Random Esquire

1. My father is currently in China doing some work. He e-mailed this to me today:

Guess who I saw at the airport when I landed? All or many of the Miss Universe contestants arrived at the same time as I did. Miss Nigeria must be 7 feet tall. They look better on TV than in real life.

dad

I don’t know this struck me as absurdly funny but it did.

2. Boss and I jumped into the car to go out for dinner at Dragonfly Mandarin. Thoughts of a good glass of wine, great sesame beef and fresh green beans danced around in my head. We walked up to the restaurant and saw a note on the window that said that the restaurant had suffered a fire and would re-open in a week. I sighed. Boss, however, did not. This is because there is a place across the street that sells…cheese fries. So cheese fries it was.

3. I am listening to the book Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts which, it turns out, will be a movie. It is truly hilarous because the narrator does an Indian accent perfectly. My favorite part thus far is when an Indian character says to an Australian, “You could be doing the sexy business and making a great joy of your body!” Something like that. Which has me refering to sex as “doing the sexy business.”

Before I lived in Chicago, I lived in a smaller city and one of its “small town” quirks was that when someone asked you, “Where’d you go to school?” they were asking you where you went to high school…not college. People would ask, “Where’d you go to school?” I’d say, “Notre Dame.” And they’d say, “No, I mean…what high school.” This was because if they knew your high school, they would immediately be able to tell what part of town you grew up in and how much money you did (or didn’t) have. I thought this was so ridiculous that when people asked me where I went to school, I’d name my elementary school, Scarborough Elementary. Does anyone really care where in the hell you went to high school?

That reminds me of something else. When I was fairly new to my previous job in said small town, a new co-worker had stopped by – not anyone I was terribly familiar with. As I’ve stated previously, I am half caucasian, half something else. Most people have a vague idea I’m not standard fare so I often get asked about it. After chatting a while with this co-worker, he asked, “Where’re you from?” I said, “My family is in Chicago.” He said, “No, I mean, where’re you from?” I said, “Oh, I grew up in Kansas City.” He said, “No, I mean…you know,…where were you born?” I said, “Oh! Minnesota.” He said, “No, I mean…what are you? Are you American?”

I felt like saying, “Oh, you mean what breed am I?”

American does not equal white. For example, Americans love all kinds of food and work at all kinds of restaurants. White people love P.F. Chang’s – (Chinese food without the offensive ethnicity!) This is really basic stuff. And no, I am not Chinese. I just like to point out that white folks love P.F. Chang’s.

Anyway.

I knew what he was asking and I was being somewhat difficult because I honestly don’t know why it is hard to ask someone what their ethnic background is. I know this is one of my particular pet peeves and it has transfered to son (a.k.a. Little Filthy) which I posted about once before. It happened when a man, staring at Little Filthy and clearly curious about what breed he was asked me, “What is he?” And I said, “He…is a dog.“