When the white boys start to sing Sweet Caroline at the Chinese karaoke joint, it's time to go home. Hipster white dudes, heck, any white persons, should not do karaoke. It's more than just a lapse of judgment and good taste, it's bad karma. I really hope they develop a purulent discharge near their vocal cords now.
Johnny's idiot younger brother shouldn't sing either.
He's not of my ethnicity, but he's horrible.
The Bookseller and I skedaddled when Sweet Caroline came on. We've heard it before. It's the default Caucasian drunken karaoke song.
General rule here: If you can't sing, whiskey will not make it better, not for you, nor for your victims.
I do not consume alcohol, so I'm doubly hosed.
Y'all smell bad and eat too damn' much.
Your mom dresses you funny.
Tortuous asses.
Speaking of which, on my way down to Chinatown earlier for lunch, three people asked me if I wanted to sit down. That's the problem when the other passengers look up at the tidy little beard and see so much white there. Bad angle. My chin looks old. I am thin. Not frail. That, and like a typical doddering fossil, I am wearing clothes that keep me warm.
I am a tropical man. Of Mediterranean inclinations.
[If I sit, that puts me on eye-level with your breasts. I do not need that.]
Meat ball congee (肉丸粥 'yiuk yuen juk') and a fried bread stick (油條 'yau tiu'). Cup of tea. A quiet clean environment. During the slowness between lunch and dinner the wait staff were refilling the hot sauce jars and chatting, a few folks came in for take-out or pastries (豆沙菠蘿包).
[That was a delicious bowl of rice porridge. Those pork meatballs were scrumptious and succulent. And the oil strip was far better than they've done before. New technique?]
And to the nice taxi driver much later, who drove me home from the karaoke bar, please don't help me get out; those pained grunts backing my butt into the vehicle were just cause the seat was low. And the stick is not for help with walking, but a style accent which is good for clobbering people.
I am a practical person. It keeps late night vagrants away.
I do not have a dollar. There are no cigarettes.
Nor do I want to buy a fake Rolex.
I will not "check it out".
Beatings!
Altogether, four people asked me yesterday if I wished to sit. I am thinking of subtly "colourizing" my beard, and some of the temple wisps, because in fact I am still quite young, and will offer my seat to ladies on the bus.
So disguise is essential.
Oh, and apropos of nothing, someone's mouth fell open in utter surprise when she heard me speaking Cantonese. That was very cute.
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