Observations from My Old Kentucky Home

Some assorted thoughts from the weekend...

1. I feel sad for people whose parents/grandparents can't cook because solid home-cooked meal >>> restaurant any day. When I decided to skip the bachelorette party at Buca di Beppo, my calculus was mostly influenced by the roast duck, bitter melon, salt & pepper shrimp, soy chicken wings, roasted pork belly, fish maw & egg drop soup, shiitake, scallop and broccoli stir fry, and almond tofu that my aunt was preparing for a typical Friday night dinner. I've also come to realize that my grandma is excellent at pickling things and making buns from scratch, and that none of the rest of us (including my mom) know how to do this. Is it too late to go back and learn?
   
2. For some reason, I can't help raising my voice about 40 decibels as soon as I'm in a room full of Chinese women. And you guys thought I was loud before.
3. Everyone and their mother was telling me that I've gotten thinner. Sure, I am in better shape than I was during college, mostly because of all the intracity biking, but I never made a conscious decision to lose weight. I mean, I even have a desk job now. This kind of makes me wonder how fat I was before.
4. Including the bride, there were 4 other girls in the bridal party. I liked precisely one of them. Well, the other two bridesmaids were nice enough, just a little too vanilla. On the other hand, my newfound bff Cat was wearing a Gryffindor hoodie when we met. Other ways to win my respect include: expressing admiration for the Cornell DC++ hub, bringing up the divorce court dance video after someone mentioned the (much ballyhooed) wedding entrance dance video.
5. I haven't kept in close touch with that many people from Louisville, but there were a couple that I would have wanted to call up. Unfortunately, I had zero free time/spent far too many hours in nail/hair salons over the weekend. So then, I just didn't tell people I was in town at all. Would it have better for me to say, "Want to come meet me in the parking lot of the temple? And bring food, please??"
   

How to Be the Worst Bridesmaid Ever

It has been suggested that I write a book titled, "101 Ways to Destroy a Wedding, Tried and True." I don't think I succeeded in destroying this weekend's wedding (arguably for the best), however here is a quick list of ways to passive-aggressively suck at being a bridesmaid.

1. Wait till the last minute to pick up your dress. Announce that you seem to have gained/lost a lot of weight, but you're sure that you'll be able to lose/gain it back by the wedding date.
   
2. Have unpierced ears. Refuse to get them pierced when requested by the bride. When further pressed, flat out tell her there's no way in hell you'll wear clip-on earrings.
   
3. Skip the bridal shower.
4. Agree to come to the rehearsal dinner. Discover that attending would require taking two precious vacation days. Have your boss help you fake an email with new "last-minute" assignments. Skip the rehearsal dinner.
   
5. Pretend that traffic was really bad as you drove to town. Feign tiredness. Skip the bachelorette party.
   
6. The week before the wedding, announce that your car has broken down and they're having trouble getting the parts to replace it, but you're sure it'll be fixed in time so there's no need to look into rental cars. Don't pick up when the panicked bride begins calling twice a day to check on the status of your car.
   
7. Acquire interesting tan lines over the summer. My personal favorites include Sports Bra, Birkenstock, Watch and Backpack. Bonus points if you can tan in messages like "Divorce Rate = 50%."
   
8. Pick up the (unlabeled) wedding favors (tea packets). Ask, "What is this? Is it a moist toilette? Or a condom?"
   
9. Get an expensive manicure with the bridal party. Casually flick your hand into a fan, thereby chipping a nail within 5 minutes of the completion of your manicure.
10. Go to an 8 am hair/make-up appointment. Blink furiously every time the mascara wand gets within a foot of your eyeball. Refuse to put on fake eyelashes.
11. Be ravenously hungry post-make-up-ing. (The other girls curiously seem to insist that they're full from last night's dinner.) Start eating the muffins that the bride's mother brought, and thereby smudge and remove a good deal of lip gloss and powder.
12. Wear a shirt with a tight collar to the hair salon. Struggle to get it over your hair when changing into your bridesmaid dress. The dislodged curls will add a desirable wind-tousled effect.
    
13. Forget to shave your legs.
14. And armpits.
15. Acquire several large mosquito bites on your arms the night before. Scratch vigorously. The redness of the bites will help bring out the red in your dress.
16. Think about the paltry breakfast and zero lunch you've had. Growl your stomach loudly during the ceremony. Think about how the reception has no food (except cake) and no open bar. Growl some more.
    
17. Lock your knees while standing behind the altar. Pass out dramatically and divert all attention towards you.
18. Take off your heels as soon as the ceremony is over and walk around in bare feet during the reception.
    
19. While in the receiving line, point and whisper loudly, "Wait, is that the groom's sister? The one who tried to break up this engagement?"
20. After the best man gives an engaging toast to the groom, stare blankly and opt out of giving a toast for the bride.
    
21. The night before, help choreograph a routine to "Dancing Queen" for the reception. During the performance, change your steps just enough to make the rest of the group question if they're wrong, e.g. start on the other foot or face the opposite direction.
    

And now, because "pics or it didn't happen," here's me painfully awake at said 8 am hair appointment:

Something Borrowed, Something Red

Well, I can now officially cross off "bridesmaid" on my list of things to do. Emily asked me to be part of her bridal party, and according to Matt's mom, short of pregancy, I can't say no, so...

To be honest, I haven't seen Emily in years. She doesn't even go by the same name any more! (That's right, not one, but two of my friends independently changed their names to "Mia" after high school graduation.) However, we were very good friends in middle school. And um, I love doing things for the Story, and this will certainly be an interesting one. Besides, I can visit my grandmother and cousins while I'm in Louisville.

By the way, she's chosen a bright red strapless number for the bridesmaids dresses. Apparently, I have to pick up the dress in Chicago and get it tailored to fit me. Then, I need to buy matching shoes. There's something about a hair appointment as well. And since the wedding is mid-August, I will probably need to do something about tan lines. This is so not my usual style. Omghelp.

Southern Cookin'

This morning, I was thumbing through the Yellow Pages and started reading menus for fun. The first one that caught my eye was from a barbeque restaurant, the Ole Hickory Pit. They included an old-timey description of how the restaurant was founded on the principles of traditional Western KY pit barbeque. Of course, the restaurant itself included an authentic hickory barbeque pit. As the ad succinctly put it:

And yes this oven pits where hand built by Murvin.

I couldn’t quite tell if this sentence was a train wreck of grammatical errors, or if the wording was intentional.

The next menu that stood out was from the Oakroom, at the Seelbach hotel. This is the eminent Louisville institution also mentioned in The Great Gatsby. I’ve never been inside the restaurant or the hotel, but eyed the tasting menu carefully, figuring this would be a good purview of contemporary Southern cooking. The more interesting items included:

Line Caught Salmon: Salsafy Purée, Zucchini, Lemon, Grilled Calamari

What on earth is “salsafy” purée? Is it purée that’s been salsa-fied? Isn’t salsa already a purée anyway?

Lobster: Olive, Chick Pea, Corn, Marshmallow

Now, marshmallow is a prominent addition to foods like sweet potatoes and hot chocolate, but I’ve never pictured it alongside lobster. I’d be interested in seeing how this dish is presented; all the complementary foods are of the small kernel/piece variety.

I also saw a couple listings for burgoo, which I've never eaten but have a passing familiarity from reading all the Little House on the Prairie books. Actually, I haven't seen the word since I finished the books. From what I recall, it's a type of stew that sometimes includes squirrel...maybe I should have looked into this more while at Cornell?

Debutante Ball, of sorts

It is my firm belief that every true Southern belle needs her own debutante ball. Basically, this is a combination coming-of-age and presentation to society gala. Obviously, they don’t happen in New England, nor would I have wanted one, but some of my classmates from high school did carry out the tradition.

My grandma and I headed over to July 4^th feastivities and bbq hosted by Great Auntie Mei. She’s one of those elder statesman figures in the Louisville Chinese-Viet Community; I’m actually not sure what her name is because everyone refers to her as the Great Auntie. Yesterday, she invited us over, particularly so that she (and a lot of others) could see me. When I arrived, the driveway jammed full with cars and small children. I pulled in with trepidation.

Immediately, I was waylayed by a few people who recognized me, and although I had no idea who they were, I nodded and smiled with recognition. My god, the last time I saw you, you were this tall! (*waves at the ground) I was introduced to several new children and husbands, but unlike years past, was spared being poked, prodded or pinched.

At this “family” reunion of sorts, people can roughly be divided into categories by age. Let’s see:

• 60+: This includes those venerable elder figures who brought their families to Louisville when it was impossible to buy bean sprouts and locals couldn’t tell the difference between Taiwan and Thailand. Children have mostly intermarried those from other families and taken over family businesses. Have acquired all sorts of nicknames due to being a different relationship (Great Aunt, Grandma, Mother in Law, etc) to everyone in town. English skills are just sufficient to pass the U.S. citizenship test, and all is promptly forgotten afterwards.
• 40s & 50s: Kids are mostly in high school and college, and they are free to spend weekends playing mahjong or cards for hours on end. English is proficient enough to establish careers and businesses. Speaking voices tend to be loud to the point of yelling, gossip circulates faster than a newly released Potter book.
• 30s: Young moms (and dads) who try to maintain a hipper look and trendy dress. May have blonde-ish highlights in layered hair. Have a decent command of English and tend to speak to kids in English if they don’t respond to Chinese.
• 20s: um, that’d be me. Most of the other people I can think of in this range are currently not in this state. Including myself by the end of the week.
• Teeny boppers: sufficiently assimilated into American culture, often to the detriment of language skills, which is inversely proportional to fashion sense. Sparring cliques are heard to remark: “Sophia and all her friends, they’re so snooty.”
• Younguns: still in diapers, but smart enough to strategically scream when ice pops are being passed out. Beware being excessively fat or skinny; you will be summarily examined and your parents’ negligence discussed over the mahjong table. Actually, this last rule applies to anyone in the previous categories too.

Needless to say, I felt a little out of place, but ended up hanging out with the old people and playing foosball with the kids.

I was struck by the number of people who spoke to me in English at first, then switched to Cantonese once they realized I was sufficiently fluent. Moreover, I garnered some praise for graduating and landing a good job, but was roundly commended for the language fluency. It’s a little discouraging to see that so many kids in my generation have aural but not oral proficiency in Chinese. Not only these kids, but most of my cousins have limited Chinese skills as well, which is a shame. Even my brother’s Chinese is not exactly fluid.

It’s a shame that the language isn’t being passed down, not only for the practical value of knowing another language, but for the rich oral tradition that gets lost. My Chinese isn’t perfect, but I can easily join into conversations, understand jokes, hold my own and generally chew the fat with any takers. Without this background, how would you ever develop any meaningful relationships with the older generation?

I came away with $100 tucked into a red envelope from Great Auntie Mei.

Homecoming

Louisville has grown and matured in the last seven years, and I suppose I have as well. The skyline is dotted with new skyscrapers that weren’t there when I left, there’s a new baseball stadium downtown, empty fields have been converted into shopping plazas and restaurants, while less successful storefronts have been replaced. Simultaneously, people have moved up and onward. Skinny schoolkids are now hulking teens, and the toddlers are so numerous I can’t keep track of their names (surprise). Many of the people I knew here moved out of state for college and haven’t come back. And a few people’s parents and grandparents have moved up and beyond, and are never coming back.

I went to see Caroline today, who is an old family friend, to reminisce about old news and gossip about new news. Her first comment was, “Well, you are lookin’ good, girl!” and her second comment was, “You look the same!” Apparently she has a new man, and hasn’t told Bill (the old man) about this, but simply has dinner with him once a week and lets him assume that she wants more time to herself. “After going with someone for 20 years, sometimes things just get old, you know? And I don’t want to hurt Bill’s feelings, so I still see him once a week. Sonny understands there’s nothing between us, and that I’d like to keep up the friendship, so it’s been working out fine!”

I hope I’m that feisty when I’m old.

For kicks and giggles, I then decided to drive by my old house and my old old house. The latter had been painted white with maroon trim (it used to be yellow), and the former had a funky African statue in the front. Also, the trees were too big, or, bigger than I remembered them. In either case, it looked like the houses were well-maintained, so I won’t begrudge the owners some styling modifications.

On impulse, I drove by my old daycare and stopped in. Spying an elderly teacher in the hall, I accosted her and said, “When I was this little girl’s age (*waves), I used to go to this preschool.” I told her my name and she said, “Why, yes, yes! And you had a brother, his name was…” “Chester,” I prompted. “His name was Chester, and he’s turning 16 this month.” “Oh my word, well I’m so glad you stopped by!” I asked if she was Miss Goldie (the only teacher I remember), and she was indeed! I mentioned that my brother and I still remembered her, and Miss Goldie laughed and said, “Well, I sure hope they were good memories!” To be precise, my strongest memory happened immediately after the release of Lion King, with my brother exclaiming, “Aunt Donna is Simba! Miss Goldie is Scar!” However, I thought it better to refrain from mentioning this.