interested in divulging them at that time, but no matter).
Were they cooked pork chops? Raw? What kind of chops, and what kind of pig? How large, and how fresh? Juicy? Well-marbled at least?
These seemed to be VERY IMPORTANT considerations to her.
Cantonese-American girls are passionate about food, by the way. Not the kind of passion I was looking for, but that was my mistake.
She wondered whether there was a message on, or in, the chops. Perhaps written on them, in protein-based ink, an endearing message like "I love you", "do me!", or "sauce". This would be starkly visible after cooking. And how did he throw them? Like a Frisbee? An underhand toss? A smart whip of the arm? A casually flick of the wrist?
"Perhaps it was his way of showing affection. No? Maybe a family tradition, or a regional custom?"
Well, no, I don't think it was a family tradition. Really, the person who could've answered all those questions would have been my late brother......
"What, you mean that Tobias was the only one who knew these crucial details? What kind of family doesn't ask about the customs of their own ancestors?!? There are traditions involved, for heaven's sakes!!!"
...
"Really, you should try to find out more about the pork chop thrower. The idea that he was a butcher with an excess of meat just doesn't cut it! What did his wife do in response?"
The information that the wife of porkchopman was a recluse who kept the shutters closed and the gaslight on all day drew a sneering speculation that pork chops hardly require darkness, and perhaps the woman went around the house gleefully reveling in lardy surfaces.
Savage Kitten made no bones about her opinion that there was a flaw in my character for not wanting to talk about all this at great length.
Early this morning she awoke me with a brilliant idea for a new family tradition. Probably to replace the lost pork chop flinging custom.
THE CHRISTMAS LOBSTER
As she explained it, the Christmas Lobster scuttles around on December 24th to reward good little children with his Generous Claw of Plenty, showering them with sweets and crustaceans. Obviously this is much much better than some fat old pervert in a red bekeshe visiting kinderlech in secret during the night - that merely makes them buy into the patriarchal value system, frightens the very young, and does nothing for people who are not wasps.
The Christmas Lobster, with his Generous Claw of Plenty, is perfect for Cantonese-Americans. Apparently he favours little Cantonese-American girls especially. He is non-threatening.
He also has the Dreadful Claw of Punishment. With which he snips off the heads of bad children.
"So there is a scary side to this after all?"
I guess I should've expected the answer I got to that question.
"Oh no, because all Cantonese little girls are sweet and good, and richly deserving of candies and seafood, and should get EVERYTHING they wish for. The only ones who have anything to fear are little boys. Especially nasty little white boys."
Frankly, I am appalled at the racism. I would've said something, but in the back of my head was the knowledge that if I objected in any way at all, she would use the special relationship that good Cantonese girls have with the Christmas Lobster against me.
There's this thing called the Dreadful Claw of Punishment..........
Santa Claus ain't got nuttin' on this.
Even his reindeer are a bunch of wimps.
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24 comments:
I am definitely leary of the Christmas Lobster, but i do love a good pork chop, preferably not flung at me however.
Nasty!
You know, I am probably going to regret saying this, but I am going to have to do something rash and ask you for more information: not about Savage Kitten, or specifically about the pork chops, but about your relative.
He "threw pork chops at his wife", you say. Was this a one time incident, was it some abstruse hinterland custom, was it part of a carnival act? Was it in public, or in the kitchen, or was it some deviant form of foreplay restricted to the bedroom and/or the stables? Were the pork chops thrown in anger, or was it his somewhat incoherent way of expressing affection? Was he dextrous or sinister? You can't just mention in passing that your ancestor "threw pork chops at his wife" and expect us not to clamor for details.
Also, kvetcher: "nasty" in regard to the pork chops, or the Christmas Lobster, or the whole degraded gestalt?
No - Nasty Santa (click on the link)
We claim victory! We have silenced the running dog Grant Patel!
We wish to serve notice that we no longer associate ourselves with the compromised values espoused by the group of vulgarians (rats) who refer to themselves as Rodents of the World Unite, You have Nothing to Lose but Your Cheese! Hence forward, we will be pursuing Rodent Empowerment under the banner:
Those Dam Beavers.
You will note the increasingly Marxian diction employed by Rodents of the World Unite, You have Nothing to Lose but Your Chains!; hence our considered opinion to sever ties with said organization.
Hah! And forsooth!
The entitity identifying itself as "Rodents of the World Unite, You have Nothing to Lose but Your Chains!" is all bark and no bite! We have returned from far-away, and are ready to engage in dialectic! You will bite the big cheese, measely little furball!
Woof!
---Grant Patel
We like beavers.
---Grant the Furrier
Beavers are softness self.
Or who in Moscow towards the Czar,
With the demurest of paw-falls,
Over the Kremlin's pavement, white,
With serpentine and syenite,
Steps with five other beaver pals,
That simultaneously take snuff,
That each might have pretext enough,
To kerchief-wise unfold his sash,
Which, beaver-like, is yet the stuff,
To hold fast where a rabid rat snaps,
And leave the grand white neck no gash!
Beavers - the world's most natural-born Czar scraggers.
---Grant Poetaster
Dammit, Grant, get off the line! You're clogging the artery!
I was going to say that Grant seems to have made a comeback. Except that he demonstrated it while I was trying to formulate a witty comment, and knockend my train out of the station.
Tooting Parsee! Hmmph!
What "we"? Do you got a mouse in your pocket?
No wallah, I've got a beaver in my hole!
---Grant Patel
Wait....., that didn't sound right.
Beaverrs, debtal dams, poles, and big birch sticks.
I've got a beaver, but aI refuse to divulge where the damn thing is. There!
---Grant Patel
In fact, I insist I've got a beaver. Further particulars are not any of your damm business. Me and my beaver are my private matters.
---Grant Patel
Me and my beavers. It's a plural furry.
---Grant Pettingbeavers
This place is a frigging zoo. Too much wild life.
---Grant Patootle
And you sir have contributed your own rambuctious wild life to the zoo.
Are you a mouse?
Also: did he throw any other cuts of meat at his wife?
Everybody's got something to hide, except for Grant Patel and his beaver.
I like the idea of the christmas lobster. It's sweet. And it's good that it chops off heads.
A lobster with a big green ribbon!
Tell me more about this new tradition. It sounds perfect for my sister's odious brats.
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